Semua Bab Pregnant With My Twin Sister’s Fiancé’s Baby: Bab 91 - Bab 100

The hospital room had been quiet, a sanctuary of dim lights and rhythmic beeping that I had almost lulled myself into finding peaceful. Noah was sitting in the uncomfortable armchair next to the bed, holding a cup of ice chips, his head resting against the wall.Then, the rhythm changed.Beep... beep... beep...The steady, galloping sound of Emma's heartbeat on the monitor slowed. It didn't just slow; it dropped. The numbers on the screen, which had been hovering a steady 140, plummeted.A red light flashed on the console. A sharp, high-pitched alarm cut through the air like a knife."Noah?" I sat up, clutching the side of the bed. "What's that sound? What's happening?"Noah was on his feet instantly, the ice chips forgotten on the table. He looked at the monitor, his face draining of color. "I don't know. Nurse!"He didn't have to call. The door flew open before the word left his mouth.Two nurses rushed in. Their faces were tight, professional masks that did nothing to hide the urge

The recovery room was quiet, a stark contrast to the primal noise of the delivery suite. The only sounds were the low hum of the air conditioning, the distant beep of a monitor down the hall, and the soft, snuffling breaths of the tiny human sleeping in the clear plastic bassinet beside my bed.I lay still, afraid to move. Not just because my body felt like it had been run over by a steamroller—twice—but because I was terrified of breaking the spell.Emma Rose West.She was wrapped in a standard-issue hospital blanket with pink and blue stripes, a matching beanie pulled low over her forehead. She was sleeping with her hands curled into fists by her cheeks, looking like she was ready to fight the world if it woke her up."She's perfect," Noah whispered.He was sitting in the uncomfortable vinyl armchair, pulled as close to the bed as possible. He looked wrecked—his hair was a disaster, his t-shirt was rumpled, and there were dark circles under his eyes. But he was staring at the bassin

The hospital room looked like a flower shop had exploded inside a pharmacy.Vases of white roses, pink peonies, and cheerful sunflowers covered every available surface, warring for space with the breast pump, the swaddle blankets, and the half-eaten trays of hospital food.It was our third morning. It was also our last."I can't believe we have this much stuff," I sighed, trying to shove a bag of newborn diapers into the duffel bag Noah had brought. "We arrived with one bag. We're leaving with a caravan.""It's the spoils of war," Noah said, folding a tiny onesie with military precision. He looked tired—his hair was messy, his eyes shadowed—but there was a lightness to him I hadn't seen in months. "We came, we saw, we birthed."I looked over at the bassinet where Emma was sleeping. She was wrapped in the hospital blanket, her tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythm that had become the metronome of my existence."She's really ours," I whispered. "They're actually going to let us take

The air in the penthouse, usually warm and smelling of cedar, suddenly felt thin. Cold.I stood in the center of the living room, my hands clutching the throw blanket I had been reading under. Across the room, framed by the open doorway, stood my mother.Elena Stone looked… diminished. The last time I had seen her, she was screaming in a courtroom, being escorted out by bailiffs. She had been a figure of terrifying, vindictive power.Now, standing in the hallway of my building, barred by my husband’s arm, she just looked old. Her coat was buttoned wrong. Her hair, usually lacquered into a helmet of perfection, was windblown."Aria?" Noah asked, not looking away from Elena. His voice was tight, a coiled spring ready to snap. "It's your call."He was giving me the power. He could have slammed the door. He could have called the police and had her arrested for violating the restraining order. But he knew this wasn't a legal issue. It was a wound. And only I could decide how to treat it.I

The first time I proposed to Aria, I treated it like a merger. I brought a contract. I listed the benefits: tax incentives, custody arrangements, legal protections. I approached it with the cold, hard logic that had built my empire, because logic was safe. Logic didn't leave you on a Tuesday morning with a note on the fridge.She said no. And she was right to.Tonight, there were no spreadsheets. There were no lawyers. There was just a man who was terrified he might have already missed his chance, and a ring that had been burning a hole in his pocket for months.I stood in the center of the living room, adjusting a vase of white hydrangeas—her favorite—for the tenth time."You're vibrating," Patricia said from the kitchen, where she was pretending to make tea but was actually supervising my nervous breakdown."I'm focused," I corrected, wiping my palms on my jeans."You're terrified," she smiled kindly. "It's cute. I didn't think you had it in you.""Thanks, Patricia.""She loves you,