Chapter 6: Chapter 6
A week had passed since Lane became Mrs. Blackwood. Seven days—seven painfully quiet days inside a cavernous mansion that still refused to feel like anything resembling a home. The routine forming around her life had already become strangely, suffocatingly predictable.
Ethan left the estate before sunrise almost every morning and returned long after midnight, sometimes not returning at all until the following day.
During the rare, fleeting moments their paths actually crossed inside the house, he barely acknowledged her existence beyond brief, silent glances before continuing on with whatever mattered more to him. Work, calls, corporate meetings—anything and everything except her.
Eventually, Lane stopped waiting downstairs in the mornings altogether. There was simply no point. Most days, she woke up to entirely empty hallways and the distant, muted sounds of the staff moving around the estate, while Ethan’s presence lingered only in the form of untouched coffee cups on the counter or the faint, sharp smell of his cologne drifting through rooms he had already left behind.
The loneliness settled deeper into her bones with each passing day. It wasn’t a dramatic, explosive loneliness, but a quiet, insidious one—the kind that slowly wrapped itself around ordinary moments until even the simple act of eating breakfast became an emotionally exhausting chore.
This morning was no different. Lane sat curled near the large, arched windows inside the guest room, wrapped loosely in a heavy cream cardigan while the pale morning sunlight spilled softly across the polished floor around her. Her phone rested limply in her hands, another unanswered message sitting open on the screen.
*Olivia. I’m sorry. Please talk to me.*
Delivered. Ignored. Just like the previous fourteen messages she had sent into the void. Lane stared at the screen for several seconds before locking the phone quietly and lowering it into her lap, a painful, heavy ache settling deep inside her chest.
Olivia still refused to answer anyone. Not Lane, not their families, and not even Ethan, from what Lane had accidentally overheard one evening while the staff spoke in hushed tones downstairs.
It had been one full week without a single response, and the guilt never really left her anymore. Some days it became quieter, buried beneath sheer exhaustion and mindless routine; other days, it returned so heavily she could barely draw breath around it. Especially at night. Because nighttime inside the Blackwood Estate felt unbearably empty.
A soft knock broke the silence of the room.
"Come in," Lane called out quietly, her voice sounding small even to herself.
Clara entered with her usual calm professionalism, carrying a silver breakfast tray carefully in her hands.
"Good morning, Lane." The older woman had slowly become more comfortable using her first name after several days of pleading, though an occasional hesitation still slipped through her polite demeanor.
"Good morning, Clara."
Clara placed the tray gently on the nearby vanity table before glancing toward Lane with a look of faint concern written across her features. "You’re awake early again, dear."
Lane offered a weak, apologetic smile. "I couldn’t sleep."
That answer no longer surprised anyone in the house. For the first few nights after moving into the mansion, Lane had barely slept at all. The aggressive pregnancy nausea, combined with acute stress and emotional exhaustion, made resting nearly impossible.
Eventually, the staff stopped looking alarmed whenever they found her awake before sunrise, wandering silently like a ghost through the dim corridors.
Clara’s expression softened with genuine sympathy. "You should try eating a bit while the nausea is calmer this morning."
"I will, thank you."
The older woman hesitated briefly near the door, smoothing down her apron before speaking again.
"Your mother called the kitchen line earlier. She said she’ll stop by the estate to see you around noon."
A fragile flicker of relief passed through Lane’s chest.
"Thank you for letting me know." Her parents visited almost every other day now—not because they distrusted Ethan exactly, but because they knew with absolute certainty how isolated their daughter felt inside these walls.
After Clara left, Lane slowly moved toward the tray, staring down at the fresh fruit, toast, and herbal tea. Over the past week, the staff had quietly learned her preferences, remaining kind and respectful despite the circus of media attention surrounding the scandal.
Still, Lane often caught their subtle glances lingering just a second too long whenever they thought she wasn’t looking—glances filled with curiosity, pity, and silent judgment. It wasn’t cruel enough to complain about, but it was noticeable enough to hurt anyway.
Picking up her tea slowly, Lane walked back toward the window. Outside, the perfectly manicured estate gardens stretched endlessly beneath the bright morning sun, but beyond the grand security gates, reporters still waited day and night, hoping for a stray photograph or a statement.
Security had doubled since the public fallout, making the mansion feel less like a home and more like a fortress. Lane hadn’t stepped outside into the fresh air once this entire week.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated against her palm, breaking her train of thought. Ava’s name flashed across the screen, and Lane answered immediately.
"Hi, Ava."
"There you are," Ava sighed loudly on the other end. "I thought you were ignoring my calls again."
Lane smiled faintly despite herself, leaning her head against the glass. "No, I just fell asleep for a little while earlier."
"Liar. You don’t sleep anymore, Lane." It was unfortunately true. Ava’s voice softened, the teasing edge fading into something more tender. "How are you actually feeling today?"
"Just tired."
"Lane... you’re always tired lately. And it’s because your emotionally unavailable husband is turning you into a literal ghost."
Lane sighed softly, closing her eyes. "Ava, please..."
"What?" her friend muttered unapologetically. "I’m still allowed to completely dislike the man." Ava had hated Ethan Blackwood for exactly six days and twenty hours, and Lane only knew the exact timeline because Ava mentioned it every single time they spoke.
Unlike Noah’s colder, controlled anger, Ava’s frustration exploded openly whenever Ethan’s name came up.
"He came home at two in the morning yesterday," Lane admitted quietly, the confession slipping out before she could stop it.
"And?"
"I only know because I heard his footsteps downstairs. I was still awake."
Ava went silent briefly on the other end of the line. Then, much more softly, she asked, "Did he even check on you? Did he stop by your room?"
Lane looked down at her tea, her silence serving as an undeniable answer. Ava let out a sharp, irritated groan immediately.
"I swear to God, that man emotionally constipates everyone around him. It’s ridiculous."
Lane almost laughed despite herself. Almost. "He’s just busy with the merger, Ava. He has a lot on his plate."
"Lane." Her friend’s voice sharpened, cutting through the excuse. "You need to stop defending him every single time he treats you like an inconvenience."
Lane rubbed her forehead tiredly, feeling the weight of the words. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe she did defend Ethan too much, but what else was she supposed to do? Hate him? She loved him far too much for that—even now, and especially now. And that was probably the saddest, most pathetic part of it all.
Sensing Lane’s heavy silence, Ava softened her tone again. "I’m sorry, sweetie. I just really hate seeing you like this. You deserve someone who actually notices when you’re hurting."
Lane’s chest tightened painfully because, deep down, a part of her knew that was the absolute truth.
"Have you heard anything from Olivia at all?" Ava asked after a moment.
Lane looked toward her phone resting beside the breakfast tray. "No. Still nothing."
"She’s probably just completely overwhelmed by everything," Ava reasoned, trying to offer comfort.
"She hates me, Ava."
"She’s hurt, Lane. There’s a massive difference between hating someone and being deeply hurt by them," Lane whispered quietly, repeating the exact words Eleanor had told her earlier that week. Yet, the wall of silence from Olivia felt unbearable. Lane missed her cousin constantly.
Every little thing inside the mansion reminded her of their lifelong friendship—dresses they had once bought together, songs they used to scream along to during road trips, and the specific way Olivia laughed too loudly whenever she got excited. Now, there was only a vast, empty silence.
"Have you gone to see the doctor yet?" Ava asked, intentionally shifting the subject.
"Tomorrow morning."
"Good. And Noah is coming back into town this afternoon, by the way."
Lane blinked slightly in surprise. "Back from where?"
"Another one of his endless business trips or meetings. You know how he is," Ava snorted over the line. Lane did know. Noah spent almost as much time working as Ethan did, except for one glaring difference: Noah somehow always managed to make the people around him feel completely, emotionally seen.
Ava continued, her tone turning cautious. "He called me yesterday, threatening to personally drag you out of that mansion if you keep isolating yourself from everyone."
Lane smiled faintly again, a genuine warmth touching her lips. "He worries entirely too much."
"He loves you too much," Ava corrected bluntly, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
Lane immediately looked away from the window, the warmth vanishing as a heavy tension filled the line. Neither of them spoke for a long, awkward second. Ava sighed softly afterward, sensing she had pushed a boundary.
"Sorry. I know things are incredibly complicated right now.
*Complicated* barely covered the reality of it. Lane understood Noah’s feelings; she always had. She had simply spent years pretending not to notice them because her heart had belonged to someone else long before Noah ever entered the picture.
Unfortunately, the person she actually loved could barely bring himself to look at her now.
Another soft knock interrupted the phone call. This time, a younger maid entered the room nervously, holding several high-end shopping bags in her arms. "Lane," she said politely, "these were just delivered to the front gate a few minutes ago."
Lane frowned slightly, looking at the packages. "What is it?"
"Prenatal supplements, specialized vitamins, and some organic teas."
Confusion crossed Lane’s face instantly. "I didn’t order anything like that."
The maid looked uncertain, glancing down at the delivery receipt. "They were delivered under Mr. Vale’s corporate account, ma’am."
Silence fell over the room as Lane stared quietly at the bags.
A wave of profound relief washed over her; she knew instantly it was her mother who had sent them, quietly looking out for her health from afar.
Ava noticed the sudden quiet through the phone line. "Lane? What happened? Are you okay?"
"It’s nothing," Lane whispered softly. "Just my mom being sweet."
After ending the call a short while later, Lane eventually forced herself to go downstairs, unable to sit in the isolation of the guest room any longer. The mansion remained as quiet as a tomb.
A few staff members cleaned silently around the lower floor, their movements fluid and practiced while the afternoon sunlight reflected beautifully across the stark marble interiors.
Everything looked flawless from the outside—like a luxury architecture magazine cover, not a marriage that was quietly collapsing before it had even truly begun.
Lane wandered slowly into the library, finding solace in one of the few rooms in the estate that felt remotely comforting.
Tall, towering bookshelves stretched across the walls, and soft sunlight filtered through enormous windows that overlooked the hidden courtyard gardens.
She used to come to this exact room with Olivia years ago during formal family visits, and the memory struck her with a fresh wave of grief.
Sitting quietly on one of the deep velvet couches, Lane pulled out her phone again. Another unread message to Olivia remained sitting open on the screen. Her fingers hovered over the digital keyboard slowly, trembling slightly before she typed out three final words.
*I miss you.*
She stared at the text for several long, agonizing seconds before hitting send anyway.
*Delivered. Ignored. Again.*
A single, silent tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away immediately with the sleeve of her sweater. At that exact moment, the sharp sound of footsteps echoed somewhere near the library’s arched entrance. Lane looked up instinctively, her breath catching in her throat as she froze in place.
It was Ethan.
For one brief, fleeting second, a look of genuine surprise crossed his sharp features too, as though neither of them had expected the other to be wandering the house during daylight hours.
He wore a perfectly tailored black suit as always, his expression quickly returning to its calm, unreadable state beneath the afternoon light. One hand held his phone, while the other absently adjusted the heavy silver cuff of his sleeve.
Lane’s heartbeat quickened instantly despite her best efforts to remain calm. Ethan glanced at her only briefly, his dark eyes sweeping over her pale face before he walked toward one of the massive bookshelves in absolute silence. No greeting, no acknowledgment, no inquiry into how she was feeling.
Nothing at all. Lane lowered her gaze back to her lap, her fingers curling tightly into the fabric of her cardigan as his coldness cut through her all over again.
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