Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 31: Chapter 31

Saturday morning arrived with a strange, unfamiliar peace.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Lane woke up without a violent wave of nausea immediately attacking her stomach. She remained lying beneath the plush blankets for a few quiet seconds, her eyes tracing the pattern of the ceiling, almost suspicious of the sudden calmness.

Then slowly, a faint, genuine smile touched her lips. Maybe today would be an easier day to endure.

Beside her, the other side of the king-sized mattress was already cold and empty. Ethan had clearly woken up much earlier.

Lane sat up carefully, her hand instinctively brushing over her stomach through the fabric of her nightshirt.

The baby bump had become entirely impossible to hide now; it wasn’t massive yet, but it was perfectly rounded, a distinct protrusion that changed the silhouette of her body.

After showering and dressing in a soft, cream-colored oversized sweater and comfortable leggings, Lane grabbed her phone while walking downstairs slowly. Her foot had mostly healed from the deep cut, though a faint sting still pulsed through her heel whenever she stepped down too hard on the marble steps.

As she descended the grand staircase, she held her phone against her ear, a soft laugh bubbling up from her chest.

"Noah, you really didn’t have to bring all those different flavors," she murmured into the receiver.

On the other end of the line, Noah’s bright, cheerful laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Are you kidding? You literally sounded like you were dying on the phone when you mentioned mango pastries."

Lane smiled sheepishly, a faint flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. "I was craving them so badly."

"And strawberry too, if I recall."

"And vanilla," she added, counting on her fingers.

"And chocolate." Noah chuckled warmly. "You’re entirely impossible, Lane."

Lane laughed softly, the heavy weight that usually sat on her chest lifting just a fraction as she continued down the stairs. "I’ll pay you back the second you get here."

"No."

"Yes, Noah."

"No."

Lane rolled her eyes playfully, a rare spark of life in her eyes. "You’re incredibly annoying."

"And yet, you still call me the absolute second you crave something sweet."

Lane smiled despite herself. Because no matter how dark her world became, Noah somehow always possessed the ability to make things feel lighter.

"I’m turning up the driveway right now anyway," Noah said, the sound of his car engine humming in the background. "Open the door."

Lane blinked softly, her steps slowing on the landing. "Wait, you’re already here?"

"Yep. Armed with sugar."

Lane’s face immediately brightened, her pace hurrying slightly as she approached the main entrance foyer. "Okay, wait, I’m coming."

But the exact moment her feet hit the bottom floor—her steps slowed to an abrupt, jarring halt.

Ethan was there. And so was Aunt Catherine.

Lane blinked in profound surprise. Ethan was seated at the sprawling mahogany dining table, a cup of black coffee steaming in front of him, while Catherine sat directly across from him, casually scrolling through something on her tablet. Lane hadn’t expected Ethan to still be home; it was already past ten in the morning, an hour when he was usually deep within his corporate fortress.

For one brief, suffocating second, Lane froze on the threshold. Then, squeezing her fingers around her phone, she forced herself to act entirely normal.

"Morning," she offered quietly.

Catherine looked up instantly, her elegant features smoothing into a warm, genuine smile. "Good morning, darling."

Ethan’s sharp, dark eyes briefly lifted toward her from across the rim of his coffee cup. It was just a single, passing glance. Yet, it was still more than enough to make Lane suddenly, painfully aware of herself again. Her messy, loosely air-dried hair.

The massive, drowning knit of her oversized sweater. The lingering softness in her voice from her conversation with Noah moments ago.

Lane quickly looked away, breaking the eye contact before walking directly toward the massive front doors.

The moment she pulled the heavy mahogany open, Noah stood on the grand porch, holding several premium bakery boxes stacked high, alongside a carrier of iced drinks.

"Your morning cravings have officially arrived," he announced with a wide grin.

Lane’s pale face instantly lit up, a brilliant, radiant expression taking over her features. "You are officially the best person on earth."

Noah laughed softly, stepping over the threshold. "I know."

The intoxicatingly sweet, warm scent of fresh pastries immediately reached her nose, and Lane genuinely looked happy for the first time in days. Without thinking too much about the optics, overwhelmed by a sudden surge of relief, she stepped forward and threw her arms around Noah, hugging him quickly.

"Thank you," she whispered against his shoulder.

Noah smiled gently, stepping into the embrace and patting the back of her head lightly with a protective, brotherly fondness.

"You’re very welcome, Lane."

Deep inside the dining area—Ethan’s expression darkened almost instantaneously.

His eyes remained fixed unyieldingly on the open doorway. On Noah. On the effortless, completely natural way Lane had wrapped her arms around him without a single ounce of the fear or hesitation she always showed in his presence.

Something toxic, heavy, and intensely unpleasant twisted sharply inside Ethan’s chest, choking his breath.

Aunt Catherine slowly lowered her digital tablet, her sharp, perceptive eyes observing the rigid line of Ethan’s jaw with immense quietness. Interesting, she thought, a spark of amusement lighting her gaze.

Meanwhile, out in the foyer, Noah carefully handed the stacked boxes into Lane’s waiting hands. "I made sure they gave me extra mango ones. The baker said they were fresh out of the oven."

Lane looked genuinely excited, cradling the boxes like treasure. "Oh my God, thank you."

Noah laughed, his eyes dropping briefly to her sweater. "You really are pregnant, aren’t you? The pastry obsession is real."

Lane smiled brightly, her cheeks pink. "I told you I was craving them."

Noah checked his luxury watch a second later, letting out a faint sigh of regret. "Look, I have to run. I’ve got a venture capital meeting across town in twenty minutes."

Lane nodded softly, her tone shifting into something gentle. "Okay. Drive safely, Noah."

"Tske care." Noah glanced briefly past her shoulder into the depths of the mansion, his eyes landing directly on Ethan’s frozen silhouette for one tense, silent second.

The atmosphere in the foyer immediately became slightly awkward. Neither man spoke a single word across the distance. Still—the sheer, unadulterated tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Noah finally gave Lane one last, reassuring smile before turning back toward his sports car.

Lane watched him drive down the winding driveway before slowly closing the heavy front door, the click echoing through the high ceilings. Then, she turned around.

And immediately, she felt the oppressive weight of the tension hanging over the dining room.

Aunt Catherine sat calmly in her chair, watching both her and Ethan with a carefully calculated expression. Ethan remained entirely silent near the edge of the table, his fingers curled tightly around his coffee cup, his expression looking vastly colder than it had ten minutes ago.

Lane swallowed softly, her fingers tightening around the cardboard pastry boxes as she slowly walked back toward them.

Catherine was the first to break the silence, her voice smooth and conversational. "Who was that, Lane?"

Lane paused slightly on the edge of the rug. "Oh." She forced a faint, polite smile. "That’s Noah. An old friend of mine."

Catherine nodded slowly, tapping her chin. "The billionaire boy from the tech sector?"

Lane blinked softly before letting out a nervous, little laugh. "Yes. That’s him."

Catherine hummed thoughtfully, her eyes darting to the boxes. "And he brought all of this to the house personally?"

Lane nodded, keeping her gaze lowered. "I... I wasn’t feeling quite well enough to go out to a bakery today, so I asked him if he could bring my cravings over."

Aunt Catherine slowly turned her head toward Ethan. The movement was deliberate, sharp. Then, very calmly, with a voice dripping in pointed maternal authority, she asked:

"Ethan, why exactly is another man buying cravings for your wife?"

An absolute, suffocating silence instantly filled the entire dining pavilion.

Lane froze completely, the blood draining from her face.

Ethan’s jaw tightened faintly, a dangerous glint entering his dark eyes as he stared at his aunt. "mom—"

But Catherine wasn’t anywhere near finished. "She is pregnant, Ethan," her tone remained perfectly calm, but every single word was loaded with a cutting rebuke.

"She is carrying your child. She should be craving things from her husband, and her husband should be the one providing them. Not another man."

Lane immediately looked profoundly uncomfortable, her cheeks burning with humiliation. "Aunt Catherine, it’s truly okay, I just—Noah was already in the neighborhood, it’s no trouble—"

Catherine waved her hand gently, cutting off her excuses with a soft but firm gesture. "No, Lane. It is not fine." Then, she turned her piercing gaze back toward her son. "You should be the one doing these small things for her, Ethan. It is your responsibility."

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