All Chapters of Pregnant With My Twin Sister’s Fiancé’s Baby: Chapter 241 - Chapter 250

The rain had started again, a soft, persistent drumming against the penthouse windows that usually signaled a cozy night in.But inside the guest wing, the atmosphere was anything but cozy.Sienna sat propped up in bed, surrounded by the debris of a long confinement—magazines, empty water glasses, a half-finished knitting project she had started out of boredom.Marcus sat in the chair beside her. He was reading aloud from a book on early childhood development, his voice a low, steady rumble that seemed to physically lower the pressure in the room."...and while object permanence is a key milestone," Marcus read, "it is the emotional availability of the caregiver that predicts secure attachment."He looked up. Sienna was watching him. Her face was less puffy today, the diuretic tea finally doing its job. Her eyes were clear."You're good at this," Sienna said. "The reading. The research.""I like data," Marcus said, closing the book. "Data is controllable. Babies are... variables.""I'

The NICU at Lennox Hill was a cathedral of silence.It wasn't empty silence. It was filled with the rhythmic whoosh-click of ventilators, the steady beep-beep of cardio monitors, and the hushed whispers of nurses moving like angels in soft-soled shoes.Aria stood outside the glass wall of Isolette 4. Her hands were pressed against the cold pane.Inside the plastic box, under the warming lights, lay a baby.She was impossibly small. Her skin was translucent, showing the map of blue veins underneath. She was wired to machines that were bigger than she was—tubes in her nose, sensors on her chest, an IV in her tiny, bruised heel."She's three pounds," a voice said.Aria turned. Marcus stood beside her. He was wearing a hospital gown over his street clothes, a mask covering his mouth and nose. His eyes were red, swollen, and filled with a terrifying awe."Three pounds," Aria repeated. "That's... that's good for thirty-two weeks.""It's small," Marcus whispered. "She looks like she's made o

Three days after the emergency C-section, the recovery room had transformed from a triage unit into something resembling a sanctuary.The machines were quieter now. The monitors that had screamed alarms were gone, replaced by the steady, reassuring hum of a humidifier.Aria stood at the door, leaning slightly against the frame. Her own incision still pulled when she stood too long, but she didn't want to sit. She wanted to watch.Inside the room, the morning sun poured through the blinds, cutting stripes of gold across the hospital bed.Sienna was sitting up. She wore a silk robe Aria had brought from home—Dawn Grey, the color of the nursery walls. Her hair was brushed, shining in the light. She looked pale, but the grey cast of death that had haunted her in the ambulance was gone.Marcus sat on the edge of the mattress. He hadn't shaved in three days. He was wearing the same hoodie he had worn in the ambulance, though it looked like he had tried to sponge off the worst of the stains.

The phone call came at 2:00 PM, interrupting a tasting session for the wedding cake that involved three types of vanilla and a very enthusiastic debate between Claire and Marcus about the merits of buttercream versus fondant.Noah picked up his phone. He glanced at the caller ID. Steven."Excuse me," Noah said, stepping away from the table where Sienna was currently feeding Marcus a forkful of lemon sponge. "I have to take this."He walked into the hallway. "Steven? Is everything okay?""We have a situation," Steven said. His voice was tight, professional but strained. "My contact at the Post just called. Vivian reached out to their editorial desk.""She violated the restraining order?" Noah asked, hope flaring. "Can we arrest her?""Not exactly," Steven said. "She didn't contact you. She contacted a journalist. And she didn't threaten you. She offered an exclusive interview about the wedding.""She's not invited to the wedding," Noah said."That's her angle," Steven explained. "She's

The wedding was not the intimate, relaxed gathering Sienna had planned for the penthouse terrace. It was a fortress celebration.Noah had hired a private security team that usually handled heads of state. They lined the perimeter of the Hamptons estate, black suits blending into the hedgerows, earpieces humming. At the main gate, guests were checked against a list, their IDs scanned, their gifts X-rayed.But inside the perimeter, it was a dream.The garden behind the house had been transformed. Sienna had chosen Antique Cream for everything—the linens, the roses, the ribbons tied around the chiavari chairs. The late afternoon sun filtered through the old oak trees, dappling the lawn in gold.Aria stood in the bride's room—formerly her mother’s dressing room, now stripped of all Stone family portraits. She wore a gown of champagne silk, empire-waisted to accommodate her post-surgery body, flowing around her like liquid light."You look like a Grecian statue," Sienna said, turning from