**Mia's POV** The soft glow of my laptop screen illuminated the study as I immersed myself in the children's center project details Nate had sent. Five acres of possibility spread across my screen. Nature had already gifted us with mature oak trees standing like ancient guardians around the perimeter, their sprawling canopies offering the perfect foundation for what these children would need most: a sense of shelter without confinement, protection without isolation. The site's southern exposure was perfect, which means we could capture natural light throughout the day, letting sunshine become a healing element in itself. The existing topography practically begged for terraced healing gardens, creating intimate spaces that would feel both private and connected to the larger landscape. My pencil moved across the sketchpad as I explored possibilities for the central courtyard. The notification appeared in the corner of my screen with a soft chime. I almost ignored it, but the familiar
**Mia's POV**Time seemed to slow in that dimly lit kitchen as Kyle's weight pressed against me, the sharp scent of scotch mingling with his familiar cologne. His head rested heavy on my shoulder, dark hair tickling my neck as his breathing steadied."Kyle," I said softly, trying to shift his weight. "We need to get you upstairs."He stirred, lifting his head to look at me with unfocused eyes. In the soft glow of the kitchen lights, his usual sharp features had softened, making him look younger, almost vulnerable."Your eyes," he murmured, reaching up to trace my cheekbone with unsteady fingers. "So green. Like emeralds in sunlight." A crooked smile crossed his face. "Always loved your eyes."My heart clenched painfully. "Stop it." I caught his hand, pulling it away from my face. "You're drunk.""Mmm, maybe." He chuckled, the sound so unlike his usual controlled demeanor that it made my chest ache. "But I still know pretty eyes when I see them.""Kyle, please—""Stay." His fingers cur
**Mia's POV**The morning sun had barely risen when I settled at my desk, spreading out the preliminary sketches for the children's center. Steam rose from my coffee cup, curling in the early light as I reviewed my notes from yesterday.My phone rang, Scarlett's name flashing across the screen."That bastard actually agreed to the divorce?" Scarlett's voice was surprisingly calm, though I could hear the underlying tension."After my mother's surgery is complete," I said, reaching for my coffee. "He didn't even argue. Just said he'd have the papers drawn up.""Just like that? No conditions? No threats about the contract?""Nothing." I moved a sketch aside, focusing on the garden layout. "He just... agreed.""Well, that's... unexpected." A pause, then I heard rustling papers on her end. "Listen, I'm looking at my schedule. I can get you in to see Marcus - you remember my lawyer friend? - this afternoon.""Scarlett—""No, hear me out. He specializes in high-profile divorces. Knows exactl
**Mia's POV**The elevator doors opened to reveal a corridor that looked nothing like the sterile hospital hallways below. Rich mahogany paneling lined the walls, and original artwork hung in carefully curated groupings. My heels sank into plush carpeting as I made my way to Nate's office, my portfolio clutched like a shield against my chest.I paused before the heavy double doors, taking a steadying breath. Through the frosted glass, I could see movement - a tall figure pacing, gesturing as he spoke on the phone.Before I could knock, the door swung open. Nate stood there, phone still pressed to his ear, but his face lit up when he saw me. He gestured me in, mouthing "Just a moment" as he wrapped up his call."No, tell them Thursday won't work," he said, his voice carrying that easy authority I was beginning to recognize. "The equipment needs to be calibrated by someone who actually knows what they're doing, not just the lowest bidder." He paused, listening. "Exactly. Have Dr. Chen h
Mia's POVThe hospital corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, its polished floors reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights. I watched as they wheeled Mom through the double doors marked "Authorized Personnel Only," her small form dwarfed by the hospital bed. My fingers pressed against the cold glass of the observation window until she disappeared from view."Mrs. Branson?" A gentle touch on my arm made me turn. The nurse—her name tag read "Emma"—smiled warmly. "Why don't we get you settled in the waiting area? It's going to be a long surgery."I let her guide me to a private waiting room, noticing absently that it was far more luxurious than the standard hospital spaces. Plush chairs, soft lighting."Can I get you anything?" Emma asked. "Some hot chocolate perhaps? Or juice?""No, thank you." My voice sounded distant, even to my own ears.She frowned slightly. "You should try to eat something. Dr. Pierce mentioned you might skip breakfast. Let me at least bring you some tea."Before I c
Mia's POVConsciousness returned slowly, like swimming up through deep water. The first thing I noticed was the steady beeping of monitors—not my own, I realized, but from the bed next to mine."What happened?" I asked, my voice rough from sleep.A nurse appeared at my side, adjusting something on the monitor. "You fainted, dear. The stress and exhaustion finally caught up with you."I pushed myself up carefully, my head spinning slightly. "How long was I out?""Just a couple of hours." She helped arrange my pillows. "Dr. Pierce said it was pure exhaustion. When was the last time you ate anything?"I tried to remember but couldn't. The nurse clicked her tongue disapprovingly."That's what I thought. You need to rest and eat something substantial." She checked my vitals with efficient movements. "Your mother's doing very well, by the way. The surgery was completely successful."At the mention of Mom, I turned to study her in the next bed. She lay peaceful in the post-surgical quiet, he
**Mia's POV**The hospital corridors had become familiar territory over the past four days. Every morning, I'd arrive just as the sun began to paint the city skyline in shades of gold and pink. The nurses on the early shift knew me by name now, greeting me with gentle smiles as I made my way to Mom's room.Today was no different. Emma, the head nurse, looked up from her station with a warm smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Branson. Your mother had a peaceful night.""Any changes?" I asked, the question as automatic as breathing by now."All her indicators are holding steady." Emma's smile widened slightly. "Dr. Pierce just went in to check on her, actually."I found Nate standing by Mom's bed, studying her charts with intense concentration. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usually immaculate appearance showed subtle signs of wear - his sleeves rolled up carelessly, his collar slightly askew."Nate?" He looked up, his professional mask softening into a genuine smile. "Mia. I was hopin
**Mia's POV**My laptop screen glowed softly in the fading afternoon light as I opened the group chat. Three faces appeared in their respective windows – Scarlett's fiery red hair unmistakable even in the small frame, Jeo's familiar warm smile, and my own tired reflection staring back at me."There she is!" Scarlett's voice crackled through my speakers. "Our brilliant architect finally graces us with her presence.""Sorry I'm late," I said, adjusting my screen. "I was reviewing the latest site surveys.""Speaking of which," Jeo held up a stack of papers, "I have some thoughts about the therapeutic garden layouts. The integration with existing vegetation is inspired, Mia, but have you considered adding a butterfly garden? The kids would love it.""That's... actually brilliant." I reached for my sketchpad, already visualizing the possibilities. "We could create a dedicated space near the sensory garden, using native plants to attract local species.""And," Scarlett chimed in, "I've been
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