Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 36: Chapter 36

The iron gates of the sprawling estate creaked open, admitting Ethan’s sleek vehicle into a driveway he once knew by heart. This house had once felt like a second home, a place associated with a future he thought was set in stone. Now, it felt like entering a mausoleum.

As he stepped out of the car, the front doors opened, and Olivia’s parents stepped onto the porch. Rebecca’s face lit up with a genuine, heavy warmth, and beside her, her husband offered a solemn, welcoming nod.

"Ethan, dear," Rebecca said, stepping forward to pull him into a tight embrace. "You have no idea how wonderful it is to see you."

"Good to see you, Aunt Rebecca. Uncle Arthur," Ethan replied, his voice softening, stripped of the corporate armor he wore for the rest of the world.

Arthur patted his shoulder heavily. "We appreciate you coming, Ethan. We know how busy the firm is. But looking at you... it’s clear. You must really love Olivia to still keep us so close to your heart after everything."

Ethan’s chest tightened, a shadow of guilt crossing his features, but he managed a stiff nod. They led him inside, the interior of the house meticulously preserved, almost frozen in time.

Soon, they were seated at the grand dining table. Rebecca hovered over him, serving a plate of rich, traditional roast. "I hope you like the food, Ethan. I know it isn’t Olivia who cooked it tonight, but I tried to replicate her style."

Ethan took a bite. The flavor profile hit his tongue, and a sudden, violent jolt of recognition traveled straight to his brain. It was savory, rich, and distinctly familiar. But his mind didn’t picture Olivia.

Instead, he pictured Lane.

He remembered the lunches he had spent months ignoring, the dinners packed neatly in insulated boxes that he had recently started consuming at his desk. Lane’s cooking tasted almost identical to this. A faint, unbidden smile touched his lips at the realization—a quiet, domestic warmth blooming in his chest before he could stop it.

Before he could take another bite, the sharp vibration of his phone against his thigh broke the atmosphere. He pulled it out, seeing his mother’s name flashing on the screen.

"Excuse me," Ethan muttered, stepping away from the table to answer. "Mom."

"Ethan, where on earth are you?"

Catherine’s voice cut through the line, sharp and commanding.

"I’m out," he replied vaguely, keeping his eyes on the dining room doorway.

"Well, you need to wrap up whatever it is you are doing and hurry home," Catherine sighed, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"Lane has spent the last two hours preparing a full dinner for you. Don’t you dare make her wait."

Ethan’s grip on the phone tightened. A complex knot of emotion twisted in his gut. "Okay," he murmured. "I’m finishing up now."

He returned to the table, politely finishing the meal before bidding the grieving parents expressionless goodbyes. They escorted him out to the porch, showering him with parting blessings, grateful for his presence.

It was only when the car door opened that Ethan realized his pocket was light. His phone was still inside.

"Wait here," Ethan told his driver, turning back toward the grand house.

He slipped through the front door quietly, not wanting to cause a stir. The dining room was empty, but he spotted one of the veteran family maids clearing the plates. His phone sat on the sideboard. As he reached for it, the thought that had been nagging at his mind since dinner spilled out.

"Mary," Ethan said quietly, causing the old maid to startle. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Mr. Blackwood."

"Olivia’s cooking... did she always use these specific herbs for the roast? The ones Mrs. Rebecca used tonight?"

Mary looked at him, a sudden, bewildered expression crossing her wrinkled face. She paused, looking around to ensure her employers were out of earshot, before letting out a soft, incredulous chuckle.

"Mr. Ethan... Miss Olivia didn’t even know how to boil an egg. She never cooked a day in her life. Anything she ever claimed to make for you was prepared right here by the kitchen staff."

The words hit Ethan like a physical blow. The room seemed to tilt slightly. Olivia had never cooked. The memory he had been chasing, the standard he had been holding Lane against... was a complete lie. The taste he associated with Olivia was just standard estate catering. Lane hadn’t been mimicking anyone; her food was entirely her own.

Without another word, Ethan gave a curt, distracted goodbye and walked out into the night, his mind in absolute chaos.

The next morning, the master bedroom was silent. Lane sat near the window, a book resting untouched in her lap as she stared out at the gardens. Her lips still felt faint traces of the fire from the night before, her mind completely unmoored by Ethan’s silent, beastly intensity.

A sharp knock broke her reverie. The door opened, and Aunt Catherine stepped inside, her eyes bright with purpose.

"Get dressed, darling," Catherine ordered, a beautiful silk scarf tied around her neck. "We are going out. There is a major corporate gala at the end of the week, and I am taking you along. We need to find you the perfect dress."

Lane blinked, taken aback. "A gala? Aunt Catherine, I don’t know if I’m up for—"

"No arguments," Catherine smiled warmly, leaving no room for retreat. "You are a Blackwood now. It’s time the city sees you. Light makeup, something comfortable. Go on."

Lane offered a faint smile. "Okay."

An hour later, Lane sat in the back of the luxury town car beside Catherine. She watched the city buildings roll past, expecting to pull up to a high-end boutique. Instead, the car slowed to a halt in front of the familiar, towering glass facade of the Blackwood Corporate Headquarters.

Lane frowned, turning to the older woman. "Aunt Catherine? What are we doing here?"

"Ethan is coming along too," Catherine stated casually, checking her compact mirror. "He needs to pick out a coordinating suit. A husband and wife must look unified."

Panic flared in Lane’s chest. After the wild, unspoken boundary they had crossed last night, she wasn’t ready to face him, especially not in his seat of power. "I... I’ll stay in the car," she said quickly, her hand reaching for the door handle. "You can just bring him down."

"Nonsense," Catherine scoffed, grabbing Lane’s arm with surprising strength and pulling her out into the crisp afternoon air. "You are his wife, not his driver. Inside we go."

Lane had no choice but to follow. Catherine pulled her through the grand lobby, past the whispering receptionists, and straight up the private executive elevator. The doors slid open to the top floor, where Ethan’s personal assistant immediately stood up from his desk.

"Mrs. Blackwood, Madam Catherine," the assistant greeted, bowing his head.

"He’s expecting us," Catherine said

smoothly, bypassing the desk entirely. "We’ll just go right in."

Before Lane could protest, Catherine pushed the heavy mahogany doors open.

Inside the vast, minimalist office, Ethan was hovering over a mountain of files, his brow furrowed in deep agitation. Without looking up, his voice cut through the room like a whip. "Didn’t I explicitly state that I wanted absolutely no disruptions for the next two hours?"

"Even from your mother?" Catherine challenged, her voice dripping with sweet authority.

Ethan’s pen froze. He snapped his head up, his dark eyes instantly locking onto the two women. The moment his gaze landed on Lane’s pale, lightly made-up face, his expression shifted, a sudden, heavy tension dynamic filling the room.

"Mom," Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave as he straightened his spine.

"Sit down, Lane," Catherine instructed, gesturing to the plush leather sofa facing his desk. "I am going to go look around ."

Lane’s eyes widened. The thought of being left entirely alone with Ethan in this room made her breath catch. "I’ll come with you, Aunt Catherine," she said quickly, taking a step backward.

"Nonsense, I won’t take long," Catherine smiled over her shoulder, exiting the room and closing the heavy doors firmly behind her.

Honestly Lane didn’t want to be near Ethan, yesterday Aunt Rebecca had sent her a picture of him at their house, when he had said that he was out.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Ethan stood behind his desk, his eyes boring into Lane like a physical weight. He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask her how she was feeling after the brutal intensity of the previous night. He just stared, his jaw rigid.

Lane nervously sat on the edge of the leather sofa, her fingers wrapping tightly around her purse.

Suddenly, the sharp, cheerful ring of her phone shattered the silence. Lane scrambled to pull it out, seeing Noah’s name on the screen. She hesitated, but under the weight of Ethan’s dark glare, she answered it just to break the tension.

"Noah?" she murmured.

"Hey, Lane," Noah’s warm, familiar voice came through the speaker, loud enough to echo slightly in the quiet office. "Where are you? I stopped by the mansion, but Clara said you were out."

"I’m... I’m at the office," Lane said softly, keeping her eyes fixed on her lap.

"Ethan’s office?" Noah asked, a slight shift in his tone. "Anyway, I wanted to bring you some of those pastries you liked. The cravings from the local bakery. How is the baby doing today?"

"The baby is fine, Noah. Everything is—"

*BANG.*

A violent, deafening crash echoed through the room.

Ethan had slammed his massive hand flat against the mahogany desk, the sheer force of the impact rattling the pens and files. He stood towering over his desk, his face dark with an absolute, terrifying rage, his eyes flashing like lightning.

"Quiet," Ethan hissed, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with a possessive fury that made the air turn to ice. "Hang up the phone."

Lane gasped, her entire body flinching at the sudden violence of his outburst. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear and confusion, seeing the raw, unhinged anger rolling off his shoulders.

Trembling, she lifted the phone back to her ear. "Noah... I’ll have to call you later," she whispered quickly, ending the call before her childhood friend could even respond, leaving the office trapped in a terrifying, volatile silence.

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