Semua Bab Pregnant With My Twin Sister’s Fiancé’s Baby: Bab 101 - Bab 110

The morning of my wedding didn't start with a sunrise yoga session or a green juice. It started with a diaper blowout at 6:00 AM."Happy wedding day," I whispered to Emma, wiping her down while she kicked her legs happily on the changing table. "You certainly know how to make an entrance."She cooed, grabbing my finger. At nine weeks old, she was alert, smiling, and utterly unimpressed by the magnitude of the day. To her, it was just another Saturday.To me, it was everything.I walked out into the main bedroom of Patricia’s Connecticut estate, where we had stayed the night. The room was filled with soft morning light and the smell of fresh coffee.Noah was already gone—banished to the guest wing with James and Marcus to get ready. It was just us girls.Lily was already set up at the vanity, surrounded by an arsenal of hairspray and bobby pins."You're up!" she chirped. "And you're glowing. Or sweating. Is it sweat?""It's spit-up," I corrected, handing Emma to Patricia, who was waiti

The letter from Sterling & Cross sat on the kitchen island, right next to the bottle warmer and a stack of burp cloths. It was a heavy, cream-colored piece of stationery that screamed prestige, contrasting sharply with the domestic chaos of our morning."Junior Partner," I read aloud for the tenth time. "Equity stake. Full autonomy on design projects."Noah poured coffee—decaf for me, high-octane for him—and leaned against the counter. "It's a hell of an offer, Aria. They don't hand out partnerships to twenty-seven-year-olds. Usually, you have to survive at least three ulcers and a divorce to get your name on the door.""I know," I sighed, tracing the embossed seal. "It's everything I worked for in college. It's the dream.""But?" Noah prompted. He knew me too well. He heard the hesitation before I even spoke it."But I have Emma," I said, looking at our daughter, who was currently in her swing, mesmerizing herself with her own feet. "Ten weeks old, Noah. If I take this... partnership

The sign on the exposed brick wall read Stone Design Studio in matte gold lettering. Beneath it, the office—my office—was a hive of quiet, creative energy.Six months ago, this loft in Tribeca had been an empty shell and a terrifying idea. Now, it was a living, breathing business.I stood in the doorway of the conference room, holding a mug of tea, watching my team. There were three of them now. Leo, a brilliant junior architect fresh out of Pratt; Sarah, a project manager who could organize a tornado; and our newest hire, Maya.Maya was presenting a rendering for the Brooklyn Community Library project. She was also pumping breast milk while she did it, a hands-free device humming quietly under her blazer."The natural light diffusion here," Maya pointed to the screen, "reduces the need for artificial overheads by forty percent. It's sustainable and cost-effective.""Brilliant," I said.Maya looked up, flushing slightly. "Sorry about the noise, boss. The pump is supposed to be silent.

[Lily's POV]If you had told me three years ago that I would end up marrying a tech billionaire's brother, I would have laughed in your face. Then I would have checked your temperature. Then I probably would have thrown a controller at you.I was the sidekick. The comic relief. The purple-haired hacker girl who protected Aria Stone from the evils of the world. I wasn't the romantic lead.But life, apparently, had a sense of humor. And his name was James West.It started, as most disasters do, with tequila.We were celebrating Aria’s first successful launch at NeXus—before the pregnancy, before the scandal, back when things were just "complicated." James was there, looking like a golden retriever in a designer suit, laughing at my jokes."You're scary," he had told me, leaning against the bar. "I like it.""I'm not scary," I corrected, downing a shot. "I'm efficient.""You're terrifyingly efficient." He grinned. "Want to go get tacos?""It's 2 AM.""The best time for tacos."We went. W

They say the days are long, but the years are short. I used to think that was just something people said to fill awkward silences at dinner parties.Then I blinked, and my daughter was turning one.I sat in my home office, staring at a spreadsheet. It wasn't the Q1 projections for NeXus. It wasn't a merger acquisition target. It was titled Project: One Wild Year."Noah?" Aria waddled into the room. At five months pregnant with Grace, her bump was prominent, a beautiful curve under her sweater. She held a mug of tea in one hand and a teething ring she had just retrieved from under the sofa in the other. "Are you working? It's Saturday.""I am working," I said seriously. "I'm optimizing the balloon-to-square-footage ratio for the living room."Aria walked over to look at my screen. She choked on her tea."Noah," she laughed, setting the mug down. "Is that... a ball pit?""It's a sensory engagement zone," I corrected. "And yes. It fits in the corner near the piano.""She's turning one,"