Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

The sound of familiar voices downstairs brought a rare, fleeting sense of warmth to the Blackwood Estate that afternoon.

Lane had been sitting quietly in the library for nearly an hour after Ethan left the house without acknowledging her existence again. She had been trying, entirely unsuccessfully, to distract herself with a leather-bound book, but she hadn’t actually read a single page.

Her thoughts remained far too loud lately, constantly circling in dizzying loops around guilt, deep-seated loneliness, and the overwhelming uncertainty surrounding her future.

The moment she heard Eleanor’s soft, melodic laugh echo faintly through the grand hallway, Lane stood up immediately. For the first time all day, a spark of genuine relief flickered inside her chest.

She walked quickly toward the main living room where her parents had just arrived. Eleanor noticed her first, her eyes softening instantly as she opened her arms wide.

"Oh, sweetheart."

Lane hugged her mother tightly without hesitation, suddenly overwhelmed by how badly she had missed simple, uncomplicated affection. Richard stood just a few paces nearby, watching the embrace quietly.

A deep concern was hidden behind his calm, practiced expression as his sharp eyes studied his daughter’s gaunt appearance carefully.

"You look tired, Lane," he said gently, his voice heavy.

Lane tried smiling faintly, pulling back from her mother. "I’m okay, Dad."

Neither of her parents looked even remotely convinced.

Eleanor brushed a stray lock of hair behind Lane’s ear with a tender, sweeping motion before guiding her toward the plush velvet couch. "Have you been eating properly, Lane? Clara mentioned you’ve been skipping meals."

"I’m trying."

"Trying isn’t enough anymore, dear," Eleanor replied immediately, her brow furrowing.

Richard sat across from them on a matching armchair while one of the maids served tea in absolute silence, her movements fluid and discreet.

For those few moments, the atmosphere inside the room felt calm, safe, and familiar in a way this massive mansion rarely allowed.

For a few minutes, they spoke only about small, manageable things—how the estate staff had been treating her, whether her morning sickness had improved, and how often the reporters still camped outside the iron gates.

Lane answered softly, keeping her voice level, trying her absolute best not to let the raw edges of her emotions show too obviously.

Eventually, however, the heavy conversation shifted toward the one topic Lane both dreaded and desperately wanted to ask about.

Olivia.

Lane lowered her gaze immediately the moment Eleanor carefully mentioned her cousin’s name.

"We finally spoke to Olivia’s parents yesterday evening," Eleanor said, her voice dropping to a cautious, measured register.

Lane’s fingers tightened around her porcelain teacup instantly, the warmth of the ceramic stinging her palms. Richard sighed quietly beside them, resting his elbows on his knees. "They’re not pleased with the situation, Lane. Not in the slightest."

The blunt words made Lane’s chest ache with a physical, crushing pain. Of course they weren’t pleased. Their daughter had been humiliated on a public stage, and the people responsible for that devastation were her own family.

Lane looked down silently at the amber liquid in her cup, guilt twisting like a knife heavily inside her stomach.

"Do they... do they hate me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Eleanor’s expression softened into profound sympathy, and she moved closer on the cushions. "No one hates you, sweetheart."

"But they resent what happened," Richard admitted honestly, refusing to sugarcoat the reality. "And they are incredibly worried about Olivia’s emotional state right now."

Lane’s throat tightened painfully, a lump forming that made it difficult to breathe. "Have they heard from her? Directly?"

"A little," Eleanor answered softly. "She’s staying somewhere privately out of the city for now. She turned her phone off."

Lane immediately looked up, her eyes wide with desperate worry. "Is she okay?"

"She’s hurt, Lane," Richard replied carefully, his gaze steady. "Very hurt."

The brutal honesty in her father’s voice shattered whatever fragile composure Lane had left. She covered her eyes briefly with a trembling hand, the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her completely right in front of them.

"I never wanted to hurt her," she whispered shakily, a single tear escaping. "I never, ever wanted this."

Eleanor immediately reached out, wrapping her hand over Lane’s trembling fingers. "We know that, Lane. We know."

"But I did it anyway," Lane choked out. "The result is exactly the same."

A heavy, suffocating silence settled through the room. There was no comforting lie or polite platitude anyone could offer to fix it. Lane had hurt Olivia. Even unintentionally, even accidentally—the damage remained real, permanent, and devastating.

Eleanor squeezed her daughter’s hand gently, intentionally steering the conversation away before Lane could spiral deeper into the paralyzing guilt.

"Olivia’s parents said to just give her time, Lane. That’s all we can do. Now, have you scheduled your first doctor’s appointment yet?"

Lane blinked slightly, forcing her mind to shift gears before nodding weakly. "Tomorrow morning at nine."

"Good." Eleanor immediately looked visibly relieved. "Richard and I can accompany you if you’re nervous about the paparazzi outside."

"You don’t have to do that," Lane murmured. "I don’t want to disrupt your schedule."

"We want to," Richard interjected in a tone that left no room for argument. "You shouldn’t have to handle these things entirely alone."

The protective words made Lane’s chest tighten unexpectedly. Because despite the absolute mess her life had become, and despite the scandal attached to her name, her parents had never once made her feel abandoned.

"Thank you," she whispered softly.

Still, Eleanor looked at her with lingering concern. "You’re carrying a child now, Lane," she murmured gently, her hand resting over Lane’s knee. "You need a support system too. You can’t carry the weight of the world by yourself."

Lane looked down quietly at her stomach, her hand instinctively drifting down to mimic her mother’s. The baby still felt entirely unreal to her sometimes. Everything had happened far too quickly for her mind to fully process the gravity of it.

One month ago, she was silently, secretly in love with Ethan from afar, forcing herself to smile while watching him plan a grand future with Olivia. Now, she was living inside his ancestral mansion as his unwanted, legally bound wife. Nothing about her life felt recognizable anymore.

Her parents stayed for another hour after that, consciously trying to keep the atmosphere lighter by steering the conversation toward ordinary, mundane topics. Eleanor spoke at length about redesigning one of the garden spaces at their estate, while Richard complained mildly about an endless string of corporate business meetings.

Lane deeply appreciated their effort, even if the profound sadness still lingered heavily behind her eyes.

Eventually, the time came for them to leave. Eleanor hugged her tightly near the grand entrance, burying her face in Lane’s hair. "Call me the second you get out of your appointment tomorrow, okay?"

"I will, Mom."

"And Lane?" Eleanor pulled back, looking deeply into her daughter’s eyes. "Don’t punish yourself forever."

The words nearly broke her right then and there.

After her parents’ car drove away, a suffocating silence immediately swallowed the mansion once more. The warmth they had brought vanished almost instantly, replaced by the clinical chill of the marble floors.

Lane slowly walked upstairs, her steps heavy, before entering her room and locking the door quietly behind her.

The moment she was entirely alone, the tears she had been suppressing all afternoon finally spilled freely down her face. She sank onto the edge of the mattress, her shoulders shaking violently as deep, fractured sobs escaped her chest.

"I’m so sorry," she whispered brokenly into the empty room, though Olivia wasn’t there to hear it.

The guilt consumed her completely. Because no matter how lonely, isolated, or miserable she felt inside this gilded cage, Olivia had lost something entirely irreplaceable too. Trust. Love. A secure future. A sisterhood.

Lane covered her face with both hands, crying softly into the darkness of the guest room. She had never, ever meant for any of this to happen.

The next morning, Lane woke up long before sunrise.

For the first time since moving into the Blackwood Estate, she forced herself to swing her legs out of bed immediately instead of lying beneath the covers, drowning in her own sadness.

Her mother’s parting words from the previous afternoon echoed clearly in her mind.

*Don’t punish yourself forever.*

Lane stood quietly before the vast bathroom mirror, pulling her dark hair back into a loose, neat tie. Today, she would try. She would try to be stronger. She would try to find a way to be happier—not necessarily for her own sake, but for the baby’s.

A child shouldn’t have to grow up surrounded exclusively by bitterness, silence, and regret.

Inhaling slowly to steady her nerves, Lane left her room.

The mansion remained pitch-black and eerily quiet this early in the morning. Most of the household staff were still waking up or quietly preparing for the day when Lane unexpectedly walked straight into the main kitchen.

Several of the morning maids looked up, completely startled to see her standing there.

"Lane?" Clara blinked in surprise, nearly dropping a dish towel. "You’re awake early, dear."

Lane offered a soft, genuine smile. "Good morning. I wanted to prepare breakfast today."

The staff exchanged immediate, confused glances across the stainless-steel counters.

"You don’t need to cook for yourself, ma’am," Clara said carefully, stepping forward. "That is what we are here for."

"I know," Lane looked down shyly, her fingers twisting the edge of her sweater. "But I really wanted to."

More specifically, she wanted to make an effort. She wanted to try. Maybe if she took the initiative, and maybe if she showed him she was trying to build a life here... things between her and Ethan could become even a fraction less freezing. Just a little.

So, Lane spent the next hour inside the vast kitchen, quietly preparing a classic breakfast entirely from scratch while the staff watched her from the periphery in varying levels of shock. Eggs, perfectly golden toast, fresh fruit, and premium dark coffee. Simple, comforting things.

She also carefully packed a gourmet lunch into neat, insulated containers after subtly asking one of the head chefs what Ethan typically preferred to eat during intense workdays at the corporate headquarters.

For the first time in seven long days, Lane felt a tiny spark of something resembling hope. It was small, incredibly fragile, but it was hope nonetheless.

By the time everything was finished, the first rays of morning sunlight had begun spilling softly through the high kitchen windows, warming the room. Lane waited nervously near the edge of the formal dining room while the maids neatly arranged the breakfast spread on the long table.

Then, the heavy, rhythmic sound of footsteps echoed from the grand staircase.

Lane’s heartbeat quickened instantly, erratic and loud against her ribs.

Ethan appeared a moment later, dressed sharply in another flawless, custom black suit. He already looked perfectly composed, calculated, and entirely ready for a brutal day of corporate warfare. His expression remained calm and completely cold as always while he adjusted the heavy platinum watch around his wrist.

He noticed Lane standing near the threshold instantly. A faint, almost imperceptible flicker of surprise crossed his sharp features—likely because she had never once been downstairs this early since her arrival.

Lane forced herself to smile gently, fighting past the tight nervousness twisting violently inside her stomach.

"Good morning, Ethan."

Ethan gave a small, rigid nod of acknowledgment. Nothing more.

Lane swallowed hard, stepping forward carefully before lifting the neatly packed lunch containers toward him with both hands.

"I... I made breakfast this morning," she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. "And I packed a lunch for your day at the office, too."

An agonizing, heavy silence fell over the room.

Ethan’s dark eyes shifted downward, landing briefly on the containers held securely in her hands. For one tiny, naive second, Lane actually thought he might accept them—that he might just take them and offer a normal, human response.

Then, his expression smoothed back out into a mask of complete, absolute indifference.

He reached out and took the lunchbox from her hands without a single word. No thank you. No softening of his features. No reaction whatsoever.

But before Lane could even draw a breath of relief, Ethan turned slightly toward one of the nearby junior maids standing by the wall. He extended his arm, holding the containers out to the girl.

"Throw it away," he commanded quietly.

Lane froze, the blood draining from her face instantly.

The junior maid looked utterly startled, her eyes darting between the two of them. "Sir?"

"Throw it in the trash," Ethan repeated, his voice remaining perfectly calm, perfectly steady. "I’ll eat outside today."

His voice was entirely devoid of anger. It was just cold. Completely, unfeelingly emotionless.

Lane’s fingers slowly tightened into fists at her sides, her nails digging painfully into her palms. Behind her, the massive dining table remained completely untouched, the steam still rising faintly from the fresh coffee. Ethan didn’t even glance at it once. Not a single look.

The maid hesitated awkwardly for a second before quietly taking the lunchbox from Ethan’s hand, her eyes downcast.

Something deep inside Lane’s chest cracked painfully, a quiet shattering that left her feeling entirely hollow.

Ethan casually picked up his car keys from the marble entryway table, turning toward the heavy front doors without uttering another word to her. No further acknowledgment, no explanation, no parting glance.

Nothing. A few seconds later, the massive front doors closed behind him with a heavy, definitive thud.

The absolute silence returned to fill the dining room completely.

Lane stood entirely motionless in the center of the room while a hot, suffocating humiliation burned through every single inch of her chest. The maids looked incredibly uncomfortable now, entirely avoiding eye contact as they busied themselves with random tasks to look away from her shame.

One of the older kitchen staff members quietly moved toward the breakfast table, her voice incredibly gentle. "Should we... should we clear this away, Lane?"

Lane stared blankly at the untouched food she had spent the entire morning happily preparing, feeling the crushing weight of the rejection settle over her. She lowered her eyes quickly, biting her inner cheek hard before the hot tears could fall in front of the staff.

"Yes," she whispered softly, her voice cracking. "Please."

In that exact, devastating moment, Lane finally understood the absolute truth of her situation. Ethan didn’t care about her. He didn’t care about her efforts, her guilt, or her presence in his house. And judging from the profound, icy emptiness in his eyes when he looked at her earlier... he didn’t care about the child she was carrying either.

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