Semua Bab Pregnant With My Twin Sister’s Fiancé’s Baby: Bab 41 - Bab 50

I'd warned Noah. He didn't believe me. He would.The Stone family mansion loomed at the end of the driveway like a mausoleum for the living. It was beautiful, pristine, and terrifyingly cold—a perfect architectural metaphor for the people who lived inside.I gripped the door handle of Noah’s Aston Martin until my knuckles turned white. The nausea that had been my constant companion for four months surged, acid and hot."Breathe," Noah said, his hand leaving the gear shift to cover my knee. "It'll be fine. I can handle your parents, Aria. I handle sharks for a living.""It's not you I'm worried about," I whispered, staring at the imposing front doors. "It's me."He glanced at me, confused. "You're the strongest woman I know. You built an empire of code. You're growing a human.""They have a way of making me feel small," I explained, my voice trembling. "It doesn't matter what I achieve. When I walk through those doors, I'm just the disappointment again."Noah squeezed my knee, a pulse

The ringtone was the same—Girls Just Want To Have Fun—but the name flashing on the screen no longer evoked fear. It evoked something far more complicated. Pity.It had been three days since the dinner from hell. Three days since Marcus walked out. Three days since my mother stopped answering Sienna’s calls and started answering the press’s, spinning a narrative of a "mutual separation due to divergent life paths."I sat on the sofa in Noah’s penthouse, my legs tucked under me, a mug of herbal tea warming my hands. Noah was in his study on a conference call, but the door was ajar. I could hear the low rumble of his voice, a constant reminder that I was safe.I picked up the phone."Hello?""Aria?" Sienna’s voice was unrecognizable. It was small, cracked, and wet. "Aria, please don't hang up.""I'm not hanging up," I said softly."Mom changed the locks," she sobbed. The sound was raw, ugly. "I went to the house to get my winter coats, and my key didn't work. The housekeeper told me Mrs.

The twenty-week ultrasound was the big one. The anatomy scan. The checkpoint where medicine stopped being abstract and started counting fingers and toes.I lay on the exam table in Dr. Martinez’s office, the paper crinkling beneath me. My shirt was pulled up, exposing the bump that was no longer a secret. It was round, firm, and undeniably a baby.Noah stood beside me. He was holding my hand so tight I was losing circulation in my pinky, but I didn't complain. His other hand was resting on the railing of the bed, his knuckles white. He looked like he was about to negotiate a hostile takeover, not look at a fetus."Relax," I whispered, squeezing his hand. "Dr. Martinez said everything looked good at the last checkup.""I am relaxed," Noah lied. His eyes were fixed on the blank monitor on the wall. "I just want to see her."The door opened, and Dr. Martinez breezed in, bringing her usual aura of calm competence." ready to see Miss Emma?" she asked, smiling."Ready," Noah and I said in

It wasn't a grand gesture that did it. It wasn't a diamond necklace, a helicopter ride over the city, or a hostile takeover of a rival company in my honor.It was a Tuesday. A boring, gray, rainy Tuesday.I woke up to the smell of coffee and burnt toast. When I opened my eyes, Noah was standing by the bed, holding a tray. He was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt that was inside out. His hair was a disaster."I tried to make French toast," he admitted, setting the tray down on the nightstand. "I got distracted by an email from the Tokyo team, and now it's... Cajun style."He looked sheepish. He looked tired. He looked like the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.And just like that, the thought slammed into me, knocking the wind out of my lungs.I love him.It wasn't a question. It wasn't a fluttering crush or the heat of attraction. It was a fact, as solid and undeniable as the floor beneath the bed or the baby growing inside me.I loved him. Completely. Terrifyingly."Ari

The baby superstore was less of a retail establishment and more of a terrifying, pastel-colored labyrinth designed to separate new parents from their sanity and their savings."We need a map," I whispered, clutching Noah’s arm as we stood in the entryway. To our left, a mountain of diapers. To our right, a forest of cribs. Ahead, an endless sea of tiny, impractical clothing."We don't need a map," Noah said, his eyes scanning the aisles with the same intensity he used to analyze quarterly projections. "We need a strategy. Sector one: Hardware. Strollers, car seats, furniture. Sector two: Soft goods. Clothing, bedding. Sector three: Feeding and hygiene."I looked at him. He was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, looking devastatingly handsome and completely out of place among the frantic couples arguing over bottle warmers."Sector three?" I teased. "You make it sound like a military operation.""Raising a human is a logistical challenge," he countered, grabbing a shopping cart. "And I