Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Lane barely spoke for the rest of that day.

After Ethan left, the mansion returned to its usual cold, algorithmic rhythm, but this time something fundamental inside her had changed. It wasn’t just the crushing sadness anymore.

It was something heavier, more definitive, like a quiet realization settling deep into her bones.

She didn’t touch the breakfast she had painstakingly made. She didn’t leave the confines of her room until late in the afternoon. Even the maids, usually so careful and polite, gave her significantly more space than usual, as if sensing the incredibly fragile atmosphere clinging to her like a second skin.

Lane sat near the window for hours, staring out at nothing in particular while her thoughts moved in slow, agonizing circles.

*He threw it away.*

That single, devastating image was all her mind could salvage from the morning. He hadn’t even refused it politely. He hadn’t even left it untouched on the counter to grow cold. He had explicitly ordered it to be thrown in the trash. Like it meant absolutely nothing. Like *she* meant absolutely nothing.

By evening, her phone buzzed against the windowsill. It was Noah calling. She almost didn’t answer it, wanting only to dissolve into the silence of the room, but eventually, her fingers moved on their own, and she pressed the device to her ear.

"Lane," his voice came through immediately, his tone sharper and more urgent than usual. "I’m outside my mind if you’re not picking up my calls. Answer me."

"I’m fine," she lied automatically, her voice flat.

A heavy pause lingered over the line.

"No, you’re not," Noah replied instantly, cutting through the hollow defense. "I’m coming to get you tomorrow morning. You’re going to the hospital."

Lane blinked slowly, her sleep-deprived mind struggling to keep up. "What?"

"Your doctor’s appointment," he said firmly, his tone brook no argument. "You’ve been postponing it and avoiding the staff about it. No more excuses, Lane."

Lane hesitated, a flare of stubbornness sparking through her exhaustion. "Noah, I can go by myself. I don’t need—"

"No."

That single word left absolutely no room for negotiation. Lane looked down at her hands quietly, tracing the faint lines on her palms.

"You really don’t have to do this, Noah."

"I want to," he cut in, his voice dropping into a softer, gentler register, though the underlying steel remained. "I’ll pick you up at nine sharp. Be ready."

Before she could formulate a response, the call went dead. Lane sat there in the dimming light, staring at the darkened screen for a long, reflective moment.

Noah had always been exactly like this.

When others drifted away from her, he stayed firmly rooted. When things got incredibly messy, he became entirely steady. When she threatened to completely fall apart, he always tried to hold her up in his own fiercely protective way. And somehow, paradoxically, that realization made everything feel so much worse tonight. Because the man she actually belonged to—the man whose ring was on her finger—didn’t even look at her. Not once.

The next morning arrived far too quickly.

Lane had barely slept a wink, her mind plagued by fractured thoughts, but she forced herself to get out of bed and get ready. When Noah arrived at exactly nine o’clock, she was waiting.

A sleek black car was already idling outside the imposing mansion gates. Noah stood beside the driver’s side door, leaning casually against the frame. Dressed in a simple shirt and a structured jacket, he looked entirely calm, but his sharp eyes locked onto her the very moment she stepped through the grand front doors. He straightened up immediately, his posture turning rigid.

"You look exhausted," he said bluntly as she approached.

Lane gave a small, weak smile, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself. "Good morning to you too, Noah."

Noah walked toward her, his analytical gaze studying every line of her pale face. "Did you eat anything before coming down?"

"I had some tea."

"That’s not food, Lane."

Lane sighed softly, her shoulders dropping, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. Noah opened the passenger door for her without another word, shielding her slightly from the brisk morning wind. As she slid into the leather seat, she couldn’t help but notice how profoundly different it felt to leave the estate with someone who actually waited for her presence, instead of someone who systematically ignored it.

The drive to the medical center was quiet at first, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Noah turned the radio down slightly after they passed the city limits. "You’ve been cooped up inside that fortress for too long."

Lane looked out the passenger window, watching the gray skyline blur past. "It’s only been a week."

"That’s more than enough time to turn into a ghost."

She didn’t respond to that, primarily because she knew exactly what he meant.

The hospital was large, pristine, and brightly lit, with soft morning sunlight reflecting sharply off the polished white tiled floors. Calm, professional staff moved efficiently through the wide corridors.

Lane felt a sudden wave of sharp anxiety tighten her throat the moment they stepped through the sliding glass doors.

Noah noticed her hesitation instantly. Moving half a step closer, he lowered his voice to a reassuring murmur. "Stay close to me. I’ve got it."

She nodded quietly, feeling a fraction of the tension leave her shoulders.

The appointment process moved quickly. Noah handled the registration details and insurance forms with practiced efficiency while Lane sat quietly on a plastic chair, her hands folded tightly in her lap, waiting for her name to be called. When they were finally ushered into the private consultation room, a female doctor greeted them with a warm, disarming smile.

"Good morning, Lane," the doctor said gently, reviewing the digital chart on her tablet. "I’m Dr. Gemma."

Lane offered a small, tentative nod. "Good morning, Doctor."

Noah stayed slightly behind Lane’s chair, his arms loosely crossed over his chest, his eyes sharp and entirely attentive.

Dr. Gemma reviewed the basic intake details first before smiling softly. "So, this is your first official visit since confirming the pregnancy, correct?"

Lane hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Yes."

"Have you been experiencing any severe nausea, dizziness, or general discomfort recently?"

"Some quite bad nausea in the mornings," Lane admitted quietly, her voice barely carrying across the room.

The doctor nodded understandingly, typing notes into her tablet. "That’s completely normal for the first trimester—"

"She’s not eating properly," Noah interjected suddenly, his deep voice cutting through the clinical dialogue.

Lane glanced back at him immediately, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Noah... I’m fine."

He completely ignored her warning tone, looking directly at the physician. "She barely eats a few bites before stopping. She looks completely exhausted most of the time."

Dr. Gemma looked between the two of them calmly, her expression remaining entirely professional and unbothered by his bluntness. "I understand," she said gently, her gaze softening as she focused entirely on Lane. "Severe emotional stress can make early pregnancy symptoms significantly more difficult to manage, Lane."

Lane lowered her gaze to her lap, unable to meet the doctor’s knowing eyes.

"We’ll run a few standard blood tests today," Dr. Gemma continued, standing up from her desk. "And we’ll do an initial ultrasound scan to confirm that everything is developing normally and check the gestational age."

Lane’s heart tightened slightly at the word *scan*. It still felt so abstract, so entirely unreal to her.

A nurse later guided them down the hall to a dimmer, quieter ultrasound room. Noah followed behind her without a word, his presence a silent, grounding weight. Lane lay down carefully on the examination table, her nerves frayed as the technician prepared the machine. Noah stood slightly to the side, his arms down, watching the monitor intently.

Dr. Gemma entered a moment later, applying the cool gel to Lane’s stomach before pressing the transducer against her skin. For a few agonizing seconds, there was only the soft, rhythmic static sound of the machine echoing in the quiet room.

Then, the doctor smiled, pointing to a specific quadrant on the monitor. "There it is. Right there."

Lane’s breath caught sharply in her throat.

On the screen, a tiny, faint shape appeared amidst the gray and white shadows. It was incredibly small—barely visible to the untrained eye—but it was undeniably there.

Real.

Her child.

Lane stared at the screen, a profound wave of raw emotion tightening painfully inside her chest. Dr. Gemma’s voice sounded distant as she gave the measurements. "Everything looks very early, but perfectly healthy so far. The heartbeat is strong."

Noah didn’t say a word, but out of the corner of her eye, Lane saw his hard expression soften significantly as he stared at the tiny blip on the screen. Lane didn’t even realize her eyes were watering until a tear slipped down her temple, and she blinked it away hastily. That tiny, grainy image made everything feel intensely, undeniably real for the very first time.

After the appointment, Dr. Gemma provided them with a packet of prenatal instructions and strict nutritional advice before discharging them. The moment they stepped out into the fresh afternoon air, Noah insisted on getting food.

"You haven’t had a proper meal in days, Lane," he said, guiding her gently by the elbow toward his car. "We’re fixing that right now."

"I’m really not that hungry, Noah."

"That doesn’t matter anymore. Dr. Gemma’s orders."

Lane didn’t have the energy to argue this time. Instead of pushing back, she let him drive her to a quiet, secluded restaurant a short distance from the medical center. It wasn’t a flashy, high-society establishment; it was calm, warm, and softly lit with dark wood accents.

For the first time in an entire week, Lane actually managed to eat more than a few polite bites, the quiet atmosphere putting her mind at ease.

Noah watched her carefully across the table the entire time, but he purposefully didn’t comment on her appetite unless she stopped moving her fork.

"Do you like this one?" he asked gently, nodding toward a specific dish she had gravitated toward.

Lane nodded slightly, taking another small bite. "It’s really good."

He immediately caught the waiter’s attention and ordered another portion to be packed up for her to take home, entirely without hesitation. It was a small, routine gesture, but it mattered more to Lane than she wanted to admit.

By the time they finally left the restaurant, the sky had already bruised into a deep, dark evening purple. The vibrant city lights reflected softly on the wet roads as Noah drove her back toward the Blackwood Estate. Lane leaned her head lightly against the cool glass of the passenger window, physically exhausted but feeling significantly calmer than she had in days.

When the car finally came to a smooth stop outside the massive iron gates of the mansion, it was already late. The brilliant security spotlights illuminated the grand entrance steps—and another luxury vehicle was already parked near the front doors.

Lane blinked slightly, her chest tightening as she recognized the car. Ethan was home.

He had arrived at the exact same time Noah parked.

The tension in the air shifted instantly, turning freezing and volatile. Ethan stood near the grand entrance steps, having just stepped out of his vehicle. He was casually adjusting his cufflinks, his sharp expression as cold, aloof, and entirely unreadable as always beneath the estate lights.

Noah got out of the car first, walking around the hood to open Lane’s door with deliberate, unhurried care. She stepped out slowly, her limbs feeling heavy. For one brief, suffocating moment, the three of them were suspended within the exact same physical space.

Ethan’s dark eyes sliced through the gloom, landing briefly and sharply on Noah’s hand, which was resting near Lane’s elbow to steady her. Absolutely nothing changed in Ethan’s facial expression, but the very air around them grew noticeably thicker, colder.

Noah ignored the glare completely, leaning a fraction closer to Lane. His voice was soft, intentionally gentle.

"Call me the second you need anything tonight, Lane. I mean it."

Lane nodded faintly, her voice caught in her throat. "Thank you for today, Noah. Truly."

Before turning to leave, Noah bent down slightly and pressed a light, deliberate kiss to her forehead. It was a brief, gentle, and deeply comforting gesture—far more a sign of grounding reassurance than overt romantic affection. "Go inside and rest," he said quietly.

Lane managed a faint, genuine smile. "Okay. Drive safely."

Noah stepped back, giving her one final, protective glance before turning on his heel and returning to his vehicle.

The heavy silence that followed his departure felt immediate and suffocating. Lane turned slowly toward the grand entrance of the mansion. Ethan was still standing there, watching her every move. Cold. Still. Entirely unmoved.

She hesitated for a split second on the asphalt before forcing her feet to move, walking up the steps and past him into the house. Ethan followed a moment later, closing the distance behind her with a slow, predatory lack of urgency. Once they were both inside the grand foyer, the massive front doors shut quietly behind them, cutting off the outside world.

The clinical silence swallowed the space entirely.

Then, Ethan spoke.

His voice was terrifyingly calm. Flat. Almost completely bored.

"Next time," he said, his eyes fixated straight ahead as he unbuttoned his suit jacket, not even granting her a direct look, "don’t bring your men to my house."

Lane froze mid-step on the black marble floor, her breath hitching.

He continued walking past her toward the staircase, his tone completely detached. "If you want to entertain yourself, do it somewhere else. Not on my property."

The callous words landed with a sickening, heavy thud in the quiet hall. Lane slowly turned around to face him, a mixture of utter disbelief and sharp pain flickering in her wide eyes.

But Ethan had already continued up the stairs without pausing, leaving her standing alone in the dark foyer, as though she weren’t even worth the time it took to have the conversation.

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