Chapter 27: Chapter 27
Thursday morning arrived with the quiet, unsettling stealth of a gathering winter storm.
Lane woke slowly beneath the heavy weight of the plush blankets, her mind still caught in the soft, hazy twilight of sleep when a sudden, violent wave of nausea twisted painfully through her stomach. Her eyelids squeezed shut instantly, a sharp gasp catching in her throat.
"Oh..."
She forced herself to sit upright immediately, one trembling hand pressing firmly against her mouth while she concentrated entirely on drawing shallow, careful breaths through her nose. For one terrifying, breathless second, she genuinely believed her body would betray her right there on the pristine linens. But eventually—with an agonizing slowness—the sickening sensation receded, leaving her trembling.
Lane let out a shakily exhaled breath, leaning her weak frame back against the headboard, her forehead damp with cold sweat.
The heavy frosted-glass door of the adjoining bathroom opened slightly at that exact moment, a dense cloud of warm, eucalyptus-scented steam drifting lazily into the bedroom.
Ethan was inside, finishing his morning shower.
Lane lowered her eyes quietly, her fingers curling into the edge of the duvet. Last night—contrary to every single expectation she had harbored—he had actually stayed.
Even after the exhausting performance of the family dinner had finally concluded, and the house had emptied out.
Aunt Catherine and Richard had departed together in their town car, and shortly thereafter, her own parents had excused themselves because the hour had grown so late. Lane had honestly expected Ethan to slip out the front doors the absolute millisecond the parental oversight vanished, disappearing back to his high-rise penthouse or his corporate office like he usually did.
But instead—he had stayed the entire night.
Granted, the arrangement hadn’t magically cured the silence between them. They had still barely spoken a single syllable to each other as they climbed into the massive bed, keeping to their respective, invisible boundaries on the mattress.
Still... somehow, simply waking up in the pale morning light and knowing his large, solid presence was anchored just a few feet away made the cavernous room feel vastly less lonely.
Lane despised herself for how deeply, how easily that simple fact affected her.
Shaking off the dangerous warmth of the thought, she slowly climbed out of bed, her bare feet padding softly across the floor toward the sprawling walk-in closet. As she stepped into the dimly lit space, the gentle, lingering memory of Aunt Catherine’s parting words from weeks ago returned to her mind, whispering through the dark.
*Take care of him little by little, Lane. Show him the grace he doesn’t know how to ask for. Maybe eventually... he’ll finally see your heart.*
Lane knew, with a cutting clarity, that harboring such a hope was entirely foolish. It was a fairy tale she had no business believing in. Yet, despite the logical warnings screaming in her head, she still found her hands moving deliberately across the custom clothing racks, picking out Ethan’s wardrobe for the day with immense, meticulous care.
A perfectly tailored charcoal gray three-piece suit.
A crisp, heavy cotton white shirt.
A matte black silk tie.
His signature silver chronograph watch.
It was simple. Elegant. Structured. It was entirely, unyieldingly Ethan.
After placing the ensemble neatly over the valet chair positioned near the foot of the bed, Lane quietly slipped out of the master suite, shutting the door behind her without a sound, and headed downstairs.
The grand mansion remained beautifully peaceful at this early hour, the morning sun just beginning to bleed amber light through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Lane entered the empty kitchen, moving past the polished steel appliances to pour herself a tall glass of milk.
Warming it slightly on the range, she held the ceramic mug between her palms; it had become one of the very few things her volatile stomach could actually tolerate without protest lately.
The morning shift of maids greeted her politely as they entered through the utility doors.
"Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood."
"Morning," Lane replied softly, offering a brief, tired smile. She took a slow, methodical sip of the milk before noticing that the sprawling counters remained entirely bare. The stoves were unlit. "No breakfast preparations today, Mrs. Gable?"
The head maid shook her head gently, her expression tinged with a touch of apology. "Mr. Blackwood instructed us not to prepare a morning meal today, ma’am."
Lane blinked softly, the warmth in her hands suddenly feeling a bit hollow. "Oh. Why is that?"
"He left word that he is in an immense hurry this morning. He has an early board briefing before the market opens."
Lane lowered her eyes quietly back to the white liquid in her mug. Of course. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to expect a domestic breakfast together simply because they had survived one peaceful family dinner under his mother’s strict surveillance. The reality of their arrangement was always waiting to reassert itself.
A few minutes later, the distinct, rhythmic echo of footsteps resonated down from the grand staircase.
Lane instinctively straightened her posture, her muscles instantly tensing as she focused hard on the rim of her drink, determined to appear completely unbothered.
Ethan descended into the main living pavilion, his movements calm and commanding. Lane’s chest hitched, her heartbeat immediately betraying her resolve as her eyes swept over his silhouette.
He was wearing the exact clothes she had picked out. Every single piece, down to the specific silver watch.
Lane quickly looked away, staring intently at the marble counter before he could catch the tiny, uncontrollable flush of warmth spreading rapidly across her cheeks. She held her breath as he approached, the subtle scent of his woodsy cologne cutting through the aroma of her warm milk.
Ethan grabbed his sleek leather briefcase and car keys from the island counter, his movements fluid, before he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, standing just a foot away from her.
Lane froze completely, her fingers tightening around her mug until her knuckles went pale.
Then, his deep, gravelly baritone broke the quiet of the kitchen, surprisingly low. "When is the appointment tomorrow?"
Lane looked up in profound surprise, her eyes wide as she met his dark, unreadable gaze. For a fraction of a second, she genuinely wondered if her longing mind had simply hallucinated the question.
"Tomorrow... tomorrow at eleven o’clock," she managed to answer, her voice small but clear.
Ethan stared at her for a beat longer, his expression an iron mask, before he gave a single, curt nod of his head. "Fine."
Then, without uttering another single word, he turned on his heel and walked out the front doors, the heavy mahogany wood clicking shut behind him.
Lane stared silently toward the empty doorway long after the sound of his sports car’s engine faded down the driveway. Her fingers tightened faintly around the glass. Because despite the cruelty of his words yesterday, despite the walls he built between them—he had remembered. He was actually going to show up.
Later that afternoon, the temporary warmth of the morning had completely evaporated, replaced by a cold, driving resolve. Lane had made a decision she had been agonizing over for days. Perhaps even weeks.
She needed to confront Olivia’s family. More specifically—her uncle.
The guilt of the past few months had become an unmanageable weight, a suffocating presence that followed her into every corner of her new life. She convinced herself that if she just explained the truth properly... if she bared her soul and took responsibility, perhaps the venom between their families would finally dissipate. Perhaps things would finally calm down.
The drive toward the financial district filled Lane with a sickening, razor-sharp nervousness. The massive, glass-and-steel skyscraper belonging to Olivia’s father towered over the city streets with an elegant, imposing arrogance.
Lane swallowed the lump of anxiety in her throat before stepping into the grand, marble-clad lobby.
The corporate receptionist behind the desk immediately recognized her face, her professional smile faltering into something noticeably tense. "Mrs. Blackwood."
Lane forced a small, dignified smile onto her pale face. "I’d like to see my uncle, please. Tell him I am downstairs."
The receptionist hesitated slightly, her eyes flickering to Lane’s midsection before she quickly dialed an internal extension. After a brief, hushed conversation, she nodded tightly.
"Please wait a moment in the lounge."
Lane sat quietly on the leather sofa, her hands resting over her lap as a heavy anxiety slowly tightened its coils inside her chest like a vise. Minutes felt like hours. Eventually, the executive secretary returned, her expression cold.
"He will see you now, Mrs. Blackwood. Follow me."
Lane stood up carefully, smoothing her maternity jacket before following the woman into the private elevator and up to the top floor. By the time she finally stepped into the expansive corner office, her palms were entirely ice-cold.
Her uncle sat behind his massive, polished ebony desk, his posture rigid. The expression carved into his older features clearly communicated that he viewed her presence as an absolute stain on his day.
Lane stopped near the heavy glass doors, keeping her distance, her voice a soft murmur.
"Uncle."
He leaned back slowly in his executive leather chair, his eyes washing over her with a freezing, unmitigated contempt. "What on earth do you want, Lane?"
Lane lowered her gaze briefly, gathering every single shred of courage she had left in her reserves before looking up to meet his hostile eyes.
"I... I came here because I wanted to ask if I could speak to Olivia. If you could give me a way to contact her."
His expression hardened instantly, his jaw tightening until the bone flexed beneath his skin. "Why?"
Lane swallowed softly, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts. "I just want to speak with her, Uncle. Face to face. To explain."
A bitter, utterly mocking laugh suddenly escaped his lips, a harsh sound that echoed sharply against the glass walls of the office. "What?" He stood up slowly, towering over his desk as he stared down at her like she was something wretched.
"Has your conscience finally decided to return to you, Lane? Is that what this is?"
Lane’s chest tightened painfully, the oxygen leaving her lungs. "Uncle, please, I only want—"
"Have you finally realized that Ethan will never, under any circumstances, love you?" her uncle sneered, his voice dropping into a venomous hiss.
"Have you finally clued into the fact that Olivia is the only woman who has ever held a permanent place in his heart?"
The words landed like physical knives, slicing straight through the fragile armor she had spent months building. Lane lowered her trembling hands slowly, protectively framing her stomach beneath her coat. Still—she forced herself to maintain her composure, her voice remarkably calm despite the agony inside.
"I know what I did," Lane whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I know I hurt Olivia deeply."
"You destroyed her life!" he roared, slamming a fist down onto the ebony wood, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot.
Lane immediately shook her head weakly, her vision blurring. "I never, ever meant for things to happen this way. I never wanted to hurt her."
"But you still slithered your way into her bed, didn’t you? You still slept with her fiancé."
Lane’s face turned entirely, deathly pale in an instant. The crushing weight of the shame never became easier to bear when it was shouted aloud in the light of day. She looked down at the polished floorboards, unable to withstand the burning hatred in his eyes.
"I came here to apologize," she whispered shakily. "To take the blame."
Her uncle scoffed coldly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Apologize? Do you honestly think a pathetic apology repairs the damage you’ve done to our family name?"
Lane nodded shakily, a heavy, desperate truth finally breaking past her lips. "And maybe... maybe to find a way to leave Ethan. To end this arrangement entirely."
An abrupt, heavy silence filled the massive office, the ambient hum of the city outside fading into nothingness.
Then, surprisingly—her uncle nodded slowly, a dark, satisfied glint appearing in his cruel eyes.
"Well. At least you finally recognize the correct course of action. That is exactly what you should do." His lips curled into a bitter, triumphant smirk. "In fact, Ethan has already communicated something remarkably similar to me during our last corporate call."
Lane’s head snapped up immediately, her heart stopping dead in her chest. "What? What did he say?"
"He made it explicitly clear, Lane," her uncle continued coldly, savoring the look of pure devastation on her face.
"The exact moment Olivia steps foot back into this city, he is going to dump you without a single shred of hesitation. He is going to cast you aside like the temporary inconvenience you are."
Lane felt something vital, something fragile deep inside her chest crack painfully in two.
Her breathing became uneven instantly, her lungs seizing as she stared at him in utter horror. But her uncle wasn’t anywhere near finished.
"You should have thought much better before you decided to steal your cousin’s fiancé, Lane," he barked, stepping around the perimeter of his desk to approach her like a predator.
Lane shook her head weakly, backing up half a step until her spine pressed against the glass doors. "I didn’t steal him... it wasn’t like that..."
"And now look at you," he spat, his gaze dropping toward her stomach with an unmitigated, sickening cruelty. "Walking around, carrying a bastard child."
Lane froze completely, every muscle in her body turning to solid ice. The brutal, unforgivable word hit her so incredibly hard she physically flinched, her hand pressing hard against her womb as if she could shield her baby from the sound of his voice.
"It is entirely clear to everyone that your parents failed to raise you with a single ounce of propriety," he added dismissively, turning his back on her.
Immediately—something deep within Lane’s shattered composure finally snapped.
"Don’t you dare drag my parents into this!"
Her voice shook violently, cracking under the absolute weight of her rage and pain. It was the very first time she had ever raised her voice in that building, the first time she sounded genuinely, fiercely defensive.
Her uncle slowly turned around, his features only growing colder, entirely unmoved by her outburst. "Then perhaps you should have acted like a proper, respectable daughter instead of a disgrace."
Tears burned fiercely, blindingly behind Lane’s eyes now, hot and heavy. Still—she refused to let them fall here. She refused to cry a single tear in front of this man, in this hostile room, stripped of her dignity.
Her uncle walked back behind his massive desk with slow, methodical steps before speaking one final time, his voice dripping with an absolute, chilling finality.
"Prepare yourself, Lane. Because the clock is ticking."
Lane stood frozen near the threshold, her entire body trembling as she stared at him.
"Because the exact day Olivia returns to us..." His gaze dropped toward her stomach one last time, filled with a sickening promise of abandonment.
"You’ll be raising that bastard child entirely alone in the dark."
Lane’s heart dropped completely into a bottomless, freezing void. For one agonizing, terrifying second—she genuinely forgot how to draw breath.
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