Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Lane woke up with a sharp, violent jolt, a wave of cold nausea clawing viciously at her throat before her eyes had even fully adjusted to the dark.

For a agonizing second, she remained completely frozen beneath the heavy weight of the blankets, her body rigid as she forced herself to breathe slowly, carefully through her nose.

She squeezed her eyes shut, praying with everything she had that the familiar, sickening feeling would pass if she just stayed still enough.

It didn’t.

Instead, her stomach twisted painfully again, a sharp spasm that left her breathless. Lane immediately pushed the thick covers aside, swinging her legs out of bed, and hurried toward the adjoining bathroom as quietly as humanly possible, terrified of shattering the dead silence of the house.

The freezing marble tiles pressed sharply against her bare feet, sending a shiver up her spine, while she practically dropped to her knees in front of the porcelain toilet. One of her hands gripped the cold, polished edge so tightly her knuckles turned entirely white.

Pregnancy was exhausting.

It was a truth she was learning intimately, day by day. It wasn’t only the physical toll—the way her body felt like it belonged to a stranger, the endless fatigue, the sudden illness. It was the emotional weight of it, too.

Especially during long, dark nights like this, when the walls of the mansion seemed to close in on her and everything felt infinitely heavier than it did under the distraction of the sun.

Once the violent retching finally subsided and the nausea eased into a dull, lingering ache, Lane didn’t move. She stayed right there on the floor, curled silently for several moments, her forehead resting weakly against her trembling arm.

She was tired. So deeply, hollowly tired.

And somehow—more than anything else—she was lonely.

Her eyes burned faintly with unshed tears, and despite her best efforts to keep them locked away, the dangerous thoughts she constantly tried to avoid crept quietly back into her mind. When she was a young girl, harboring a secret, innocent crush from afar, Lane used to imagine pregnancy completely differently.

Back then, in the naive stories she crafted in her head, the experience had felt beautiful. Warm. Safe.

She had imagined late-night cravings turning into spontaneous adventures, with someone laughing softly beside her in the dark while driving through the city streets to buy whatever ridiculous food she wanted.

She had imagined being held securely from behind, a steady chest supporting her weight whenever the morning sickness became too much to bear alone. She had imagined a pair of large, protective hands resting gently against the curve of her stomach while someone whispered excitedly, marveling over the tiny life they had created together.

Lane had always dreamed of a love like that. A gentle, unconditional love. The kind of partnership where she wouldn’t have to carry the weight of the entire world on her own fragile shoulders.

Instead—she lived in reality.

Most nights she sat entirely by herself in a dark room, her fingers sinking into her own skin, trying desperately not to cry from sheer emotional exhaustion. The realization hurt with a strange, cutting precision tonight for some reason.

Drawing on a thin reserve of strength, Lane slowly cleaned herself up, rinsing her mouth quietly with cold water at the sink. She stared at her reflection in the mirror for a fraction of a second—pale skin, shadowed eyes—before turning away. Eventually, she walked back out into the bedroom.

The vast space remained completely dark and utterly silent. But the exact moment her eyes landed on the far side of the mattress—

Her chest tightened with a soft, suffocating ache.

Empty.

Ethan still wasn’t home.

Lane stood perfectly still near the edge of the frame, staring blankly at the pristine, untouched linens. Somehow, foolishly, she had fallen asleep earlier that evening believing that tonight might be different. She had allowed herself to think that he might eventually open that door and come home to her.

But clearly—he hadn’t.

A small, familiar ache settled heavily inside her chest, anchoring itself deep within her ribs. Lane looked away quickly, forcing her gaze toward the floor before her thoughts could spiral into a territory that would break her completely.

Instead of climbing back into the cold bed, she quietly turned, wrapped her sweater tightly around herself, and walked downstairs.

The grand mansion remained peaceful, bathed in the dim, amber safety lights that stayed on through the night. Apparently, Ethan’s mother, Catherine, was still staying with them for another few days, though tonight even her guest suite remained entirely quiet and dark.

Lane navigated the grand staircase slowly, rubbing her arms against the chill that always seemed to linger in the open corridors.

She had originally gone downstairs simply to fetch a glass of ice water to settle her stomach. But once her bare feet stepped into the vast, industrial kitchen, the thought of warm milk suddenly sounded infinitely better. Something comforting. Something soft and reminiscent of childhood.

Lane moved around the counter quietly, turning on a low light and warming the milk on the stove before pouring it into a heavy ceramic mug. She pulled out a stool and sat near the island, completely alone in the center of the dark house.

The warm cup rested securely between both of her palms, the heat seeping into her cold skin while the heavy silence of the Blackwood Estate surrounded her like a shroud. For a little while, she simply sat there, staring down into the liquid and drinking slowly, methodically.

She tried with everything inside her not to think too much. She tried not to let herself feel completely abandoned, completely discarded, just because her husband hadn’t bothered to return to the house they shared. Because honestly—if she was being fair to him—Ethan had never promised her anything.

He had never promised her love. He had never promised her comfort. He had never promised her a real partnership. He had married her out of cold, binding necessity, and she had walked into the arrangement with her eyes wide open. She had no right to demand his presence now.

Lane lowered her eyes toward her stomach, her expression softening into something incredibly fragile as she placed a hand over her belly.

"It’s okay," she whispered softly into the empty kitchen, her voice barely a breath against the rim of her mug. "We’re okay."

Even though, as the words left her lips, she wasn’t entirely sure who she was trying to comfort anymore—the baby, or herself.

Eventually, the warmth of the milk did its work, and she returned upstairs to her dark room, managing to fall back into a light, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, bright, golden sunlight filtered softly through the heavy curtains when Lane finally woke up.

Ethan still wasn’t there.

The untouched, unwrinkled side of the bed looked exactly the same as it had hours ago, a mocking reminder of her solitude. Lane stared at it briefly, her expression blank, before forcing herself to roll out of bed. There was absolutely no use in thinking about it anymore; she had gotten entirely used to disappointment over the past two months. It was a dull ache now, a constant background noise in her life.

While she was brushing out her long hair in front of the vanity mirror, her phone buzzed softly against the wood. She picked it up to find a message from Noah.

Meet me today.

Lane’s lips twitched, a faint, genuine smile gracing her face. Then, almost immediately after, another bubble popped up on the screen.

No excuses

For the very first time since opening her eyes that morning, something genuinely light and warm bloomed inside her chest, cutting through the residual fog of her loneliness. Noah always somehow possessed an uncanny, almost frightening ability to know exactly when she needed a distraction from her own mind.

Lane quickly showered, letting the hot water wash away the lingering exhaustion of the night, and dressed in a pair of comfortable, loose-fitting trousers and a soft cream sweater.

She gathered her things and headed downstairs, her steps noticeably lighter than they had been the night before.

The moment she entered the kitchen, the morning shift of maids greeted her politely, pausing in their preparations.

"Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood."

"Morning," Lane replied softly, offering them a pleasant nod. She reached over and grabbed a small, light breakfast of fruit and yogurt, eating a few bites before addressing them again.

"You don’t need to worry about preparing lunch for me today, Mrs. Gable."

The older maid looked up, a flash of pleasant surprise crossing her features. "Oh? You’re going out today, ma’am?"

Lane nodded softly, a bit of color finally returning to her cheeks. "Yes. I probably won’t be back until later this evening."

The maid smiled warmly, clearly relieved to see her leaving the suffocating confines of the house.

"Understood, Mrs. Blackwood. Have a wonderful time."

Catherine had already left the estate much earlier that morning for some high-profile charity event or corporate meeting, though she had left a note promising she would return before dinner.

Honestly, Lane felt immensely grateful for the timing. Today, more than any other day, she desperately wanted to breathe a little bit of fresh air outside the heavy, suffocating walls of the mansion. She wanted to feel normal, even if it was just for a few fleeting hours.

By noon, the distinct rumble of Noah’s car signaled his arrival, and he picked her up personally from the front gates. The moment Lane opened the passenger door and stepped into the vehicle, she blinked in absolute, utter shock, her jaw dropping slightly.

"Ava?!"

Ava grinned brightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief from where she sat in the passenger seat, before she immediately turned her entire body around in the chair to wrap her arms around Lane, hugging her with immense care. "Surprise, beautiful!"

Lane laughed softly, a bright, unburdening sound she hadn’t made in days, her arms wrapping around her friend. "When on earth did you come back into the country?"

"Literally this morning," Ava said, pulling back with a triumphant look. "I touched down at the airport, called Noah, and told him we were staging an intervention."

Lane stared at her in complete disbelief, her eyes wide. "You didn’t give me even a single hint!"

"Well, that is entirely the point of a surprise, isn’t it?" Ava laughed, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Noah let out a loud, dramatically long sigh from the driver’s seat, shifting the car into gear as he pulled out onto the main road.

"She screamed significantly louder for you just now than she did for me after I drove all the way to the international terminal to pick her up," he complained, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Ava rolled her eyes immediately, swatting at his shoulder. "Oh, stop whining, Noah. You’re just jealous."

"I absolutely am," Noah replied smoothly, his eyes catching Lane’s in the rearview mirror for a split second, his gaze softening.

Lane laughed again quietly, shaking her head as she leaned back against the leather seat. Some of the immense, suffocating heaviness that had been sitting inside her chest since the previous night eased instantly, melting away in the presence of the two people who loved her without conditions.

Noah and Ava made things feel normal. They made the world feel safe, predictable, and light.

The three of them eventually arrived at a quiet, upscale restaurant situated not far from the vibrant city center. The atmosphere inside was peaceful and elegant, with large, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that allowed the warm afternoon sunlight to spill softly across their white-clothed table.

The moment Lane slid into her seat and took off her light jacket, Ava’s sharp eyes dropped downward, and she let out a dramatic, audible gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as she stared intently at Lane’s midsection.

"Oh my God, Lane."

Lane looked down instinctively, her hands hovering nervously over her lap. "It’s... it’s visible now, isn’t it? Even under the sweater?"

"Just a little bit," Ava said, her voice dropping into a remarkably soft, tender register as she smiled up at her.

"You look absolutely beautiful, Lane. Seriously. You’re glowing."

Lane’s guarded expression softened quietly, a genuine warmth touching her eyes. "Thank you, Ava."

Noah, however, remained relatively quiet, his sharp eyes glancing briefly but intently toward Lane’s face as he unfolded his napkin.

"You’ve lost weight in your face, Lane," he noted calmly, his voice laced with an undercurrent of deep concern.

Lane immediately shifted her gaze away, looking down at the menu to avoid his penetrating stare. "I’m perfectly okay, Noah. It’s just normal."

Ava frowned slightly, her protective instincts instantly kicking in.

"Is the morning sickness really bad this trimester?"

Lane nodded keeping her eyes on the text. "A little bit. And the fatigue has been hitting me harder than I expected."

Noah leaned back against his chair, crossing his arms while studying her pale features with a care that was almost painful. "You still look completely exhausted, Lane. You’re pale."

Lane forced a bright, polite smile onto her face, looking up to meet their eyes. "I said I’m okay, guys. Really. Don’t worry about it."

But neither Noah nor Ava looked even remotely convinced by her performance. They knew her too well to be fooled by a forced smile.

Fortunately, the food arrived shortly afterward, allowing the tension to dissipate as the conversation drifted into easy, familiar territory. Ava dominated the table, telling them wildly dramatic stories about her travels abroad and the eccentric people she had met.

Noah complained with theatrical bitterness about his endless corporate meetings and his demanding board of directors. Lane simply listened quietly, taking small bites of her lunch, a genuine smile appearing on her face here and there.

For a little while, surrounded by the rhythm of their bickering, she genuinely managed to forget about the cold, silent mansion waiting for her return.

Then, eventually, during a brief lull in the conversation as the plates were cleared away, Ava reached for her water glass and asked softly, her eyes entirely gentle,

"How are things going with Ethan, Lane?"

Lane’s fingers paused briefly, freezing around the stem of her drink. The light in her eyes dimmed instantly. "They’re... they’re okay. We’re just busy."

Noah immediately let out a sharp, mocking scoff beside her, his jaw tightening.

Lane shot him a quick, warning look across the table, her brow furrowing. "What, Noah?"

"You lie terribly, Lane. You always have," he said calmly, his voice dropping into a serious, unyielding tone.

Ava’s smile completely vanished, her eyes darting between the two of them. "Lane..."

Lane looked down quietly at the tablecloth, her fingers tracing a pattern in the fabric as the old, familiar weight settled back over her shoulders. She hated feeling exposed, hated the pity that always followed the truth of her marriage.

Noah’s expression softened slightly this time, but he refused to let her hide behind her wall of politeness anymore.

"He barely even comes home, Ava," he said, his voice steady but fierce with suppressed anger. "She goes to her doctor appointments completely alone. She gets violently sick in that giant house alone. She handles everything by herself."

Lane immediately shook her head, her voice rising in mild desperation. "Noah, please—don’t do this."

"No," Noah interrupted quietly, leaning forward slightly. "I’m serious, Lane. I’m tired of watching you protect a man who doesn’t even bother to show up for dinner."

Ava’s face slowly fell, a mixture of profound sadness and anger dimming her bright features as she stared at her best friend. "Lane... is that true? Is he really treating you like that?"

Lane swallowed hard, a thick lump forming in her throat as she tried desperately to force another reassuring smile onto her face, to maintain the fiction that she was strong enough to handle it. "It’s... it’s really not that bad, guys. Ethan has a lot of responsibilities with the merger, and I... I prefer the quiet anyway. It’s fine."

But her voice sounded incredibly fragile, breaking slightly on the last word. And everyone sitting at the table heard the fracture immediately.

A heavy, emotional silence settled briefly over the upscale restaurant, the ambient chatter of the other patrons fading into the background.

Then, Ava reached entirely across the white tablecloth, her hand gentle but firm as she slid her fingers into Lane’s trembling palm, squeezing it tight.

"You don’t always have to pretend you’re okay around us, Lane," Ava whispered softly, her eyes shining with absolute sincerity. "You don’t have to carry it all alone."

That single, devastatingly kind sentence nearly shattered the fragile, icy control Lane had spent months meticulously building around her heart.

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