Semua Bab Pregnant With My Twin Sister’s Fiancé’s Baby: Bab 61 - Bab 70

The message haunted me. She knew who you were. The whole time. Could it be true?I sat in the armchair in the corner of the master bedroom, watching my wife sleep. The dawn was breaking over the city, painting the room in shades of gray that matched the ash in my mouth.I had been sitting here for three hours. Staring at the phone. Staring at her.The photo on the screen was damning. It showed a woman with blonde hair, a black dress, and a silver mask leaning intimately toward a man in a tuxedo. Me.But it was the caption that was the knife in my gut.Ask her.I stood up. My legs were stiff. My heart felt like a stone in my chest—cold, heavy, immovable.I walked to the bed."Aria," I said.She stirred, a soft smile touching her lips before she even opened her eyes. "Noah? Is it morning?"She reached for me.I took a step back.Her hand fell to the mattress. Her eyes opened fully, landing on my face. The smile vanished instantly, replaced by confusion and then fear."Noah?" she sat up,

I didn't go after Aria. I couldn't. Not yet.If I went to her now, I would be going as a broken man, begging for forgiveness with empty hands. I needed to offer her something more than apologies. I needed to offer her a future that was safe.And I couldn't do that while Elena Stone was still standing.I sat in my car outside Lily’s apartment building—where I knew Aria had gone first—and made a call. Not to Aria. Not to Marcus.To Lewis, my head of security."Find her," I said, my voice a low growl. "Elena Stone. I want to know exactly where she is, right now.""She's not at the estate, boss," Lewis replied instantly, the keyboard clacking in the background. "Richard Stone’s security deactivated her access codes an hour ago. She checked into the St. Regis, but she's not in her room.""Where is she?""Credit card pinged twenty minutes ago at The Aviary."Of course. The most exclusive, glass-walled rooftop lounge in the city. A place to see and be seen. Even in exile, Elena Stone needed

I had sat across from hostile board members, federal investigators, and corporate sharks who wanted to strip my company for parts. I hadn't blinked.But sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Evelyn Chen’s office, staring at a potted fern and a stack of Architectural Digest magazines, I was sweating."Mr. West?"I looked up. Dr. Chen stood in the doorway. She was a small woman with sharp, intelligent eyes behind rimless glasses. She didn't look like someone who could unravel the knotted mess of my psyche, but she came highly recommended by the only person whose opinion currently mattered."That's me," I said, standing up. I smoothed my suit jacket, a reflex from a lifetime of armor-wearing."Come in," she said.Her office was comfortable. Too comfortable. Leather armchairs, soft lighting, a window overlooking a quiet garden. It was designed to lower defenses. I kept mine up.I sat down, crossing my leg, resting my hands on my knee."So," Dr. Chen said, sitting opposite me with a notepad.

The week of strict bed rest was less of a prison sentence and more of a strange, suspended reality. The world outside the penthouse—the corporate espionage scandal, the wedding fallout, the implosion of the Stone family—felt miles away.Inside, our world had shrunk to the size of the apartment. To the rhythm of medication schedules, blood pressure checks, and the quiet hum of Noah working from the armchair beside the guest bed.I watched him now. He was on a video call, his voice low so as not to disturb me, but his eyes kept flickering to where I lay. Checking. Always checking.He had moved his entire operation home. The dining room table was covered in blueprints and tablets. Lewis, his head of security, stopped by every morning with encrypted drives. His assistant dropped off dry cleaning and groceries.Noah West wasn't just running a billion-dollar company. He was running us.He ended the call and closed his laptop. He stood up, stretching his back, and walked over to the bed."Lu

The baby shower was over. The guests were gone. The penthouse was quiet, save for the hum of the dishwasher and the distant city noise that never truly slept.I stood in the doorway of the master bathroom, a towel slung low around my hips, water still dripping from my hair. The steam from the shower billowed out behind me, a warm fog in the cool air conditioning.Aria was sitting on the edge of the bed—our bed, though she hadn't slept in it for weeks. She was wearing one of my t-shirts, her legs tucked under her, staring at the spot on the wall where we had hung the first ultrasound photo.She looked beautiful. She looked tired. She looked like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop."Noah," she said, not turning around. "We need to talk."My stomach tightened. It was the phrase that usually preceded a breakup or a lawsuit. But I knew this wasn't that. This was the reckoning we had been postponing with polite co-parenting and guest room boundaries."I know," I said, walking into t