Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 26: Chapter 26

The next morning, Lane woke up even earlier than usual.

For a long, hollow moment, she simply lay perfectly flat beneath the heavy duvet, staring quietly up at the intricate plaster moldings of the ceiling. A deep, bone-deep exhaustion still clung heavily to her limbs, a residual weight that sleep seemed entirely incapable of washing away anymore.

The massive mansion around her remained locked in an absolute, crushing silence.

Ethan still hadn’t come home last night.

Again.

Lane let out a long, slow breath before forcing herself to push up from the mattress. She sat carefully on the very edge of the frame, her bare feet hovering over the cold floor while one hand instinctively moved to cup the soft, gradual curve of her stomach. She waited, bracing herself, but the violent morning sickness that usually defined her early hours wasn’t as bad today. At least, not yet.

That realization alone felt like a small, unexpected blessing.

Beside her on the nightstand, her phone buzzed softly against the polished wood. Lane reached for it sleepily, her defensive walls instantly dropping the moment she saw her mother’s name flashing brightly across the digital screen. She swiped to answer, pressing the receiver to her ear.

"Mom?"

"Good morning, sweetheart!" her mother’s voice rang out, unusually cheerful, completely piercing the gloomy stillness of the bedroom.

Lane’s lips twitched into a faint smile. "Morning."

"We’re coming over today," her mother announced briskly, her tone bursting with an excitement that made Lane blink in absolute surprise.

"What? What do you mean?"

"We’ll be there for dinner tonight, Lane."

Lane sat up completely straight, the last remnants of sleep instantly evaporating from her mind. "Dinner? Tonight?"

"Yes," her mother continued casually, as if delivering the weather report. "Your father and I are already on our way back into the city area. Aunt Catherine and Uncle Richard are with us, actually. We all decided a family gathering was long overdue."

Lane’s eyes widened completely, a spike of pure, unadulterated panic piercing through her chest.

"What?! Mom, no—wait. The house isn’t even remotely prepared for a formal dinner party." She quickly scrambled out of bed, her bare feet hitting the floor as she began pacing nervously around the perimeter of the room.

"You really should have told me earlier. A few hours notice isn’t enough."

Her mother laughed softly, a sound of dismissive affection.

"Oh, don’t be silly, Lane. It’s entirely fine. We’re family."

"No, Mom, it’s not fine," Lane stressed, her voice rising slightly as her hand pressed against her forehead weakly.

Then, suddenly, another realization struck her like a physical blow, and her chest tightened so severely she could barely draw breath. *Ethan.*

"Wait..." Lane stammered, her voice dropping into a fragile whisper. "Mom, Ethan isn’t even home. He’s... he’s buried in work at the office. He won’t be here."

A brief, telling silence stretched across the line. Then, her mother spoke with a calm, absolute reassurance that made Lane’s breath hitch. "Don’t worry about that, sweetheart."

Lane frowned softly, her anxiety spiking.

"How am I supposed to not worry?"

"Aunt Catherine already personally called his office an hour ago," her mother explained smoothly.

Lane froze entirely in her tracks, her hand dropping from her forehead. "He knows? Aunt Catherine called him directly?"

"Yes."

Lane swallowed hard, her throat tight and dry as she waited for the inevitable axe to fall. "And? What did he say?"

"He said he’ll be there. He’s adjusting his schedule to make it back in time."

Lane blinked slowly, staring blankly at the wall in sheer, unadulterated disbelief. *Ethan agreed?* The same man who, just yesterday, had coldly accused her family of plotting a desperate scheme over the phone had actually agreed to show up because his mother demanded it?

Her mother’s voice sounded immensely relieved on the other end.

"See? I told you. Everything is perfectly fine. We will see you by early evening, okay? Love you."

The call disconnected, but Lane remained rooted to the spot, her mind racing. The sheer, overwhelming anxiety of the situation galvanized her. After hanging up, she immediately rushed out of the bedroom and headed downstairs.

The morning shift of maids looked utterly startled when the usually quiet, reserved Mrs. Blackwood came hurrying into the grand kitchen, her expression tight with focus.

"Mrs. Blackwood? Is everything alright?"

"We need to prepare dinner," Lane announced, already pulling open the commercial pantry doors.

"A large family dinner. My parents and Ethan’s parents will be arriving by evening."

The kitchen instantly erupted into a flurry of frantic activity. Lane began pulling out premium ingredients, taking charge and distributing instructions quickly despite the heavy, lingering fatigue pulling at her limbs. The maids fell into rhythm around her immediately.

Vegetables were precisely washed and chopped. A rich, fragrant consommé began to simmer slowly on the stove, filling the air with warmth. Plump chicken was seasoned and placed into the roaring ovens to roast. In the grand dining room, the massive table was carefully arranged, dressed in fine linen, expensive silver platters, and polished crystal glasses that caught the light.

Lane moved nonstop throughout the afternoon, her body working on pure adrenaline despite the occasional wave of dizziness that crept over her whenever she stood up too quickly. She wanted everything to be absolutely perfect. Because even though Ethan barely acknowledged her existence in the dark, their families still mattered immensely to her.

And tonight, especially, she refused to give him—or anyone else—a reason to feel uncomfortable.

By the time the final preparations were completely finished and the kitchen was restored to a pristine state, Lane felt utterly drained, her muscles aching.

One of the senior maids noticed her pale face immediately, stepping forward with a look of deep concern. "Ma’am, you’ve been on your feet for five hours. You should really go rest a little before the guests arrive."

Lane nodded softly, wiping her brow. "Yes... I think I’ll go take a shower quickly."

Upstairs in the master suite, the spray of warm water relaxed her aching body, offering a temporary sanctuary. She stayed beneath the showerhead significantly longer than usual, letting the steam envelop her while she tried to soothe the profound tiredness that had settled deep into her bones over the last few weeks. Pregnancy exhaustion was a relentless thief, draining her reserves completely.

Once finished, she chose a soft, flowing cream dress crafted from a heavyweight knit that comfortably, elegantly draped over the growing curve of her stomach. It was simple, tasteful, and classic—not too formal, but respectful.

When she finally walked back downstairs, the mansion looked entirely transformed. It was calm, immaculately prepared, and for the very first time since Catherine had left, it actually felt *warm*.

Her phone rang softly in her hand shortly afterward. It was Noah.

Lane smiled faintly, a genuine sense of relief washing over her as she answered. "Hi, Noah."

"Well, hello to you too," Noah teased lightly, his sharp ears picking up on her breath accent immediately.

"You sound completely exhausted, Lane. What are you doing?"

Lane let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, sinking onto the plush living room sofa.

"Because I am completely exhausted."

"You need to be resting, Lane. I mean it."

"I know, I know."

Noah’s voice softened slightly, shifting from his usual playful banter into that fiercely protective register he only used when he was genuinely worried about her. "How are you actually feeling today?"

"Better than yesterday," she admitted honestly.

"The morning sickness?"

"Not too bad today. It faded pretty quickly this morning."

"Good. That’s a start."

Lane leaned her head back against the cushions, talking to him in quiet, hushed tones as she watched the maids do a final sweep of the rooms. Noah always somehow managed to calm her frayed nerves without even trying too hard; his voice was a reminder of a world that wasn’t dictated by cold contracts and silent marriages.

Eventually, he asked, "So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Lane let out a soft, defeated sigh. "Our parents are all coming over for a surprise family dinner. Right now, actually."

There was a distinct pause on the line.

"Ouch."

Lane laughed quietly under her breath. "Exactly."

"Is Ethan home?" Noah’s tone sharpened instantly.

"No, not yet."

"And he’s still expected to show up?"

Lane smoothed down the fabric of her cream dress nervously. "Apparently his mother called him directly and told him he had to be here. So... he’s coming."

Noah went entirely silent for a brief moment, the tension palpable over the line, before he spoke again, his voice steady. "Just... try not to stress yourself out too much tonight, Lane."

Lane smiled softly despite the knot of anxiety twisting in her gut. "I’ll try, Noah. I promise."

A few moments later, they finally ended the call after Noah made her explicitly promise to head straight to bed the second the dinner was over.

Not long after she slipped her phone away—the heavy, resonant chime of the front doorbell rang through the foyer.

Lane immediately stood up, smoothing the front of her dress with trembling hands, her heart beginning to thump erratically against her ribs.

The maids opened the grand doors moments later, and the quiet house was instantly filled with the bustling, warm energy of her family. Her parents entered the foyer first, her mother’s face immediately breaking into a brilliant, warm smile the moment her eyes landed on her daughter.

"There’s my beautiful girl!"

Lane stepped into her arms, hugging her tightly, burying her face into her mother’s familiar scent. The moment they parted, her father pulled her into another secure, careful embrace, though his eyes immediately narrowed as he pulled back to inspect her.

"You look thinner, Lane. Much thinner than last week."

Lane groaned softly, shaking her head. "Oh, please, Dad, not you too. I’m eating fine."

Before she could defend herself further, Catherine entered the foyer beside her husband, Richard. The exact moment Catherine’s sharp eyes found Lane standing there in the cream dress, her entire, formidable face softened with a remarkably warm, maternal affection.

"My darling," Catherine murmured, stepping forward.

Lane’s smile became entirely real this time. "Aunt Catherine."

Catherine hugged her with immense care, deliberately avoiding pressing against her stomach, before reaching up to gently touch Lane’s pale cheek.

"You look terribly tired, sweetheart. Have you been sleeping at all?"

Lane let out a weak, helpless laugh. "Everyone keeps saying that to me today."

Richard stepped up beside his wife, offering Lane a gentle, incredibly kind smile.

"How are you feeling, Lane? How is the little one?"

"I’m doing okay, Uncle Richard. Truly."

The adults slowly moved out of the foyer and into the main living pavilion, their animated conversation and laughter filling the cold spaces of the mansion with a rare, vibrant warmth.

Then, twenty minutes later—the distinct, low rumble of a high-end sports car pulled into the paved driveway outside.

Lane’s heartbeat instantly became wildly uneven, a sharp spike of adrenaline shooting through her veins. *Ethan.*

The heavy front door opened shortly afterward with a crisp, deliberate click.

Ethan entered the mansion calmly. He was wearing a tailored black suit, his tie perfectly straight, the crisp white of his shirt contrasting sharply against the dark fabric. The formal silhouette made him look unfairly, devastatingly handsome.

Lane’s eyes darted to him instinctively, only for her to immediately lower her gaze to the floor. Even now, after everything, looking directly at him for too long affected her anatomy badly—making her chest tighten and her breath hitch.

Catherine looked up from her spot on the sofa, smiling knowingly at her son’s arrival.

"Ah, you actually made it in time."

Ethan gave a single, polite nod of his head, his face an impenetrable mask. "Mom."

Then, his dark, piercing eyes briefly scanned the room, landing squarely on Lane standing near the edge of the rug. It lasted only for a single, microscopic second. Still, Lane felt her heartbeat stumble helplessly over itself anyway, a hot flush rising to her neck.

Dinner was served shortly afterward in the grand dining room. Everyone gathered around the massive mahogany table while the maids carefully placed the steaming, fragrant dishes onto the silver trivets.

Lane stood quietly beside her assigned chair, her fingers resting lightly on the wood. She watched silently as Richard and her father naturally, effortlessly pulled out the chairs for their respective wives, sharing quiet, affectionate glances as they did so. It was such a simple, routine gesture. So effortless. So entirely normal.

Lane’s chest tightened with a faint, sharp ache of longing.

Before she could let herself overthink the contrast or spiral into bitterness, she quietly, discreetly pulled out her own chair and took her seat directly beside Ethan. The close proximity was dizzying; she could smell the faint, clean scent of his woodsy cologne clinging to his suit jacket.

As the platters were passed around, their mothers immediately began serving portions of food onto their husbands’ plates, chatting naturally about the drive and the city traffic. Lane lowered her gaze quietly toward her own pristine porcelain plate, feeling like an outsider at her own table.

Then, suddenly, her mother looked across the table, her eyes landing on Lane’s empty hands. "Lane, dear."

Lane looked up softly, her fork hovering. "Yes, Mom?"

"Serve your husband too, sweetheart. Don’t just sit there."

An intense, scorching heat instantly rushed into Lane’s cheeks, turning them a deep crimson. She felt completely exposed under the sudden gaze of both families. Shifting on her cushion, she glanced nervously toward Ethan out of the corner of her eye.

He remained entirely silent, his posture rigid beside her, staring straight ahead.

With trembling fingers, Lane carefully reached for the large silver serving spoon, scooping a portion of the roasted chicken and placing it gently onto Ethan’s plate.

"A little more?" she asked softly, her voice barely a timid whisper over the clinking of glasses.

Ethan finally turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto her face, cold and unreadable. "That’s enough."

Lane nodded immediately, quickly pulling her hand back and resting it in her lap, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The family conversation slowly resumed, moving forward into safer topics. For a while, the atmosphere actually felt remarkably peaceful. Comfortable, even.

Then, the premium wine was brought out and poured into the crystal stems. Lane, acting entirely out of old habit from her days in the restaurant industry, instinctively reached her hand toward the glass being filled near her setting.

But before her fingers could touch the crystal, her father reached over, gently but firmly intercepting her wrist. "No wine for you, young lady."

Lane blinked softly, caught off guard. "Oh."

"The baby," her father reminded her, his eyes crinkling with a warm, deeply affectionate smile as he squeezed her hand. "It’s not good for either of you right now. Stick to the juice, sweetheart."

Lane offered him a faint, grateful smile, pulling her hand back safely into her lap.

"Right. Of course."

Meanwhile, across the table, Catherine tasted another slow bite of the roasted chicken before her eyes lit up, a brilliant smile breaking across her face.

"My goodness, this meal is absolutely wonderful. The seasoning is spectacular."

Then, she looked toward Ethan with a teasing, playful glint in her eyes.

"Your kitchen staff really outdid themselves tonight, Ethan. Your maids are excellent cooks."

At that exact, critical moment, a young maid named Clara happened to be leaning over Lane’s shoulder, carefully pouring fresh juice into her glass. Hearing the praise, the maid immediately paused, shaking her head politely with a humble smile.

"Oh, no, Madam. We didn’t prepare this dinner at all."

The entire table stopped eating, multiple pairs of eyes shifting toward the young maid in surprise.

Clara smiled softly, glancing down at Lane with immense respect. "Mrs. Blackwood cooked every single dish on this table entirely herself. She was in the kitchen all afternoon,we only helped."

An abrupt, absolute silence briefly settled over the entire dining room.

Lane’s eyes darted down to her plate, her cheeks burning with fresh embarrassment, but out of the corner of her eye, she immediately noticed Ethan’s large hand freeze completely.

His fingers, which had been lifting his water glass, went entirely rigid just a fraction of an inch above the wood. It was an incredibly slight, almost imperceptible hesitation.

But because she watched him so closely, she noticed it instantly.

Catherine blinked in profound surprise, her jaw dropping slightly before her face broke into a fiercely proud, radiant smile.

"Ah! That’s right! I completely forgot for a moment."

She looked toward her husband Richard warmly, her voice filled with admiration.

"Lane used to work professionally as a chef in one of the top kitchens in the city before."

Richard looked deeply impressed, leaning forward slightly as he looked at Lane.

"No wonder everything tastes this incredible. You have a remarkable talent, Lane."

Lane smiled shyly, her shoulders turning inward as she lowered her gaze again.

"Thank you, Uncle Richard. It’s just... it’s a hobby now."

The conversation picked back up naturally after that, the adults continuing to praise the food as they ate heartily. But as the minutes ticked by, the immense physical toll of the day finally began to catch up with Lane. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a profound, dizzying fatigue in its wake.

Eventually, Richard paused, his sharp eyes studying Lane’s face carefully across the table.

" You’ve grown remarkably pale over the last hour. Are you feeling alright?"

Lane blinked softly, trying to clear the sudden fog in her head. "Oh... yes. It’s just... it’s the lingering morning sickness. It comes and goes in the evenings now."

Catherine immediately frowned, her maternal protective instincts kicking in fiercely as she set her fork down.

"You’re still struggling with it this severely? I thought it was supposed to ease up by this stage."

Lane nodded lightly, her voice weak. "Sometimes it’s a bit stubborn."

Then, Catherine’s expression shifted, turning completely serious as she leaned across the table gently.

"When is your next prenatal checkup, darling?"

Lane swallowed softly, her throat dry. "This Friday."

Catherine didn’t hesitate for even a single millisecond. Her head snapped to the side, her sharp, unyielding gaze turning directly onto her son sitting silently beside Lane.

"Ethan," Catherine commanded, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute steel that brooked zero argument.

"You’re canceling your meetings. You are going with her."

The entire dining table fell into a dead, breathless silence for one brief, suspended moment. And beside him, Lane’s heart quietly, violently began beating faster all over again.

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