Mia's POVI looked at Thomas. But I immediately realized that he wanted to help me.His eyes met mine briefly. A silent message passing between us: Play along. It's easier this way.One voice told me: This is not a good idea. Making things more complicated will not help. I should have corrected Thomas. I should have clarified that Thomas and I were just friends, that there was nothing romantic between us.But seeing Kyle's expression changed. A flash of raw pain quickly passed his face. It unlocked something petty and vindictive in me that I wasn't proud of.So I said nothing. Just moved closer to Thomas, even allowing him to place a protective hand at the small of my back.Kyle's eyes tracked the movement, his expression shuttering completely. When he spoke again, his voice held none of the emotion that had colored it moments before."I see." The two words were clipped, professional. "Then I won't waste any more of your time." He nodded once, a businessman concluding an unsuccessful
Mia's POV"Mia."The voice, that voice, snapped me back to reality with jarring suddenness.I turned my head. My eyes flew open to find Kyle standing a few feet away, his expression guarded but his posture hesitant.The second time. "Are you following me?" I blurted."No." He gestured to a building visible just beyond the park's edge. "My meeting was there. I saw you from the window."I wanted to believe it was another coincidence, but the statistical improbability, strained credulity. Paris was too big, with too many parks and too many paths for these encounters to be chance.I think I was angry."What do you want, Kyle?" I asked, suddenly tired of the games, the half-truths, the careful dance we'd been performing since the divorce.He hesitated, then sat beside me, leaving a careful distance between us. His closeness sent an unwanted ripple of awareness through me. Purely subconscious. For the familiar scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from his body."Is it true?" he asked
Mia's POV"You kept it." he said softly, his eyes lifting to mine with an expression I couldn't interpret. Despite everything that had happened, I never once thought of throwing it away . That memory belonged not just to Kyle, but also to me. Although Kyle and I are in a mess right now, we did go through all that when we were kids."Just because I didn't throw it away doesn't mean anything. Kyle."His gaze wavered. It was strange. I thought it was my imagination. He overlapped with the little boy in my memory.The truth was, I didn't know myself. Just as I didn't know why seeing him here, now, in the fading golden light of a Parisian evening, made my heart ache with a longing I thought I'd successfully buried.His fingers closed around the pendant, the gesture almost reverential. "Do you remember when I gave this to you?"I sighed. "In the warehouse, when we are about to part.""You do remember." His voice held wonder. "Mia. I—""Stop." I held up a hand to halt whatever he was about
Mia's POVKyle nodded, seemingly unsurprised by my response. "I understand." I looked into his grey eyes. There was a small reflection of me there. Could I really consider him only a father to my boys?He handed me the flowers. After a moment's hesitation, I took it, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The brief contact sent an unwanted jolt of awareness through me."Thank you," I managed.He just nodded.We'd reached the hotel's side entrance, the discreet door I'd slipped out through earlier. Kyle stopped a respectful distance away, making no move to follow me inside."Goodnight, Mia," he said softly. "Take care of yourself. And them.""Goodnight, Kyle."As I entered the hotel and made my way back to the suite, my mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. The pendant seemed to burn in my pocket, a tangible reminder of the past. I wanted to end it, but Kyle wasn't going to let that happen. I was a lost sailor, and he had the song of a siren. Was he trying to lea
Mia‘s POVThe Louvre was everything the guidebooks promised and more. I visited once when I was very young. But I don't remember anything now. It's like a brand new visit.I was particularly drawn to the Greek antiquities, something about their weathered permanence speaking to me in ways the more flamboyant Renaissance paintings didn't. The twins seemed to appreciate the art as well, shifting and kicking whenever we stopped for a particularly detailed explanation."They're already developing excellent taste," Scarlett observed when I shared this with her. "Morton will approve."I can't help but stand in front of these collections for a long time. Many of them have passed through thousands of years. How many people had seen them before? People always feel that the sadness they have experienced is hard to let go, but in front of them, it is just a flash in the pan.After the museum, we enjoyed a light lunch at a café overlooking the Seine, watching tourists and locals pass by in the aut
Mia's POVWith a sigh, I closed the box and slid it into my bedside drawer, beneath my journal and the Paris guidebook I'd barely opened. I'd deal with my complicated feelings about the gift—and its giver—later."Mia?" Scarlett called again, her voice closer now. "Are you decent? I'm coming in!"I quickly shut the drawer just as she breezed into the room, a whirlwind of energy and expensive perfume. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, eyes bright."You will not believe what Baptiste arranged for tomorrow," she announced, flopping onto my bed with the casual confidence of someone who's been doing it since childhood sleepovers. "We're getting a private viewing of the Musée d'Orsay before it opens to the public. Just us! Can you imagine? All those Monets and Van Goghs without tourists blocking the view.""How did he manage that?" I asked."Magic? Bribery? Who cares!" She rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand to study me. "How was your afternoon? You look... contemplati
Mia's POVDinner was at a Michelin-starred restaurant overlooking the Eiffel Tower, the kind of place where the menu didn't list prices and the wine list was thicker than most novels. Morton was already seated when we arrived, rising with impeccable manners as we approached."Scarlett. Mia." He nodded to each of us in turn, pulling out my chair first with old-world gallantry. "You both look lovely."Scarlett didn't say anything. That's very unscarlett of her. I felt a little strange.Morton either didn't notice or chose to ignore it, signaling for the sommelier before turning to me. "How was the museum this morning? Scarlett mentioned a private viewing.""It was amazing," I said sincerely."I'm glad to hear it." He nodded. "And your meeting with Leblanc is tomorrow?""Yes, at ten." I said."Bernard Leblanc has a reputation for innovation," Morton agreed.The conversation flowed easily enough through the extravagant meal. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something was strained bet
Mia's POVShe led me through a glass door into what appeared to be the main studio space—a vast, open area where architects and designers worked at modernist desks. The energy was palpable, a creative hum underlying the quiet concentration of professionals at work.At the far end of the studio, a man rose from his desk and walked toward me. Bernard Leblanc was in his early sixties, with silver-streaked dark hair and the kind of face that seemed permanently set in thoughtful contemplation. His handshake was firm, his smile genuine."Madame Williams," he greeted me in lightly accented English. "Welcome to Leblanc & Associates. Dr. Pierce has told me much about your work.""Thank you for meeting with me," I replied, pleased that my voice came out steady and professional despite my nerves. "I'm a great admirer of your firm's approach to therapeutic environments.""Please, come to my office where we can speak more comfortably." He gestured toward a glass-walled space at the corner of the s
Mia's POVAs I filled the kettle for morning tea, my phone rang—an unknown number with a local area code. Normally, I'd let such calls go to voicemail, wary of reporters still trying to get comments about the Branson scandal. But something—intuition perhaps—prompted me to answer."Hello?"There was silence on the other end, followed by a crackle of static that suggested an institutional phone system."Hello?" I repeated, irritation creeping into my voice. "Who is this?""Mia."The voice sent ice through my veins, familiar despite the years."Father."The word felt foreign on my tongue, a relic from a past I'd tried to put behind me. Richard Williams."You answered," he said, sounding genuinely surprised. "I wasn't sure you would.""I didn't recognize the number," I replied, my tone deliberately cool. "What do you want?""Is that any way to greet your father?" The familiar note of manipulation had already crept into his voice, the subtle reminder that I owed him respect regardless of h
Mia's POV"Yes, Mom. I'm awake," I called, adjusting myself against the pillows as she peered around the door. "That was a short appointment."She hesitated in the doorway. "It was canceled. The weather, you know."I nodded, though I didn't entirely believe her explanation. The snow, while steady, was hardly a blizzard. New Yorkers carried on through far worse conditions. But I let it pass, unwilling to interrogate her about a private matter she clearly wasn't ready to share."Are you comfortable?" she asked. "You shouldn't stay in bed all day. A little movement is good for circulation.""I was just resting," I assured her. "I had some soup, like you suggested.""Good. I have some papers to review in my office. Will you be alright on your own for a while?""I'm not an invalid, Mom," I reminded her with a smile. "Just pregnant.""Very pregnant," she corrected.After she left, I remained in bed a while longer, listening to the soft sounds of her moving about in her office across the hal
Mia's POVDecember arrived with its first snow, transforming New York into a landscape of pristine white. I stood at the window, my fingers tracing idle patterns on the frosted glass as I observed the silent descent of snowflakes. My reflection stared back at me, a woman has a belly that had expanded to proportions I once would have deemed impossible.The cold had settled into the city with unusual vigor this year, mirroring the chill that had descended upon the Branson name. Each day brought fresh allegations against Alexander Branson, each more damning than the last. The media, like vultures circling a wounded animal, released evidence piece by piece, ensuring the scandal remained perpetually fresh in the public consciousness."Murder," they called it now. Alexander Branson, murderer of Diane Porter—a truth accepted so readily by a public hungry for the downfall of the wealthy and powerful.I sighed, my breath creating a momentary fog upon the window.Diane Porter had been revealed
Mia's POV"Nate," I said carefully, "what do you know that I don't?"I could hear Nate's breathing on the other end, slightly uneven, as if he was wrestling with himself."I—" he began, then stopped. "There are things I can't explain, Mia.""Nate, please," I said, my voice softer now. "I'm tired of riddles. I have two babies to protect. If you know something that puts us at risk, you need to tell me.""I..." There was a muffled sound on his end, like someone speaking in the background. "I have to go," he said suddenly, his tone shifting to urgency."Nate, wait—""I'll protect you, Mia," he promised. "please consider what I said about Paris.""I can't just—""I have to take this call," he interrupted.The line went dead before I could respond, leaving me staring at my phone in disbelief."What the hell?" I whispered to the empty room."I'm tired of this," I said aloud to Gas, who tilted his head as if considering my words. "Tired of everyone treating me like some fragile doll who can't
Mia's POV"Nate," I said finally, my patience wearing thin, "if you know something that affects me and my children, you have a moral obligation to tell me. Not in riddles, not in vague warnings, but directly."The silence on the other end of the line stretched on for so long that I checked my phone screen to make sure we were still connected. We were."Nate? Are you still there?"A heavy sigh filtered through the connection. "I'm here.""Then talk to me," I pressed.Silence. And silence.I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Getting angry wouldn't help, and it certainly wouldn't get Nate to open up."Look," I said, softening my tone, "I need to be honest with you about something. There's a reason I'm pushing so hard for answers."Another pause. "What is it?"I closed my eyes, preparing for his reaction. "When I was in Paris, I went to see the Jardin House."The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line told me everything I needed to know."You knew," he said flatly. N
Mia's POVI woke to gray skies and a steady drizzle against my bedroom window.My dreams had been a chaotic montage of faces—Kyle's desperation, Scarlett's feverish smile, Jeo's unexpected reappearance, and Nate... Nate with his kind eyes and careful distance, a puzzle I couldn't quite solve.Strange dreams.My phone chimed with a text message, and I reached for it reluctantly, half-expecting it to be Kyle with some pathetic apology. Instead, it was Scarlett:Fever broke this morning. Morton insisting I stay in bed anyway.I smiled despite myself, relieved that her condition was improving. I typed back:Dictator Morton sounds like exactly what you need right now. Rest. I'll check on you later.Setting the phone aside, I pushed myself up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, taking a moment to find my balance.Gas immediately hopped down and stretched.As I picked at my breakfast, my thoughts returned to the video call with Scarlett and Jeo. The revelation that Jeo and Nate had b
Mia's POVThe hot water helped wash away the physical sensation of Kyle's grasp, of his mouth forced against mine, though the memory remained stubbornly present.I reached for my tablet, thinking I might distract myself with some mindless scrolling or perhaps work on the children's center designs. And my phone chimed with an incoming video call. Scarlett's name and photo flashed on the screen.I accepted the call, adjusting the screen so the dim lighting wouldn't reveal too much of my current state."Hey, Scar," I greeted, forcing a lightness I didn't feel into my voice. "How are you feeling?"Scarlett's face appeared, still flushed with fever but looking marginally better than when I'd left her earlier. "Like I've been hit by a bus, then backed over for good measure," she replied with her characteristic bluntness. "But Morton's playing Florence Nightingale, so I can't complain too much.""You should be resting," I scolded gently. "Why are you calling so late?"Her image shifted as sh
Mia's POVBefore I could process what was happening, Kyle's mouth was on mine, desperate and demanding, tasting of expensive scotch and poor decisions. For a split second, I froze, my brain struggling to catch up with this sudden violation. Gas's barking grew more frantic beside me, his protective instincts in full force as Kyle's hands gripped my shoulders.The initial shock wore off, replaced by a surge of white-hot anger that coursed through my veins. With strength I didn't know I possessed, I shoved hard against Kyle's chest, breaking free from his grip. He stumbled backward, momentarily off-balance, giving me just enough space to raise my hand and deliver a stinging slap across his face.The crack of palm against cheek echoed through the narrow alley, punctuated by Gas's continuing barks."How dare you," I hissed, my entire body trembling with rage. "How dare you grab me like that, touch me like that."Kyle stood frozen, his hand rising slowly to his reddening cheek."Mia—" he st
Mia's POVA knock at the door interrupted our banter. Morton poked his head in, looking slightly apologetic."Dinner's almost ready," he announced. "Nothing fancy, but there's roast beef, potatoes, and some vegetables. Mia, I assumed you'd stay? There's plenty."Gas perked up at the mention of food, his tail wagging hopefully."Don't worry, buddy," Morton assured him. "I've got something for you too."By the time we finished eating, however, Scarlett was visibly flagging, the brief burst of energy from leaving her sickbed rapidly depleting."You should get back to bed," I said gently, noting the renewed flush in her cheeks. "Your fever's coming back."She nodded, too tired to argue. "I hate being sick. It's so boring.""It's your body telling you to slow down," Morton advised, already moving to help her up. "Even Scarlett Wallace-Morton needs rest occasionally.""Wallace-Morton," she repeated, leaning heavily against his arm. "That still