Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The marriage certificate rested quietly at the center of the polished mahogany table, its crisp white pages illuminated beneath the cold, clinical overhead lights of Richard Vale’s private office.

The room felt unnaturally silent despite the number of people packed inside it. Outside the massive windows, rain poured steadily over the city, blurring the skyline into muted shades of gray. It was the kind of stormy weather Lane normally loved, yet today, even the rain felt heavy. Everything did.

Lane sat stiffly in the chair beside Ethan, her fingers tightly intertwined in her lap in a desperate bid to stop their trembling. She wore a simple, long-sleeved cream dress that Eleanor had chosen for her earlier that morning. It wasn’t bridal.

There were no flowers woven into her hair, no diamonds catching the light around her neck, and no delicate veil waiting somewhere nearby. Nothing about today resembled a wedding. No music played, no guests filled rows of seats, and no smiling photographers waited to capture happy memories.

Only immediate family occupied the room, their expressions solemn beneath the quiet, suffocating tension that hung in the atmosphere.

Across the room, Victor Blackwood stood near the fireplace speaking in hushed tones with Richard, while Catherine remained seated beside Eleanor, occasionally glancing toward Lane with soft concern hidden behind her careful composure. Nobody seemed to know what words were appropriate for a situation like this, precisely because there were none.

Lane stared blankly at the marriage certificate again. One signature—that was all it would take to change her entire life forever.

Beside her, Ethan remained completely motionless. He was a vision of monochrome precision: a black suit, a black watch, and a cold expression.

His gaze rested somewhere ahead, distant and unreadable, as though his mind existed far away from this room entirely. Since arriving earlier that afternoon, he had barely spoken more than a few words, answering questions only when strictly necessary.

The silence surrounding him felt almost intimidating. Lane had loved Ethan for years, but even now, she still struggled to understand him. He was the kind of man people admired from a safe distance because getting too close felt entirely impossible.

Everything about him was controlled with terrifying precision, from the calm, even tone of his voice to the unreadable look constantly resting in his dark eyes.

Today was no different. If anything, he seemed colder.

Lane lowered her gaze slowly, trying not to focus on the painful reality sitting right beside her. This was supposed to be the happiest day of a woman’s life; instead, she felt like she was attending the funeral of every dream she had ever chased.

The family lawyer cleared his throat politely, breaking the spell as he slid the documents slightly forward.

"Whenever you are ready."

Lane’s heartbeat quickened instantly, a sudden spike of panic hitting her chest. Nobody moved. The rain tapped softly against the glass while the tension thickened silently around them.

Then, Ethan reached for the pen first. There was no hesitation, no outward emotion, and not even a passing glance toward her. He simply picked up the expensive black fountain pen and signed his name across the paper with calm, practiced precision.

*Ethan Blackwood.*

The signature looked sharp and elegant against the white page—permanent and final. Lane stared at it quietly while something deeply painful twisted inside her chest.

Years ago, when she first realized she loved him, she used to imagine what it would feel like to become a part of his life someday. Back then, her dreams were embarrassingly innocent: a real confession, a wedding filled with warmth and laughter, and Ethan smiling softly at her the way he occasionally smiled at Olivia. She used to imagine love. Not this. Never this.

The pen was placed back on the mahogany table beside her, its metallic click echoing loudly in the quiet. Lane swallowed hard before reaching for it carefully, her fingers trembling the moment the cool metal touched her skin. The room suddenly felt smaller, hotter, and infinitely harder to breathe inside.

*Lane Vale.* That name existed for only a few more seconds. Her chest tightened painfully as she slowly lowered the nib toward the paper and signed.

*Lane Blackwood.*

The moment the ink settled across the page, an unbearable heaviness washed through her completely. It was done. She was his wife now, and yet, Ethan still felt impossibly far away.

The lawyer nodded professionally, organizing the documents back into his leather briefcase. "The marriage is now legally registered."

Nobody congratulated them. Nobody clapped. Silence remained hanging heavily through the office while Lane stared blankly at her own signature. The unfamiliar surname looked strange attached to her first name, almost as though it belonged to someone else entirely.

Catherine finally stood first, her expression gentle despite the gravity surrounding everyone. She walked toward Lane slowly before placing a hand lightly against her shoulder. "You should rest more," she said softly, her voice laced with maternal protectiveness. "Stress isn’t good for the baby."

Lane forced herself to nod politely, her throat tight. "Thank you."

Catherine’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, a flash of profound sadness flickering briefly across her face. It was obvious she pitied Lane. Everyone probably did.

Eleanor approached next, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Lane’s face with a gentle, sweeping motion. "You haven’t eaten properly all day, sweetie."

"I’m not hungry."

"You still need to eat."

Lane gave another quiet nod, despite knowing that any food would probably just make her nauseous again. Across the room, Ethan remained standing near the table while Victor spoke quietly to him about media arrangements and public statements. His posture stayed perfectly composed, his expression unreadable as always. Not once since signing the papers had he looked toward Lane. Not even a glance. The realization hurt more than she wanted to admit.

Slowly, Lane stood up from her chair, suddenly desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere inside the office. The cream dress felt far too tight around her chest. "I’m going upstairs for a moment," she whispered softly.

Eleanor immediately noticed her daughter’s ghost-pale face. "Do you want me to come with you, Lane?"

Lane shook her head quickly, backing toward the door. "I’m okay."

It was a blatant lie, but everyone allowed her the illusion anyway. Lane left the office quietly, the sound of the storm growing louder as she walked through the silent, cavernous hallways of the mansion.

The house felt unfamiliar suddenly, despite the fact that she had grown up inside these walls. Everything had changed within a span of forty-eight hours. Her hand instinctively drifted toward her stomach as she climbed the staircase slowly. A baby. The word still felt entirely unreal in her mind.

Lane entered her bedroom, closing the heavy wooden door softly behind her. The silence wrapping around the room felt immediately overwhelming. For several seconds, she simply stood there staring blankly ahead before finally sinking onto the edge of the bed.

Then, the tears came—quiet, exhausted, and painfully restrained.

Lane covered her face with shaking hands while the emotions she had suppressed all day finally broke apart inside her chest. She was married.

Married to the man she loved more than anyone else on earth, yet nothing about it felt beautiful. Ethan did not love her; he barely even acknowledged her existence. And somewhere out there, Olivia was completely alone and heartbroken because of them. The guilt nearly crushed the remaining air from her lungs.

A soft, sudden knock interrupted her crying unexpectedly. Lane panicked, quickly wiping her face and smoothing down her dress. "Come in."

The door opened slowly, and Ethan entered.

Lane froze immediately. For a second, neither of them spoke. This was the first time they had been completely alone together since the scandal had exploded publicly.

Ethan closed the door behind him quietly before slipping one hand into his pocket. His expression remained cold and unreadable beneath the dim lighting of the bedroom.

Lane’s heartbeat became uneven instantly, hammering against her ribs.

He looked at her briefly before speaking in the same calm, detached tone he always used. "We’re leaving tonight."

That was it. There was no discussion about the marriage certificate downstairs, and no acknowledgment of the trauma that had just occurred. Only a clinical delivery of information.

Lane lowered her gaze slightly, her voice barely a whisper. "Leaving?"

"To my house."

*My house.* Not our house. The small, deliberate detail hurt more than it should have.

Lane nodded slowly, accepting her fate. "Okay."

Another painful silence followed. Ethan’s eyes drifted briefly toward the packed suitcase resting near the corner of the room before returning to her face.

"The staff already moved the rest of your things earlier today."

Lane felt another dull ache settle deep inside her chest. Everything was happening so quickly she barely had time to process the weight of it. Ethan remained standing rigidly near the threshold, as though he were unwilling to step any deeper into her personal space.

The emotional distance between them felt almost physical, like a concrete wall.

Gathering what little courage she had left, Lane finally looked up to meet his eyes properly. "Ethan..."

He waited silently, offering her nothing.

Her throat tightened painfully. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to explain, to tell him that she never intended for any of this to happen, that she never wanted to hurt Olivia, and that she had loved him long before that terrible, reckless night in the hotel.

But the words refused to leave her mouth because, deep down, she knew none of it would change reality.

Ethan’s expression never shifted. "Be downstairs in twenty minutes."

He turned toward the door, his hand reaching for the brass handle. Lane’s chest tightened desperately as she watched him prepare to leave, the absolute abandonment of the gesture breaking through her fragile restraint.

"Do you hate me?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Ethan paused. It was only for a single second, but his hand froze on the doorknob. The rain continued falling heavily outside, filling the silence of the room once more.

Slowly, he turned his head to look back at her. His dark eyes remained impossible to read, devoid of anger but entirely empty.

"I don’t have the energy to think about anything right now," he said flatly.

Then, he opened the door and left.

The door clicked shut quietly behind him. Lane sat frozen on the edge of the mattress, staring at the empty doorway while his final words echoed painfully inside her chest.

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