I'm carrying my husband’s brother’s baby

The dining room was filled with the rich aroma of beef stew, the warm yellow light casting a cozy glow over the long table. Outside, a luxury yacht glided past, its lights reflecting off the glass, adding a sense of movement to the otherwise still atmosphere. Gentle jazz music played in the background, blending with the clinking of glasses and soft conversations—a typical Harrington family gathering. I stood by the kitchen island, washing a basket of crisp romaine lettuce, trying to keep myself occupied. The muted sounds of the dinner conversation reached me in fragments—laughter here, a measured exchange of words there. “Vivian and Sophia really do look alike.” Victor’s voice rang out clearly, breaking my focus. My hands froze under the running water, and I instinctively turned around, just in time to meet Vivian’s sharp, scrutinizing gaze. It was true—we did share some similarities. Our height and build were nearly identical, and even our almond-shaped eyes, slightly upturned at the corners, held the same natural charm. But Vivian’s beauty was striking, polished to perfection like a finely cut diamond. In contrast, my features were softer, less defined. My pale skin and delicate figure gave me an air of fragility, and perhaps because of my younger age, my eyes carried a hint of innocence. That unintentional purity often drew attention in ways I didn’t fully understand. Vivian’s gaze shifted to Ethan. He was lounging on a high stool by the kitchen counter, one long leg resting casually on the ground while the other stretched out. He held a glass of red wine between his fingers, lazily swirling the liquid. The soft light from the chandelier highlighted his sharp features, casting shadows that only deepened his enigmatic presence. When Vivian looked at him, he raised his eyes slightly, his gaze sweeping across the room before landing on me. He didn’t smile, but his eyes lingered just long enough to make my heart skip a beat. His gaze felt like the fleeting glow of passing yacht lights—fleeting, yet impossible to ignore. Vivian’s expression tightened. She turned back to the cutting board and, without a word, swept the vegetables into the trash with a harsh scrape of the knife. The loud clatter startled me. “Victor’s just joking,” I said quickly, laughing to ease the tension. “If anything, I should be the one who looks like Vivian, not the other way around.” I turned back to the sink, letting the sound of running water cover the awkward silence. I knew Vivian hated comparisons of any kind. She had the confidence and charisma of someone born to lead, while I often felt like an outsider trying not to stand out. “Right, right!” Victor chuckled, realizing his mistake. “Vivian is far more beautiful, of course. My Sophia’s still a kid—how could she compare?” “Who are you calling a kid?” I spun around, holding up a head of cabbage and glaring at him with mock anger. My exaggerated expression made everyone laugh. Victor walked over, pulling me into a hug and planting a kiss on my forehead. He grabbed an opened carton of milk and held it out to me. “Alright, alright, my mistake. Here, have some milk to make up for it.” I pouted but took the carton anyway. I took a large sip, only to accidentally drink too much. The milk filled my cheeks, and some spilled from the corners of my mouth, dripping down my chin and onto my neck. Embarrassed, I quickly wiped it away with the back of my hand, but not before I heard a low chuckle from nearby. “See? I told you she’s still a kid,” Victor teased, handing me a napkin with a grin. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Vivian’s expression had softened slightly. The tension in her shoulders eased as she smiled faintly, finally letting the comparison slide. But Ethan remained silent. He took another sip of his wine, his gaze unreadable. As he set his glass down, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed like there was something unspoken in the way he looked toward the kitchen. After Dinner, on the Balcony Dinner had ended, but the conversation at the table continued. Glasses clinked, voices rose and fell, yet the warmth of the dining room felt stifling to me. I stepped out onto the balcony, carrying a fruit platter. The cool sea breeze hit my face, bringing with it the faint scent of salt and the sound of waves lapping against the yacht. I let out a long breath, grateful for the moment of solitude. Victor had been under a lot of pressure lately, and I understood why. As the eldest son, Ethan had always been the natural heir to the Harrington family business. But Ethan had chosen a different path, becoming a lawyer and building a firm so successful that its valuation surpassed the Harrington Group itself. With Ethan out of the picture, the family business should have fallen to Victor. Yet their father remained skeptical of him, delegating key responsibilities to distant cousins instead. Victor had married me young, hoping to gain his father’s approval by “settling down.” And for a while, it worked. But in recent years, the old man’s attitude had shifted, and Victor had grown increasingly desperate to prove himself. “Every family needs an heir,” Victor had said to me once, his voice gentle but firm. He was kind to me, always so kind. But whenever he spoke about our future, I couldn’t help but feel like I was just another part of his plan. Was I his wife, or merely the vessel through which he hoped to fulfill his family’s expectations? I leaned against the balcony railing, staring out at the vast, dark sea. The waves shimmered faintly under the moonlight, endless and unknowable. I had always thought that if I tried hard enough, I could become part of this family. But now, I wasn’t so sure. Perhaps I was nothing more than a shadow—a faint reflection of Vivian, or maybe of the Harrington name itself.