**Mia's POV**The peaceful afternoon silence shattered with the sound of the front door being thrown open, followed by the sharp click of designer heels on marble flooring. Outside, I could hear the purr of a Bentley engine fading away – Catherine never drove herself when she was angry."Mrs. Chen!" The commanding voice echoed through the foyer. "Where is my son?"I looked up from my design sketches, the detailed renderings of the Havers project's east wing forgotten as Catherine's voice carried upstairs. Through my open door, I could hear Mrs. Chen's hurried footsteps on the grand staircase."Mrs. Branson Senior," Mrs. Chen's usually composed voice held a note of anxiety. "Mr. Branson is at the office—""At the office?" Catherine's tone dripped with sarcasm. "Call him," Catherine commanded. "Tell him to come home immediately. And I mean immediately, not after whatever 'meeting' he claims to be in."I set aside my work, smoothing my simple grey sweater dress as I made my way downstair
**Mia's POV**The foyer felt too small, too warm in the wake of Catherine's departure. The lingering scent of her herbs mixed with the familiar notes of Kyle's cologne, creating something heady and strange in the air between us. Kyle stood perfectly still, his usual impeccable appearance slightly disrupted – tie loosened, emerald nail mark stark against his white shirt, a flush rising along his cheekbones.I studied the intricate patterns in the marble flooring, tracing the swirls with my eyes. Anything to avoid looking at him directly. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the gentle tick of the grandfather clock and the distant sounds of Mrs. Chen in the kitchen."I should..." My voice came out hoarse, unfamiliar. I cleared my throat, trying again. "I need to shower. Get ready for bed.""Of course." His voice was carefully neutral, practiced. Then, unexpectedly: "Your designs for the Havers project."I looked up despite myself. "What?""They're exceptional." Something flickered i
**Mia's POV**The world had narrowed to sensation - Kyle's lips on mine, his hands tangled in my hair, the heat of Catherine's potion burning through our veins. Each touch felt magnified, electric, as if the herbs had awakened every nerve ending in my body.Moonlight spilled through the bedroom windows, painting silver shadows across Kyle's face as he pulled back slightly, his breathing ragged. His storm-grey eyes were almost black, pupils dilated with desire."Mia," he whispered, my name a prayer and a curse on his lips. His fingers traced the curve of my cheek, down my neck, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "Tell me."I couldn't answer. Couldn't trust my voice when his touch was unraveling every carefully constructed defense. Instead, I pulled him back to me, losing myself in the taste of spice and darkness on his tongue.We moved like dancers in a dream, each step bringing us closer to the bed. Kyle's tie had disappeared somewhere along the way, his shirt half-unbuttoned, reve
**Mia's POV**Sleep had been elusive, leaving me tossing and turning in sheets that still held traces of Kyle's cologne. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face in the moonlight, felt the ghost of his touch. Catherine's potion had finally worn off, but the memories remained, sharp and clear in the endless night hours.Dawn found me exhausted, dark circles beneath my eyes that even expensive concealer couldn't quite hide. I pulled on a simple cream sweater and black pants, armor against whatever this day might bring.The sound of clattering pans drew me to the kitchen. I stopped dead in the doorway, certain I must still be dreaming.Kyle Branson - immaculate, perfectionist Kyle - stood at the stove surrounded by chaos. Eggshells littered the counter. A dusting of flour marked his otherwise pristine grey suit. Something that might have been an omelet sizzled ominously in the pan."What are you doing?" The words came out more bewildered than I intended.He looked up, and for a moment
**Kyle's POV**The medical center's waiting room felt too small, too sterile. I watched Mia through the glass partition as nurses took her vitals, drew blood, performed test after test. She looked small in the oversized hospital chair, pale against the stark white walls."Mr. Branson?" John's voice drew my attention. My family's physician for twenty years stood before me, his expression grave as he studied the preliminary results. "Shall we discuss this in my office?"I followed him down the quiet corridor, my footsteps echoing on polished floors."Her physical symptoms are concerning," John began, spreading test results across his desk. "Significant weight loss, irregular sleep patterns, elevated cortisol levels. But I'm more worried about her psychological state."I leaned forward. "Explain.""She's exhibiting classic signs of clinical depression." John removed his glasses, started polishing them with that methodical movement I'd seen since childhood – his tell when delivering diffi
**Mia's POV**The therapy room was nothing like I'd imagined. No leather couch, no walls lined with dusty psychology books. Instead, soft grey walls surrounded comfortable armchairs, and large windows let in natural light filtered through gauzy curtains. Dr. Sarah Matthews sat across from me, her presence calm and grounding."Are you comfortable, Mia?" she asked, adjusting the small device that would guide my eye movements. Her voice carried that perfect blend of professional and compassionate that probably took years to master.I nodded, though 'comfortable' wasn't quite the right word. The armchair embraced me like a cloud, but my nerves jangled with anticipation. Or was it fear?"Remember," she continued, "EMDR therapy helps process traumatic memories by engaging both sides of your brain. Just follow the light with your eyes, and let your thoughts flow naturally. There's no right or wrong way to experience this."The light began moving, a gentle rhythm like a metronome. Left to righ
Mia’s POV"She's your what?" Daniel's voice cut through my thoughts, disbelief evident in every syllable."My wife." Kyle's voice was ice cold, the same tone he used when closing million-dollar deals. "She is my wife."My fingers tightened around the coffee cup. The irony made my chest ache.Daniel's eyes found mine, filled with concern. "If you're experiencing threats or violence," he said softly, leaning closer, "I can help you, beautiful lady.""Don't," Kyle's voice dropped dangerously low, "say that to my wife."I saw his jaw tighten, that subtle tell I'd learned to recognize over years of watching him from a distance. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple - something so uncharacteristic it made me blink. Kyle Branson didn't sweat. Kyle Branson was always perfect, always controlled.A bitter laugh threatened to escape my throat. Of course Daniel would think that. We didn't look like a couple. We looked exactly like what we were - a business arrangement gone wrong. A contract marr
**Kyle's POV**The memories come unbidden in the darkness of my bedroom, rising like ghosts from the depths of my mind. I close my eyes, and suddenly I'm seven years old again, standing in my father's study with its imposing mahogany walls and the perpetual scent of cigars that always made my throat tight."Remember, Kyle." Father's voice echoes across time, as cold and precise as the cut crystal tumbler in his hand. "In this world, your existence is meaningless unless you prove yourself worthy of the Branson name."I remember how tall his leather chair seemed, how the evening light through the window cast his shadow long across the Persian carpet. How I'd stand there, spine straight despite my trembling, as he assessed me with those steel-grey eyes I'd inherited. He'd tapped the report card with one manicured finger. "Second is not acceptable. Bransons don't come second.""I tried my best, Father." My voice had been small, though I'd struggled to keep it steady. A Branson never show
Kyle's POVThe photograph lay on my desk like an accusation. Thomas Wallace, his face too close to Mia's, his hand resting on the small of her back as they walked through the children's center construction site. Her smile—that rare, genuine expression I'd seen directed at me so infrequently during our marriage—illuminated her face as she looked up at him.I slammed my fist against the mahogany desktop, sending a cascade of reports scattering to the floor. The security team I'd assigned to protect her had delivered these images this morning, and each one felt like a personal betrayal. Logically, I knew I had no right to these feelings. We were divorced. I had forfeited any claim on her emotions long ago.Logic, however, did nothing to quell the rage coursing through me.I paced the length of my corner office, the New York skyline a blur beyond the windows. Something primitive and possessive clawed at my insides. The thought of Thomas, for god's sake, stepping into the life I had ruined
Mia's POV"Kyle!" I exclaimed, shock and anger flooding through me. "What are you doing?"Kyle stood over Thomas, his chest heaving, fists still clenched at his sides. "Stay away from my wife," he growled."Ex-wife," I corrected automatically, moving to Thomas's side. "Are you alright?"Thomas touched his jaw gingerly, wincing. "I'll live," he muttered, his eyes never leaving Kyle's face. "Though your ex-husband seems determined to change that."Gas barked frantically, clearly distressed by the sudden violence. Several park-goers had stopped to stare, and I realized with horror that this scene was likely to make tomorrow's gossip columns if any of them recognized Kyle."This is ridiculous," I said, helping Thomas to his feet. "Kyle, you need to leave. Now.""I'm not going anywhere," Kyle retorted, his voice tight with barely controlled rage. "Not while he's with you."I stepped between the two men, one hand protectively on my belly. "This is none of your business, Kyle. Thomas was hel
Mia's POVThe brisk winter air felt refreshing against my face as Thomas and I strolled through Madison Square Park. Gas trotted happily ahead of us, his white fur bright against the dormant winter grass. I placed a hand on my lower back, trying to ease the persistent ache that had become my constant companion in these final weeks of pregnancy."Are you comfortable?" Thomas asked, his eyes filled with concern. "We can head back if you're getting tired.""I'm fine," I assured him, grateful for his thoughtfulness. "This was a good idea. I needed to get out of that apartment."Thomas had shown up at my door unexpectedly, bearing Mediterranean food and a gentle insistence that fresh air would do me good. After days cooped up with nothing but my troubled thoughts for company, I'd finally relented. My mother was out at another of her mysterious "appointments," and the walls had been closing in on me."I'm glad you agreed to come," Thomas said, matching his pace to my ungainly waddle. "You s
Mia's POVI stood by the hospital bed, staring at my father's battered form with mixed emotions. After receiving the call about his "incident" at the prison, I'd came to Mount Sinai Hospital. Now, seeing Richard Williams lying there with tubes and monitors attached to him, I felt karma was real."You came," he said,"I wasn't sure you would.""I almost didn't. My lawyer thought it was a bad idea."My father's eyes flickered to where my attorney stood near the door, then back to me. The harsh hospital lighting emphasized the damage to his face—a swollen eye, split lip, and various bruises spreading across his features."Thank you. I know I don't deserve your concern.""I'm not here out of concern," I clarified. "I'm here because you claimed to have information that affects my safety."A nurse entered, checked his vitals, and adjusted his medication. I waited until she left before continuing."What happened to you?" I asked, gesturing to his injuries."Prison justice," he replied with a
Mia's POVThe package arrived on an ordinary Tuesday morning. No return address, just my name and address printed in neat block letters that bore no distinguishing characteristics. The delivery man had already disappeared down the hallway by the time I opened the door, summoned by the soft knock."Who was that?" Mom called."Delivery," I replied, turning the padded manila envelope over in my hands."What did you order?" She appeared in the doorway, a dish towel slung over one shoulder."Nothing." I held up the package. I carefully tore along the sealed edge.A leather-bound journal, its cover worn at the corners, the pages slightly yellowed with age. The leather was soft, as if it had been handled often, and a delicate ribbon marker protruded from between the pages. There was no note accompanying it, nothing to indicate who had sent it or why."What is it?" Mom asked, peering over my shoulder.I opened the cover carefully, looking for an inscription or any identifying information. On
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