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
**Mia's POV**The morning light filtered through the bay windows of my bedroom, casting rainbow prisms across the polished wood of my vanity. I stared at the small army of pill bottles that had appeared there sometime during the night, arranged in neat, clinical rows. Blues, whites, pale pinks, and soft yellows – a rainbow arsenal of chemical intervention.My fingers traced the edge of the nearest bottle. The label bore some long, unpronounceable name, followed by precise instructions in stark black text. Behind it stood at least a dozen more, each with its own schedule, its own promises of healing.This must have emptied an entire pharmacy. Mrs. Chen had arranged my morning pills in a small crystal dish – the kind usually reserved for expensive chocolates or delicate petit fours. A knock at the door startled me from my reverie. Three sharp raps – precise, measured. I glanced at the elegant Cartier clock on my nightstand. 9:47 AM. Too early for Kyle to be home. He should be at K.T.
**Mia's POV**The deliveries started at dawn.First came the Italian silk bedsheets, their fabric so fine it felt like water running through my fingers. The deep purple shade reminded me of twilight skies, of quiet moments I used to spend sketching on the balcony. A small card accompanied them, printed in nice handwriting: "For better sleep."By ten, a collection of organic bath products had appeared – lavender-infused soaps from Provence, hand-blended essential oils, bath salts from the Dead Sea. Another card: "For relaxation."Noon brought aromatherapy candles, each one hand-poured in crystal vessels that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. The scents were carefully chosen – chamomile, vanilla, sandalwood. A third card: "For peace of mind."I stood in the middle of my bedroom, surrounded by Kyle's latest attempts at... what? Apology? Compensation? Control wrapped in cashmere and silk?"Mrs. Branson?" Mrs. Chen appeared in the doorway, her arms full of yet another pac
**Mia's POV**"Hey, woman!" Scarlett's voice cut through my thoughts. Her perfectly manicured fingers snapped in front of my face. "You've been staring at that coffee cup for ten minutes. Spill."I blinked, focusing on my best friend's concerned face across the café table. Scarlett looked exactly as she always did – fiery red hair styled in elegant waves, designer clothes, and an expression that said she'd brook no nonsense."I'm fine," I said automatically, the words feeling hollow even to my own ears."Right." Scarlett leaned back, crossing her arms. "And I'm the Queen of England. Come on, what's going on? You look like y
**Mia's POV**Empty rooms.I wandered the halls of Kyle's mansion—our mansion, technically, though it had never truly felt like mine.Three days. Three days since Taylor's triumphant display at the store. Three days since Kyle had last been home. Three days of silence that proved every bitter word Taylor had spoken.I convinced myself not to care. I. Don't. Care."Mrs. Branson?" Mrs. Chen's voice carried a note of concern I was growing tired of hearing. "Your breakfast is getting cold."I turned from the window, forcing a smile. "I'm not very hungry.""You need to eat." She moved closer, her usually composed face creased with worry. "You've barely touched anything these past few days.""I know." The words came out softer than intended. "I just... can't."Mrs. Chen hesitated, then said quietly, "Mr. Branson called. He wanted to know if you're taking your medication."Whoa. The perfect husband, checking on his unstable wife. "Did he mention where he's been?" The question slipped out be
**Mia's POV**"Mia Williams?" Dr. Nate Pierce's voice held a note of pleased recognition that made me pause. His ocean-blue eyes studied my face with unexpected warmth, as if seeing an old friend rather than a patient's family member."Actually, it's Branson now," I corrected automatically, though the name felt heavy on my tongue. "I'm sorry, but have we met before?"He smiled, and something about it transformed his already handsome face into something almost boyish. "Not personally, no. But I know your work. Your paintings, specifically - they're extraordinary."I blinked, caught off guard. Paintings? I hadn't touched a brush in years, not since... "There must be some mistake," I said carefully. "I haven't painted in a very long time.""The series you did for your final exhibition at university," he continued, pulling up a chair to join Dr. Matthews and me. "Particularly that piece with the old Victorian house at twilight - the way you captured the light through the broken windows,
**Kyle's POV**The medical report lay on my desk like a ticking bomb, its crisp pages rustling softly in the air-conditioned silence of my office. Taylor sat across from me, her usual confident posture replaced by something more fragile, more vulnerable. The late afternoon sun caught in her perfectly styled hair, creating a halo effect that reminded me of countless childhood memories."I didn't want to tell you," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the report. "I thought I could handle it on my own, like I always have."I leaned forward, studying the medical terminology that jumped out from the pages. Cardiomyopathy. Stress-induced complications. Risk of acute cardiac event. The clinical language painted a stark picture of a condition that had apparently shadowed Taylor for the past twenty years."Why now?" I asked, my voice rougher than intended. "After all this time, why tell me now?"Taylor's lower lip quivered – a tiny gesture
Mia's POVA week before Christmas, snow fell gently outside my window. The city sparkled with holiday lights. I should have felt festive. I didn't.Kyle hadn't called. Not once.Three weeks since the park incident.I pressed my forehead against the cold glass. The twins kicked inside me, restless like their mother.I haven't called him. Why should I? He punched Thomas. Acted like a caveman.But his absence hurts. I hate that it hurts.The twins will arrive in January. Where is their father?I never realized that I would want Kyle to be there when I gave birth.Scarlett dropped the bomb at dinner yesterday."Kyle's in Paris," she said, watching me over her wineglass. "Been there two weeks now. Morton says it's about the Diana Porter scandal."I pretended not to care. Changed the subject. Kept my face blank.Kyle in Paris. An ocean away.I guessed that business were always first.Why did I expect anything different?A sharp kick beneath my ribs. Twin A - always the troublemaker.They're
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