Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 25: Chapter 25

Lane woke up to a heavy, suffocating silence.

It wasn’t the peaceful, deeply restorative kind that comes with a restful morning. It was a dense, crushing silence—the specific kind that seemed to expand throughout the open corridors, making the massive Blackwood mansion feel infinitely colder and more clinical than usual.

For a few agonizing seconds, she remained perfectly still beneath the covers, staring quietly up at the high ceiling. One of her hands instinctively came to rest against the soft, gradual curve of her stomach, seeking the only warmth left in the room.

The other side of the mattress was completely empty.

Cold.

Untouched.

Ethan hadn’t come home. Again.

Lane closed her eyes briefly, a familiar, dull ache settling deep within her ribs before she slowly forced herself to sit up.

Aunt Catherine had left early that morning, her presence missed the moment she stepped out the front doors. She was attending a high-profile charity event in a neighboring city, a two-day foundation summit packed with activities for an underprivileged school her family sponsored. Lane had painted a brave smile onto her face and hugged the older woman goodbye before she climbed into her car.

But the exact millisecond Catherine’s sleek vehicle disappeared past the security gates—Everything changed.

The estate had immediately defaulted back to its default state: a lonely, echoing mausoleum. And Ethan had clearly seized the opportunity. Ever since his mother’s watchful eye had left the premises, he had stopped coming home entirely.

Two days. Two whole days.

Lane hadn’t caught so much as a fleeting glimpse of him. At first, she had spent the hours desperately trying to construct rationalizations for his absence. He was a multi-billion-dollar CEO. He was buried in the logistics of the new corporate merger. He worked late into the night.

But deep down, in the quiet places of her heart where she couldn’t lie to herself—Lane knew the truth. Ethan simply felt infinitely more comfortable staying as far away from her as humanly possible.

That stark realization cut deeper than she ever wanted to admit.

Dragging her exhausted body out of bed, Lane walked slowly toward the adjoining bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror looked worn down, shadowed by sleepless nights and the quiet, emotional warfare of her life. Yet, despite her fatigue, the pregnancy was undeniably becoming more visible now. Her stomach curved softly beneath the loose, draped fabric of her lounge clothes.

Lane stared at her silhouette quietly for a second before lowering her eyes to her belly, her expression softening into something incredibly fragile.

"It’s okay," she whispered softly into the empty room, her voice barely a breath. "We’re okay."

Even though, with each passing day, she wasn’t entirely sure whether she was trying to comfort the life growing inside her—or the broken pieces of herself.

After washing up, Lane headed downstairs with slow, deliberate steps. The kitchen staff and morning maids greeted her warmly the absolute moment she crossed the threshold into the sunlit breakfast nook.

"Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood."

"Morning," Lane replied quietly, offering them a small, pleasant nod.

One of the cooks quickly prepared a light breakfast of poached eggs and fruit, while another slipped a glass of freshly squeezed juice onto the counter beside her. Lane thanked them softly before taking her plate over to the massive, formal dining table, sitting entirely alone in the center of the vast space.

She hated how empty this house felt without a buffer. When Catherine was present, the rooms filled with lively conversation, the rustle of morning newspapers, and occasional, genuine laughter.

Now—the oppressive silence followed her every single step, mocking her solitude.

Lane barely managed to swallow half of her breakfast before a wave of faint, sudden nausea twisted her stomach. She pushed the porcelain plate away slowly, her appetite vanishing.

"I’ll... I’ll try to eat a little more later," she told the head maid, her voice tight.

The staff exchanged brief, highly worried glances but politely chose not to pressure her. They knew the unspoken rules of the house.

After the failed breakfast, Lane spent the majority of the morning tucked away in the upstairs sunroom. Reading. Resting. Doing everything in her power to keep her mind from overthinking the reality of her marriage. But by afternoon, her thoughts drifted back to a heavy obligation she had been actively avoiding for days.

Her parents.

Ever since their return from abroad, they had called constantly, asking about Ethan. Asking when he would finally visit. Her mother, especially, sounded so incredibly excited every single time she brought up the prospect of a family dinner.

And Lane—Lane never knew how to answer them without exposing the rot beneath the foundation of her life. How could she possibly explain to her loving parents that her husband barely even spoke to her, let alone looked at her?

Still... she wanted to try. Just once. Even if she already knew the bitter taste of the answer.

Lane pulled out her phone and stared at the screen for a long, quiet moment before the harsh reality hit her: Ethan still had her personal number blocked from his direct line.

A small, familiar ache settled heavily inside her chest.

Setting her jaw, she quietly got up, walked downstairs, and approached one of the housemaids who was currently polishing the silver in the butler’s pantry.

"Clara? Can I borrow your cell phone for a quick minute? Mine is... having trouble connecting."

The maid nodded immediately without a single shred of suspicion. "Of course, Mrs. Blackwood."

Lane forced a small, polite smile onto her face as she took the device. Her fingers hovered over the glass screen, hesitating for several seconds before she finally dialed Ethan’s private office number from memory.

Honestly, she fully expected the call to go straight to voicemail. But after several loud, agonizing rings—the line suddenly clicked, and the call connected.

Lane’s entire body froze, her throat locking up.

Then, Ethan’s cold, authoritative baritone sliced through the receiver. "What is it?"

The sheer chill in his voice made her instantly incredibly nervous, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I... um... Ethan?"

She tightened her grip on the plastic casing of the phone, clearing her throat to find her voice. "My parents... they were asking if you could join them for dinner sometime this week. They just returned from their trip."

Absolute silence stretched across the line.

Lane swallowed hard, her knuckles turning white as she pressed through the agonizing quiet. "They just want to spend some quality time with you. To catch up."

Another heavy, breathless silence followed, long enough that Lane wondered if the call had dropped. Then, Ethan finally spoke, his words clipped and entirely devoid of warmth.

"I’m busy."

The answer came exactly as she had anticipated. Simple. Dismissive. Final. Still—it felt like a physical blow to her sternum.

Determined not to give up so easily for her parents’ sake, Lane tried anyway, her voice dropping into a soft, pleading register. "It will only be for an hour, Ethan. Just a quick dinner."

Ethan exhaled a quiet, sharp breath on the other side of the line, his patience clearly wearing thin. When he spoke again, his tone had turned infinitely colder, dripping with an underlying, dangerous contempt.

"I don’t have the time or the inclination to indulge in whatever desperate scheme your family is currently planning, Lane."

The blood instantly drained from Lane’s face, leaving her entirely pale.

*Scheme?*

Before she could even gather the strength to respond, to defend her parents’ genuine kindness, the line went completely dead. He had hung up on her.

Lane remained frozen in the middle of the hallway, staring blankly at the dark phone screen in her hand. For several seconds, her limbs refused to move. The brutal, callous words replayed with a painful, slicing precision inside her chest.

*Whatever scheme your family is planning.*

Her family? A scheme?

A sharp, violent sting of tears immediately burned behind her eyelids. Because her parents genuinely, truly cared. They had welcomed Ethan into their lives with open arms despite the abrupt, cold nature of the marriage arrangement. They had never treated him with anything less than absolute respect.

And yet—that was how he viewed them. As opportunists. As enemies plotting against him.

Lane quickly lowered her head, blinking rapidly before the maid could return and see the raw devastation written across her features.

"Thank you, Clara," she whispered softly, handing the device back to the girl as she passed by the pantry.

The maid looked up, her expression morphing into one of deep worry. "Mrs. Blackwood? Are you alright? You look—"

"I’m perfectly okay," Lane cut her off, her voice sounding incredibly weak and fragile.

She turned immediately, walking away before anyone else on the staff could notice the heavy tears that were already threatening to spill over her lashes. She practically fled up the grand staircase, her steps hurried and unsteady.

The moment the heavy mahogany bedroom door closed behind her, locking her away from the rest of the world, Lane finally pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

The tears came anyway.

They didn’t come loudly or dramatically. There were no sob-wracked breaths. Just quiet, heavy tears sliding helplessly down her pale cheeks while she stood there entirely alone in the center of the dark bedroom.

Ethan hated her so much. Even after all these months of sharing a name, a home, and a impending child—absolutely nothing had changed between them.

Lane slowly walked over to the edge of the mattress, sinking down onto the silk sheets while she wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. She despised crying. She hated losing control, especially when it was over him. But lately, her emotions felt completely impossible to regulate. The pregnancy made every single instinct raw.

Every cold word cut deeper into her soul; every icy rejection stayed with her longer, festering in the dark.

Lane lowered both of her hands toward her stomach, framing her belly protectively as her shoulders shook.

"I’m so sorry," she whispered shakily into the quiet room.

Beneath her palms, as if responding to the distress in her voice, the baby shifted faintly—a tiny, microscopic flutter against her skin.

That fragile movement nearly broke her completely. Because no matter how much Ethan chose to ignore her existence, no matter how profoundly lonely she felt within the walls of this mansion—she still needed to stay strong. She had to keep herself put together for the sake of the life relying on her.

Lane closed her eyes, inhaling deeply several times, forcing the air into her lungs until her racing heart began to slow down.

Eventually, she stood up with a fragile reserve of strength, walking slowly toward the massive bay window that overlooked the estate’s sprawling grounds. Outside, the afternoon sky had turned a flat, bruising shade of gray. It was quiet. Lonely.

Just like her.

And somehow, the sheer, cavernous emptiness of the mansion pressed against her skin, suddenly turning completely unbearable.

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