Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

The next morning came quietly, as if the mansion itself had finally learned how to breathe without expectation.

Lane woke earlier than usual—not because she had slept well, but because she had entirely stopped expecting sleep to fix anything.

The fragments of the night before replayed in agonizing loops inside her mind: Ethan’s voice, sharp and indifferent in the dim hallway; the profound, chilling coldness in his eyes when he spoke about Noah; and the absolute detachment with which he had walked away, as though she were nothing more than an inconvenient object placed inside his home.

Still, when Lane opened her eyes that morning, something inside her felt subtly different. It wasn’t a sudden surge of strength, nor was it a loud, defiant healing. It was just... a quiet decision.

She sat up slowly in the grand guest bed, resting a hand over her flat stomach without thinking. The gesture had become automatic over the past week, a silent habit forming around the presence of someone she had not yet met, but already carried total responsibility for.

Her baby deserved more than this suffocating blanket of confusion and sadness. Even if the adults around them couldn’t fix their fractured lives, Lane realized she could at least try to carve out a stable, calm space within the chaos.

Standing up, she moved to the adjoining bathroom and washed her face with freezing water until her reflection looked slightly more present. The dark, bruised circles under her eyes were still prominent, but she chose to ignore them.

She tied her dark hair back into a loose, neat knot, changed into a simple, soft knit dress, and left her room before she could overthink her own actions.

The mansion was still half asleep. Pale morning light filtered through the towering floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, geometric shadows across the polished black marble floors. In the background, a few staff members moved like shadows, preparing the house for another day of rigid schedules and heavy silence.

Lane walked straight into the kitchen. For the first time since she had crossed this threshold, she didn’t hesitate. She simply rolled up her sleeves and began to work.

The morning maids looked up, completely startled to see her standing near the industrial counters so early.

Lane offered them a small, polite smile to ease their tension.

"I’ll prepare breakfast today," she said gently.

One of the junior maids blinked, looking unsure. "Mrs. Blackwood, you really don’t need to trouble yourself with—"

"Lane," she corrected softly. She paused for a brief second, swallowing down the instinct to shrink back, before repeating it more firmly. "Just Lane is fine."

The staff members exchanged highly uncertain, nervous glances.

"Mr. Blackwood prefers things to be done with strict, professional protocol inside the estate," another maid reminded her carefully, her voice low.

Lane paused for a moment at the explicit mention of his name, a phantom chill brushing against her spine. But she didn’t let it freeze her this time.

"That’s completely fine," she replied calmly, her voice steady. "But I would still like to do this."

There was a quiet, unyielding weight in her tone now—something that hadn’t existed a week ago. It wasn’t defiance, and it wasn’t rebellion; it was just a quiet decision not to completely disappear into the woodwork of this house. Realizing she wouldn’t back down, the maids respectfully stepped aside and allowed her the space.

Lane moved around the vast kitchen slowly, preparing simple, comforting foods. Nothing extravagant. Just warm breakfast dishes and light, nutritious options she had learned her stomach could tolerate better lately. She also prepared a packed lunch, arranging the contents neatly into insulated containers, as if imposing structure on the food could somehow create stability in her life.

As she finished up, she gave a single, quiet instruction to the kitchen staff. "Please don’t tell him I made it."

The sentence made the entire room go utterly still for a second.

One of the maids frowned slightly, her eyes filled with a mix of pity and confusion. "But... why, ma’am?"

Lane’s hands paused briefly over the counter. Because she already knew exactly what would happen if Ethan found out. Because she still remembered the trash can from yesterday. Because she simply couldn’t handle that specific brand of icy rejection again.

"It’s just easier this way," she whispered quietly.

No one argued further.

By the time she finished, the kitchen smelled warm, rich, and homely in a way the mansion rarely allowed. Lane looked at the neatly packed lunch containers for a long moment before quietly stepping back. Then, she made another decision.

She would not wait downstairs. Not today. She couldn’t handle standing there, holding her breath, hoping for a shred of humanity and receiving nothing.

Hearing the faint, distant movement from the west wing signaling that Ethan was awake, Lane quickly plated a small portion for herself and returned to the safety of her guest room. There, cloaked in the quiet of her own space, she ate slowly.

The food tasted fine, but her mind was miles away, drifting over the jagged edges of her reality. On Olivia. On Noah. On Ethan’s chilling accusation from the night before.

Especially that.

The callous way he had spoken about Noah had lingered in her chest like a physical ache. It wasn’t because she felt a single ounce of guilt, but because she felt profoundly, devastatingly misunderstood in a way she didn’t even know how to begin fixing.

Noah was not what Ethan thought. There was nothing between them—nothing romantic, nothing hidden, nothing untoward. Noah simply cared for her in a way Ethan never had, and that stark contrast alone seemed to irritate Ethan more than anything else.

Lane finished her breakfast, placing the empty plate aside on the vanity before sitting quietly near the window. Outside, the sprawling estate gardens looked beautifully peaceful beneath the morning sun—entirely too peaceful for how fractured her life felt inside.

She stayed in her room, watching the horizon until she heard the predictable movement downstairs. Doors opening. The staff shifting to attention. The quiet, heavy sound of Ethan preparing to leave for the corporate world. Only when the front door closed did she finally breathe a little bit easier.

Waiting a few more minutes just to be entirely sure the driveway was clear, Lane finally went back downstairs. The kitchen was already being systematically cleaned when she re-entered.

Clara looked up immediately from the counter. "Lane, shall we prepare something fresh for you now?"

Lane shook her head gently, offering a small wave of her hand. "No, thank you, Clara. I’ll manage."

She walked over to the counter where the small leftover portions of the breakfast she had cooked still sat. Taking a plate, she sat down alone at the massive, empty dining table, eating slowly. The silence of the grand room felt different now. It felt less suffocating, more familiar—like a language she was slowly learning to speak in order to survive.

After finishing, Lane poured herself a cup of warm tea and lingered in the kitchen a little longer than necessary. Not because she had anything to do, but because the warmth of the space felt safer than returning upstairs to empty, echoing rooms.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed in her dress pocket. It was Ava.

Lane answered immediately, pressing the phone to her ear. "Hey, Ava."

"Hey," Ava’s voice came through brightly, though muffled by the distinct background noise of city traffic. "How are you holding up today?"

Lane leaned her shoulder lightly against the marble counter. "I’m okay."

Ava scoffed softly, knowing her too well. "That sounds like a total lie."

A faint, genuine smile touched Lane’s lips despite herself. "Maybe a little bit of a lie."

A brief pause followed over the line. "How is the mansion situation?" Ava asked, her tone shifting into something more careful, more grounded.

Lane looked down at her free hand, tracing the smooth marble. "Quiet."

"That never sounds good coming from you."

"It’s just... lonely, Ava."

Ava sighed heavily into the receiver. "And Ethan?"

Lane hesitated, the syllables of his name feeling incredibly heavy and complicated in her mouth. "He’s the same," she finally settled on saying.

Ava didn’t push for the painful details, but her tone softened with empathy. "And Noah? Did he check in?"

Lane blinked slightly, looking out the window. "He didn’t come back to the house today, no. But he’s been texting to check on the doctor’s orders."

"Good," Ava replied immediately, a sharp edge returning to her voice. "At least someone in your orbit has a functioning heart."

Lane exhaled a soft, weary breath. "Ethan thinks something is going on between us. He saw Noah drop me off last night."

Ava went entirely silent for a moment. Then, she let out a loud, frustrated groan. "Of course he does. Because emotionally unavailable men always assume the absolute worst of everyone else instead of actually asking questions or looking at their own behavior."

Lane didn’t respond to that, though she understood the deep frustration behind her friend’s words entirely.

"Just... promise me you’ll take care of yourself, okay?" Ava pleaded gently, breaking the silence. "Don’t let the weight of that house completely swallow you whole."

"I’m trying, Ava. I really am."

"That’s all I can ask for right now."

After the call ended, Lane stayed in the kitchen for a few more minutes, anchoring herself in the quiet routine of the staff before finally returning upstairs.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of quiet, numbing repetition. She read a few Chapters of her book. She organized a few small things in her wardrobe. She checked her phone far more times than she cared to admit, always secretly hoping against hope that Olivia’s name would miraculously appear on the screen. It never did.

By mid-afternoon, the heavy echo of the front doors opening reverberated through the floorboards. Ethan had returned briefly—likely to retrieve a forgotten file or attend a localized meeting.

Lane stayed firmly upstairs this time, sitting perfectly still on the edge of her bed, listening intently to the distant, muted movements below without any intention of going down. She simply didn’t want another confrontation. Not today. Her spirit couldn’t take it.

After a short while, the heavy silence returned to the mansion as the front doors closed once more, signaling his departure. Only then did Lane finally let out the breath she had been holding, her shoulders sagging.

When she finally came downstairs much later, the house was fully empty again, draped in long afternoon shadows. The staff had resumed their quiet, clockwork routines.

Lane walked back into the kitchen, took a deep, grounding breath, and began preparing a small meal for herself once more. She chopped vegetables slowly, focusing entirely on the rhythm of her hands.

This meal wasn’t for Ethan. It wasn’t for anyone else’s approval or to bridge a gap that refused to close. It was just for her. Just for the baby.

It wasn’t happiness, and it certainly wasn’t love. But it was survival. And for right now, inside the walls of the Blackwood Estate, that was more than enough.

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