Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 30: Chapter 30

Friday morning arrived not with light, but with a heavy, suffocating grayness.

Lane woke slowly beneath the mountain of soft blankets, feeling utterly exhausted. It wasn’t merely the physical toll of her body working to create a new life anymore; it was a profound, spiritual exhaustion that seemed to seep into her very bones.

The traumatic events of the previous evening kept replaying in her mind like a broken film strip, cruel and relentless, no matter how desperately she tried to push them away. Ethan’s cutting accusations. The absolute, unyielding coldness that had frozen his dark eyes. The casual, devastating way he had spoken about her parents—the two people who had given her nothing but unconditional love.

Lane slowly sat up in the center of the massive bed, her gaze fixed quietly on the smooth linen blanket covering her legs.

The jagged wound beneath her left foot stung faintly with the movement, a sharp reminder of the shattering glass.

After cleaning the blood away herself in the dead of night, refusing to awaken the staff or call a doctor, she had wrapped it carefully with clean bandages before finally sinking into a fitful sleep. Thankfully, the shard hadn’t sliced too deeply. Still—putting any weight on it hurt.

Lane drew a slow, deliberate breath before swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress.

The master suite was entirely empty.

Ethan had already left for the day. Or perhaps he had never returned to the bed at all after her quiet retreat from the kitchen. At this point, she no longer had the energy to keep track of his absences. The boundary lines were drawn, and they were absolute.

After washing her face and dressing with immense care, Lane managed to make her way downstairs quietly, holding onto the banister to keep the pressure off her heel.

The morning shift of maids greeted her with their usual warmth, though their eyes were filled with an explicit, hushed caution after the explosion they had surely heard last night.

"Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood."

"Morning," Lane replied softly.

Clara, who was setting down a fresh pitcher of juice, immediately noticed the slight, guarded limp in Lane’s steps. Her brow furrowed with immediate concern. "Your foot... is it still hurting badly, ma’am?"

Lane forced a small, reassuring smile to her lips, smoothing down her skirt. "It’s okay, Clara. Truly. Just a little tender."

She walked toward the marble island counter, reaching into her cardigan pocket to pull out a neatly folded piece of paper.

"Clara?"

"Yes, Mrs. Blackwood?"

"Can you do me a favor and purchase a few specific items for me while you’re out on the supply run later today?"

"Of course I can."

Lane handed her the detailed shopping list. Clara scanned the items briefly before nodding confidently. "I’ll make sure to find everything on here. Don’t you worry."

Lane then opened her purse, pulling out several crisp, high-denominator bills and handing them over to the maid. Clara blinked in utter confusion, her hands hovering in the air between them.

"What is this for, ma’am?"

Lane lowered her eyes quietly, staring at the marble pattern. "For the shopping, Clara. To cover the cost of the items."

"Mrs. Blackwood, you don’t have to do that," Clara insisted gently, her voice dropping into a respectful whisper. "Everything for this household goes directly on the corporate account. Mr. Blackwood’s business handles all of it."

"It’s fine," Lane interrupted softly, her voice carrying a fragile but unyielding weight as she forced another soft smile. "Just... please use my personal money for this. I prefer it."

Clara hesitated for a long beat, recognizing the look of quiet, unmovable pride in the young woman’s eyes before she carefully accepted the cash. Something about Lane’s expression today felt unusually heavy, a deep-seated sadness that no amount of forced smiles could mask.

After a quiet, lonely breakfast, Lane slowly began getting ready for her prenatal appointment.

She chose a simple, loose-fitting cotton dress that didn’t constrict her waist, and paired it with soft, flat slip-on shoes to accommodate her bandaged foot. She applied minimal makeup, just enough to bring a touch of color back to her pale, exhausted complexion.

By the time she finally grabbed her purse from the entryway console, a familiar, agonizing nervousness had already begun creeping back into her chest, tightening its grip around her lungs.

She still didn’t know whether Ethan would actually show up.

After the sheer, toxic vitriol that had passed between them last night, after the way she had flung his hypocrisy back in his face—maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he had decided that fulfilling his mother’s command wasn’t worth the discomfort of standing beside her. Still... some stubborn, helplessly hopeful part of her soul continued waiting for his car to pull up anyway.

Giving up on the wait, Lane carefully climbed into her own vehicle, maneuvering out of the grand driveway and merging into the bustling city traffic toward the hospital.

The city looked incredibly busy today. Crowded. Noisy. Full of people rushing toward their own vibrant lives. Yet, despite the chaos surrounding her, Lane had never felt more profoundly, utterly alone than she did inside the quiet cabin of her car.

When she finally pulled into the parking structure of the elite maternity clinic and walked inside, the familiar sight of the waiting room brought a sharp wave of emotion crashing over her.

Couples were everywhere. Husbands were sitting close to their wives, gently rubbing their backs or holding their hands. There were excited, hushed conversations about nursery colors and baby names. Soft, bubbling laughter filled the beautifully lit waiting area, creating an atmosphere of pure, eager anticipation.

Lane lowered her eyes, a sharp pang of envy and grief piercing her heart before she quietly took a solitary seat in the corner. Her hand instinctively came to rest against the fabric over her stomach, a protective shield.

"He’ll come," she whispered softly to herself, her voice a fragile vow in the dark. "He said he would."

Minutes stretched into a grueling half-hour. Then a full hour.

Lane checked the main sliding glass doors repeatedly, her posture shifting every single time the mechanism whirred open. Every time a tall man in a dark suit walked through the entrance, her heartbeat jumped violently against her ribs, only to drop like a stone when a stranger’s face materialized.

Ethan never appeared.

Eventually, a nurse in crisp scrubs stepped out into the waiting room, reading from a tablet. "Lane Blackwood?"

Lane quickly stood up, ignoring the sting in her foot, before forcing a polite, small smile onto her face. "I’m here. But... would it be alright if someone else went ahead of me? I’m still waiting on my husband. He must be caught in traffic."

The nurse looked slightly confused, her eyes softening with a touch of pity that Lane absolutely despised, but she nodded politely. "Of course, Mrs. Blackwood. We can slide the next appointment in. Just let us know when he arrives."

Lane sat back down in her corner chair. Still waiting. Still hoping.

Another thirty minutes passed. Then another twenty.

The vibrant waiting room slowly emptied out, one happy couple at a time, until the lively conversations faded into nothingness. The collective excitement around her vanished little by little until eventually—Lane was the only person left sitting in the row of chairs.

The heavy, clinical silence around her suddenly felt entirely unbearable.

Lane reached into her purse, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out her phone.

For one wild, desperate second, she actually forgot the reality of her situation. She unlocked the screen, intending to dial his number, to ask if he was close.

Then, the memory returned with a sickening, painful clarity.

*Blocked.*

Ethan still had her number blocked from the day he had stormed out to his penthouse. He couldn’t receive her texts even if he wanted to.

Lane lowered the phone, staring down at her own pale hands in her lap. It was so incredibly foolish of her. So pathetic to keep harboring a hope that he would treat her like a real wife, even for an hour.

Eventually, the nurse approached her again, her footsteps soft on the linoleum. "Mrs. Blackwood?"

Lane slowly looked up, her expression a blank mask.

"We’re ready for you now, dear. The doctor is waiting."

Lane forced herself to stand up, smoothing her dress before following the woman quietly into the examination room.

The OBGYN smiled warmly the moment Lane stepped through the door, her professional demeanor instantly radiating comfort. "Good morning, Lane! How are we feeling today?"

Lane managed a small, tired smile as she took her seat. "Just... very tired lately."

The doctor chuckled softly, checking the chart.

"That is completely normal for this stage of the pregnancy. Your body is doing an incredible amount of heavy lifting right now."

The appointment continued peacefully afterward, a stark contrast to the emotional warfare waiting for Lane outside the hospital walls. The doctor applied the warm gel to her stomach, and within seconds, the rhythmic, rapid sound of a tiny heartbeat filled the room, steady and strong.

The baby was perfectly healthy. Growing exactly as it should.

Lane listened quietly, her eyes locked onto the black-and-white monitor as tears gathered at the corners of her vision. The miracle of that tiny sound amazed her every single time she heard it. For a brief, beautiful moment—all the agonizing pain, the insults, and the betrayal faded into background noise.

Because despite the storm raging around her, this baby already felt like the only pure, untainted thing left in her entire life.

As Lane was wiping the gel from her skin, the doctor’s eyes caught sight of the thick white gauze wrapped around her left foot. Her brow furrowed in immediate professional concern.

"What happened there, Lane?"

Lane glanced downward, pulling her hem over the bandage. "Oh... it’s nothing. I just stepped on a piece of broken glass in the kitchen last night."

The doctor frowned slightly, leaning down to carefully check the edges of the dressing to ensure there was no sign of infection.

"You need to be exceptionally careful right now, Lane. Your balance is going to start shifting as the baby grows, and an injury like this can really compromise your mobility. No more bare feet around broken glass, okay?"

Lane smiled faintly, a hollow sound. "I know. I’ll be careful."

After the appointment concluded, Lane drove straight back to the mansion, bypassing the city entirely. She felt completely, utterly exhausted now—drained of every single ounce of energy she possessed. Emotionally. Physically.

Everything. She didn’t even bother stopping anywhere else today; all she wanted was the sanctuary of her room, some simple food, and sleep.

As she navigated the familiar streets home, one painful, burning thought kept replaying quietly inside her mind: It was foolish of me to think he would come. So incredibly foolish.

By the time evening arrived, Lane had already showered, letting the steaming water wash away the heaviness weighing on her shoulders, and changed into a pair of comfortable, oversized clothes.

Now, she sat quietly on the edge of the bed in the darkening master suite, slowly towel-drying her damp, dark hair. The room remained beautifully peaceful, wrapped in a deep, undisturbed silence.

Then suddenly—the heavy bedroom door was pushed open with a quiet click.

Lane instinctively looked up, her fingers freezing instantly around the cotton towel.

Ethan walked into the room.

For a long, tense moment, neither of them spoke a single word. The silence stretched between them like a physical barrier. Ethan’s dark, unreadable gaze slowly landed on her silhouette—and it stayed there.

Lane suddenly became acutely, overwhelmingly aware of everything in the space. Her damp hair framing her pale face. Her loose, comfortable clothes. The bare expanse of her legs showing beneath the oversized shirt she wore. The quiet, heavy intimacy of the bedroom at twilight.

Ethan stared at her significantly longer than usual tonight. His eyes traced her form with an intensity that caused her heartbeat to instantly become wildly uneven.

Then finally, he let out a low, quiet sigh, his shoulders dropping by a fraction. "I got stuck in traffic."

Lane blinked softly, her mind struggling to process the statement. For a second, she genuinely didn’t understand what he was referring to.

Then, realization slowly hit her like a wave. The appointment. He was explaining why he hadn’t shown up at the maternity clinic.

Lane lowered her eyes quietly toward her lap, her voice a soft, flat murmur. "Oh."

That single, entirely soft response somehow made Ethan’s chest tighten strangely, a sharp pang of discomfort hitting his ribs. Because she didn’t sound angry. She didn’t sound disappointed or vindictive. She just sounded profoundly tired.

Like she had already fully expected him to break his promise anyway.

Ethan lifted his hands, slowly loosening his silk tie while watching her every move in the dim light. His gaze briefly drifted downward, locking onto the clean white bandage wrapped around her bare foot, before traveling back up to her face.

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