My Fiancé’s Secret Love is My Cousin - Chapter 11: Chapter 11
You are reading My Fiancé’s Secret Love is My Cousin, Chapter 11: Chapter 11. Read more chapters of My Fiancé’s Secret Love is My Cousin.
The car hummed softly as we drove, the silence between us comfortable yet charged. Alastair's fingers tapped the steering wheel before he finally broke it.
"So," he began, eyes fixed on the road, voice steady but curious, "how are you planning to repay him?"
I blinked, thrown by the question. His expression was unreadable—serious, but with that familiar intensity simmering beneath. "He saved your life," he continued. "And you're not the kind of person who lets that kind of debt go unanswered. So, what's the plan? Are you going back to him?"
My breath hitched. How did he know? The thought had been gnawing at me, unspoken. But then—I smiled. Without a word, I reached over, lacing my fingers through his.
His grip tightened instantly.
"Loud and clear," he murmured, that stubborn grin of his breaking through. "But I'll say it anyway. I love you, Irene Osborne."
A warmth spread through my chest. "Mm-hmm," I whispered back, squeezing his hand.
The hospital room was too bright, too sterile. Brian lay propped up in bed, his face pale until his gaze landed on our joined hands. His smile stiffened, then shattered.
"You came to visit?" His voice was rough, barely above a whisper.
Alastair and I stepped forward together. "Brian," I said, steady. "Thank you for saving my life."
Alastair's voice was firm beside me. "And thank you for saving the woman I love."
Brian's eyes reddened. "Angela," he choked out. "I was wrong. I'm so sorry. Please—just give me another chance."
I shook my head, cold clarity settling in. "The second you handed everything I built to Laurel, we were done. And when I begged you to help me—when my wrist was broken, when I had nothing—you chose her. Again. There's no 'us' left, Brian."
Tears spilled down his cheeks. "I didn't realize—not until it was too late. I hurt you for her. God, I'm so sorry—"
"Angela died under that collapsed stage," I cut in, voice sharp. "The day you saved Laurel instead? That's the day I became Irene."
Alastair's hand tightened around mine. He understood without words, leading me toward the door.
Brian's broken voice chased after us. "If I'd saved you that day—would you still be with me?"
I didn't turn. "No. Because I hate liars. And I despise cheaters. You've been both since the very beginning."
Back in Dubai, Alastair didn't wait. He dropped to one knee the moment we stepped into our home, ring in hand.
My "Yes" was immediate, laughter bubbling up as he slid the band onto my finger—simple, unadorned, perfect. A reminder that love starts with loving yourself.
Later, gossip trickled in from home. Brian survived, but his back injuries left him bedridden for life. Laurel's "mental breakdown" was exposed as a sham—convicted of attempted murder, she'd spend the rest of her days behind bars.
And us? Alastair came home early today, tossing his bag aside before pressing his hands to my swollen belly.
"How's my baby girl tonight?" he cooed, voice dropping to that ridiculous, tender pitch he reserved for this. "Comfy in there? Daddy's home early just for you."
I snorted, jostling his head where it rested. "What if it's another boy?"
"Nope," he declared, stubborn as ever. "This one's definitely Daddy's little girl. Aren't you, princess?"
I rolled my eyes—but in the end, he got his wish.
(The End)
"So," he began, eyes fixed on the road, voice steady but curious, "how are you planning to repay him?"
I blinked, thrown by the question. His expression was unreadable—serious, but with that familiar intensity simmering beneath. "He saved your life," he continued. "And you're not the kind of person who lets that kind of debt go unanswered. So, what's the plan? Are you going back to him?"
My breath hitched. How did he know? The thought had been gnawing at me, unspoken. But then—I smiled. Without a word, I reached over, lacing my fingers through his.
His grip tightened instantly.
"Loud and clear," he murmured, that stubborn grin of his breaking through. "But I'll say it anyway. I love you, Irene Osborne."
A warmth spread through my chest. "Mm-hmm," I whispered back, squeezing his hand.
The hospital room was too bright, too sterile. Brian lay propped up in bed, his face pale until his gaze landed on our joined hands. His smile stiffened, then shattered.
"You came to visit?" His voice was rough, barely above a whisper.
Alastair and I stepped forward together. "Brian," I said, steady. "Thank you for saving my life."
Alastair's voice was firm beside me. "And thank you for saving the woman I love."
Brian's eyes reddened. "Angela," he choked out. "I was wrong. I'm so sorry. Please—just give me another chance."
I shook my head, cold clarity settling in. "The second you handed everything I built to Laurel, we were done. And when I begged you to help me—when my wrist was broken, when I had nothing—you chose her. Again. There's no 'us' left, Brian."
Tears spilled down his cheeks. "I didn't realize—not until it was too late. I hurt you for her. God, I'm so sorry—"
"Angela died under that collapsed stage," I cut in, voice sharp. "The day you saved Laurel instead? That's the day I became Irene."
Alastair's hand tightened around mine. He understood without words, leading me toward the door.
Brian's broken voice chased after us. "If I'd saved you that day—would you still be with me?"
I didn't turn. "No. Because I hate liars. And I despise cheaters. You've been both since the very beginning."
Back in Dubai, Alastair didn't wait. He dropped to one knee the moment we stepped into our home, ring in hand.
My "Yes" was immediate, laughter bubbling up as he slid the band onto my finger—simple, unadorned, perfect. A reminder that love starts with loving yourself.
Later, gossip trickled in from home. Brian survived, but his back injuries left him bedridden for life. Laurel's "mental breakdown" was exposed as a sham—convicted of attempted murder, she'd spend the rest of her days behind bars.
And us? Alastair came home early today, tossing his bag aside before pressing his hands to my swollen belly.
"How's my baby girl tonight?" he cooed, voice dropping to that ridiculous, tender pitch he reserved for this. "Comfy in there? Daddy's home early just for you."
I snorted, jostling his head where it rested. "What if it's another boy?"
"Nope," he declared, stubborn as ever. "This one's definitely Daddy's little girl. Aren't you, princess?"
I rolled my eyes—but in the end, he got his wish.
(The End)
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