The Billionaire Regretted Losing His Invisible Wife novel Chapter 149

Chapter 171 Self-Performance

*Mia’s POV**

Fury doesn’t begin to describe what I’m feeling.

The media is going to be all over this. They’re going to be all over me.

Thanks for Kyle Branson’s grand gesture, apparently.

I tries to calm myself down, taking a deep breath. Getting worked up isn’t good for the twins. Dr. Matthews would have my head if my blood pressure skyrocketed again.

“I need to call him,” I decide suddenly. “Right now.”

“Mia-” Scarlett begins, but I’ve already ended our call.

My fingers move on autopilot, pulling up Kyle’s contact information. His newest number, the “secure” one he texted me after his previous phone was compromised. I hit dial before I can talk myself out of it.

The line rings once, twice, and I rehearse the blistering tirade I’m about to unleash. How dare he hijack our carefully worded statement with this self-indulgent performance?

Three rings, four. Maybe he’s still in the press conference. Maybe he’s being mobbed by journalists demanding more details.

I hang up before the call connects to voicemail. Let Kyle deal with the fallout from his grand gesture on his own. The last thing I need is to get caught up in the media frenzy he’s just unleashed.

Mom appears in the doorway, her expression grim. “You’ve seen it.”

“Seen it? I’m living it,” I reply, tossing my phone onto the sofa with more force than necessary. “Kyle has officially lost what was left of his mind.”

“Robert’s on his way over,” she informs me, moving to the kitchen to put on a kettle. “He thinks we need to discuss our response strategy.”

“Response strategy?” I echo. “There’s nothing to respond to. Kyle did this on his own. Let him deal with the consequences.”

“It’s not that simple, Mia,” Mom says gently. “Like it or not, you’re part of this story now.”

“Fine,” I concede.

My phone buzzes again. And again. And again. A cascade of notifications, text messages, missed calls. I glance at the screen and see names I haven’t heard from in months-former colleagues, acquaintances, even my father’s number appears among them.

“This is insane,” I mutter, watching the notifications pile up.

Mom eyes the vibrating phone. “You might want to turn that off for now.”

It’s excellent advice. I switch off the phone entirely, relishing the sudden silence as the screen goes black. The respite is temporary, I know, but right now I’ll take what I can get.

Gas nudges against my legs, sensing my distress. I reach down to scratch behind his ears, drawing comfort from his steady

presence.

“It’ll be okay,” Mom assures me, though her expression doesn’t quite match her confident tone. “We’ll figure this out.”

I nod, too tired suddenly to argue. The adrenaline rush of anger is fading, leaving in its wake a bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m going to lie down,” I decide, pushing myself up from the sofa. “Wake me when Robert gets here.”

In my bedroom, with the curtains drawn against the morning light, the tears come. The mess that seems to follow me no matter

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how hard I try to build a stable, drama-free life for my children.

+20 Bonus

“He’s here.”

I blink awake at Mom’s soft voice, disoriented for a moment. The room is darker than it should be for morning, and I realize I’ve slept for several hours. It’s nearly noon.

“Robert?” I ask, pushing myself up.

“No.” Mom’s expression is carefully neutral. “Kyle.”

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