The Billionaire Regretted Losing His Invisible Wife novel Chapter 124

Criocalate tar

Kyle nodded, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere over my shoulder. “And what about…” he hesitated. “What about my relationship with the twins?”

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I wiped my mouth. “I haven’t decided,” I admitted. “But I wouldn’t keep them from you, Kyle. Whatever issues exist between us, they’re innocent in all this.”

“Thank you for that.”He said.

“Don’t thank me for basic human decency,” I said, more sharply than I’d intended. “They’re your sons too. I wouldn’t deny them a relationship with their father, assuming that’s what you genuinely want.”

“It is,” he said firmly. “More than anything.”

I studied his face, looking for any sign of insincerity, but found none. Kyle might be many things, but he wasn’t a good enough actor to fake the intensity in his eyes when he spoke about the twins.

“Then we’ll figure something out,” I said finally. “Regardless of where I live.”

Kyle nodded, looking like he wanted to say more but thinking better of it. Instead, he moved back to the elevator, examining the control panel again.

“Still nothing,” he reported. “But security should have noticed by now. Elevator outages are monitored.”

“How reassuring,” I muttered, shifting again on my makeshift seat. My back was starting to ache in earnest now, the discomfort radiating around to my sides.

Kyle noticed my discomfort. “Let me see if I can find something better for you to sit on,” he offered, disappearing behind the tarps again.

While he was gone, I pulled out my phone again, hoping for a miraculous signal, but the screen still showed no reception. I checked the time–we’d been trapped for nearly forty minutes now. Surely someone would come looking soon.

Kyle returned carrying what looked like a folded drop cloth. “This might be more comfortable,” he said, spreading it over the

concrete bags.

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely grateful as he helped me adjust my position. The cloth provided a layer of cushioning that eased the pressure on my lower back slightly.

“Better?” he asked, hovering nearby.

I nodded. “Yes.”

Kyle settled on the floor nearby, maintaining a respectful distance while still close enough for conversation. He’d rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing forearms dusted with dark hair. Despite everything, I found my eyes drawn to the familiar sight, remembering how those arms had once held me.

I looked away quickly, annoyed with myself for the momentary weakness.

We fell into silence again, but it was less tense than before-almost companionable, if such a thing were possible between us

now.

Twin B chose that moment to execute a particularly enthusiastic series of movements, making me wince and shift position again.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Kyle asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Just normal third-trimester discomfort,” I assured him. “They’re running out of room in there.”

Kyle hesitated, then asked again, “May I?”

He asked again. I had just rejected him a few minutes ago.

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I looked at him-really looked at him–for the first time in months. His dark hair was slightly disheveled from his exploration of the basement. His eyes held a vulnerability I wasn’t accustomed to seeing. There was no guile in his request, just a simple desire to connect with his unborn children.

Wordlessly, I nodded.

Kyle moved closer, kneeling beside the concrete bags. Cautiously, as if handling something infinitely precious, he placed his hand on the side of my belly where Twin B was most active.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as if responding to his father’s touch, Twin B delivered a strong kick right against Kyle’s palm.

Kyle’s expression transformed.

“He does that a lot,” I said, unable to keep the maternal pride from my voice. “Dr. Matthews says he’s going to be trouble.”

“Like his mother,” Kyle said, a hint of teasing in his tone.

“Excuse me?” I raised an eyebrow.

Kyle smiled.

Twin A chose that moment to join the party, stretching or rolling in a way that visibly changed the shape of my belly.

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