Semua Bab The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins: Bab 31 - Bab 40

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

**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** "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**"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,

**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