Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 37: Chapter 37

Lane decided to keep entirely quiet after that. The sudden, violent echo of Ethan slamming his hand down on the desk still vibrated in the small of her back. She sat perfectly still on the edge of the leather sofa, her fingers laced tightly together in her lap, desperately wanting to avoid doing anything that might disturb him further or provoke another unhinged outburst.

The minutes dragged on like hours. Aunt Catherine had been gone for far too long, and Lane desperately wanted to leave the room to find her, but she realized with a sinking heart that she had no idea where the design showrooms were located in this massive corporate tower.

Exhaustion, heavy and unyielding from the brutal intensity of the previous night, began to weigh down her eyelids. The plush leather of the executive sofa was warm. She leaned her head back against the cushioned armrest, telling herself she only meant to close her eyes for a single minute.

When Lane finally woke up, the room was painted in the soft, muted tones of the late afternoon.

She blinked, momentarily disoriented, before realizing she was no longer sitting upright. Someone had laid her down carefully across the length of the sofa, and a soft, supportive pillow had been placed gently beneath her head. As she sat up, a heavy, dark fabric slid off her shoulders and pooled around her lap.

It was a coat. Ethan’s tailored suit coat.

Lane froze, her heart stumbling in her chest. She looked around the vast office, but the executive chair behind the mahogany desk was empty. His sleek laptop was closed.

Did Ethan put this on me? she thought, a fragile, brilliant warmth blooming in her chest.

A small, genuine smile touched her lips. Driven by an impulse she couldn’t control, she lifted the heavy lapels of the coat to her face, closing her eyes as she inhaled deeply. The fabric was saturated with his distinct scent—the intoxicating blend of premium cedarwood, amber, and the faint, residual heat of his skin.

The heavy office door clicked open quietly. Lane jumped slightly, dropping the coat into her lap as Ethan’s personal assistant walked into the room. He was carrying a small silver tray holding a tall glass of warm milk and a neatly sliced piece of vanilla sponge cake.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Blackwood," the assistant said, offering a warm, respectful bow.

Lane blinked, her voice a soft murmur.

"Thank you, Marcus... but how did you know I was awake? I didn’t call for anything."

Marcus offered a polite, knowing smile as he set the tray down on the low coffee table in front of her. "Mr. Blackwood has a live feed of his office suite on his secure tablet, ma’am. He notified me the moment you sat up." He bowed again. "Please enjoy."

Before Lane could ask where Ethan was, Marcus turned and quietly exited the room.

Left alone, Lane picked up the glass, the warm milk instantly soothing the lingering tightness in her throat. She took a small bite of the cake, the sweet flavor comforting her. As she ate, the distinct sound of running water suddenly echoed through the quiet room, coming from the private bathroom hidden behind the wood-paneled wall adjacent to the desk.

It was Ethan. He hadn’t left the floor; he was still around, likely just freshening up after hours of grueling back-to-back corporate meetings.

A moment later, the bathroom door clicked open. Ethan stepped out into the office, rolling up his dark shirt sleeves. The moment his sharp eyes scanned the room, they landed directly on Lane—who was currently holding his suit coat back up to her face, caught entirely in the act of sniffing his collar.

Lane dropped the coat immediately, her face exploding into a deep, agonizing crimson flush. "I’m... I’m sorry," she stammered, frantically smoothing the fabric over her knees.

At the exact same moment, Ethan’s deep voice cut through the space.

"You’re awake."

An awkward, heavy silence settled over them for a fraction of a second. Lane quickly cleared her throat, standing up from the sofa and carefully setting his coat aside. "Shall we go?" she asked, looking anywhere but at his face.

"Yes," Ethan replied, his expression returning to its usual unreadable, stoic mask. "We’ll be going together."

He picked up his wallet and keys from the desk, stepping out of the office first. Lane followed a pace behind his broad shoulders.

As they walked through the executive lobby, Marcus looked up from his computer, offering a kind, supportive smile. Lane felt a wave of gratitude and instinctively waved back, a soft smile breaking across her face.

Without warning, Ethan stopped dead in his tracks.

Lane, who was looking toward Marcus, didn’t notice the sudden halt. Her front collided directly against the solid, unyielding wall of Ethan’s back.

"Oh! Sorry," she gasped, taking a hasty step backward, her hands instinctively rising to stabilize herself.

Ethan didn’t turn around to check on her. His shoulders merely tensed, his jaw tightening as he continued walking forward, stepping into the private executive elevator. Lane slipped in right beside him, the heavy metal doors sliding shut, sealing them in a tense, claustrophobic quiet as the elevator began its descent.

A few floors down, the elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to the main corporate levels. A large group of Blackwood employees entered, chatting animatedly about the quarter’s end. Within seconds, the spacious car became tightly packed, forcing the employees backward and pushing Ethan directly into Lane’s personal space.

As the elevator doors began to close, one late employee squeezed through the gap at the last second, carelessly bumping his heavy briefcase straight toward Lane’s side.

Before the impact could occur, Ethan’s veiny, large hand shot out in a blur. His long fingers wrapped securely around Lane’s waist, his grip firm and unyielding as he effortlessly pulled her closer against his chest, tucking her safely into the alcove of his body so nobody else could jostle or bump against her.

Lane’s breath hitched completely. She looked down at his large, dark hand resting possessively against her side, feeling the immense heat of his palm radiating through her silk clothes. Her heart hammered wildly as she looked up at his face, searching for a sign, but Ethan was staring straight ahead at the elevator doors, his expression completely frozen, cold, and entirely detached, as if he weren’t holding his world in his arms.

The elevator finally opened to the basement parking garage, and within twenty minutes, their luxury vehicle pulled up to the grand entrance of a high-end, appointment-only fashion boutique in the city’s elite district.

The moment they stepped through the glass doors, the familiar, elegant silhouette of Aunt Catherine came into view. She was sitting in a velvet chair, sipping espresso.

Seeing them walk in together—with Ethan still standing deceptively close to Lane—Catherine’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

She stood up, walking toward them with a radiant smile. "I decided to come ahead of you two," she said smoothly, before leaning slightly closer to Lane, deliberately catching her eye and giving her a slow, knowing wink.

Lane’s cheeks warmed.

She knew exactly what Catherine was doing—the older woman had intentionally orchestrated the entire office encounter to force them into the same space.

"Catherine, darling!" a voice called out from the showroom. A sophisticated, beautifully dressed woman in her late forties walked out from the back, her arms open.

"Margot, it’s wonderful to see you,"

Catherine greeted, embracing her warmly before turning to present her family. "Margot, meet my son, Ethan. And this... this is his wife, Lane."

Lane’s heart skipped a beat. She instinctively flicked her gaze toward Ethan, a sudden wave of anxiety washing over her. She knew how much he despised their forced arrangement; she half-expected him to frown or look profoundly uncomfortable at the explicit introduction of her as his wife.

But Ethan remained perfectly composed, his face a smooth, unreadable canvas as he offered Margot a polite, corporate nod.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs.

Blackwood," Margot smiled warmly. She focused her sharp, artistic gaze entirely on Lane, her eyes lighting up with professional appreciation.

"Oh, my... sweetheart, you are stunning. Have you ever considered modeling? Would you like to be my exclusive model for the upcoming seasonal catalog?"

Before Lane could even process the question or formulate an answer, Aunt Catherine interjected with an immense, prideful grin.

"Margot, she’s pregnant!"

"Oh!" Margot gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks as she looked at Lane with newfound adoration. "Congratulations! You have such a lovely, radiant pregnancy glow, darling. You are absolutely beautiful. With a glow like that... maybe it’s a girl."

Lane smiled softly, her hand instinctively rising to rub the gentle, rounded curve of her belly beneath her clothes. "Thank you... we still don’t know the gender yet. I’m only four months along."

Beside her, Ethan’s dark eyes dropped. His gaze fixed entirely on Lane’s hand as she gently caressed her stomach, something deep and intensely complex fracturing behind his cold exterior as he watched her protect their unborn child.

"Well, be absolutely sure to contact me after you give birth," Margot joked with a bright laugh. "I need you on my runway."

Catherine laughed along before clapping her hands together. "Alright, business first. We need a magnificent dress for the grand gala ."

"A gala? Perfect," Margot smiled, gesturing toward the back of the boutique. "What kind of dress are you envisioning, Lane?"

Lane offered a quiet, modest smile. "I just want a decent, elegant dress. Something comfortable."

"Nice. Decent and elegant is my specialty," Margot agreed, leading Lane and Catherine toward the sprawling women’s evening-wear section, leaving Ethan out in the main lounge to wait.

Inside the private dressing suite, Margot selected a stunning, flowing emerald green silk gown that draped beautifully over Lane’s silhouette, completely concealing her early pregnancy while highlighting her porcelain skin. Lane slipped into the dressing room, changing into the garment. The fabric was perfect, luxurious and comfortable, but as she reached behind her back, her fingers fumbled uselessly. She couldn’t reach the high zipper.

"Lane? Are you done in there?" Catherine’s voice called out from behind the curtain.

"Yes, but I can’t reach the zipper," Lane called back, carefully stepping out of the changing stall while holding the back of the dress together.

The moment she stepped into the light, Catherine’s breath caught. Margot let out a soft gasp of pure admiration. "You are utterly beautiful, Lane," the designer whispered, stepping forward to quickly and expertly slide the zipper into place.

"We absolutely must show Ethan," Catherine declared, her eyes gleaming with maternal pride as she grabbed Lane’s wrist.

Lane’s heart spiked with pure panic. "What? No, Aunt Catherine, I don’t think that’s necessary—"

"Of course your husband should see how beautiful his wife looks," Catherine countered without a shred of hesitation, pulling Lane out of the private suite and leading her back into the grand, open lounge.

Ethan was sitting on the leather armchair, his head bent over his phone as his thumb scrolled through corporate emails, his entire aura projecting a cold, unyielding distance.

"Ethan," Catherine called out loudly.

Ethan paused, slowly lifting his head from his screen.

The moment his dark eyes landed on Lane standing in the center of the showroom, the breath completely left his body. The emerald green silk clung perfectly to the soft curves of her frame, her damp hair falling in elegant waves over her bare collarbones, her lightly made-up face looking entirely ethereal in the warm boutique lights.

"How does the dress look, Ethan?"

Catherine asked, her voice filled with smug satisfaction. "Is it beautiful?"

Ethan didn’t say a single word. He completely stopped scrolling, his phone freezing in his large hand. He only stared at her, his dark, intense gaze locking onto her form with a heavy, unblinking concentration that made the air in the boutique turn entirely thick.

Seeing his utter speechlessness, Aunt Catherine let out a soft, knowing chuckle, patting Lane’s shoulder. "Well... silence means yes. He clearly likes it."

Ethan continued to stare, his jaw flexing in the silence, unable to tear his eyes away from the woman he had claimed three times in the dark.

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