The Billionaire Regretted Losing His Invisible Wife novel Chapter 5

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Chapter 5 The Fall

Mia’s POV

The study felt smaller somehow, the walls closing in as Kyle’s presence loomed larger than life. The lamp on his desk cast shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable – and then he moved, and it wasn’t unreadable at all.

He slid a folder across the desk.

I picked up the folder with hands that had gone strangely calm. The medical report swam before my eyes. My name. My hospital. And there the dates. Estimated gestational age: 12 weeks.

Three months.

“My wife is pregnant,” Kyle said, each word precise and deadly. “Three months pregnant.” He rose slowly from behind the desk. “Because I distinctly remember being in Dubai three months ago. The entire month. Would you like to explain that, Mia?”

Two months. I was two months pregnant; my real report was in my drawer, blue folder, second from the top. This paper was a forgery. And I opened my mouth to say all of it-

-and then I saw his face, and the words died.

Because he believed it. It was already finished in him.

This is what I am to him, I thought.

And close behind that thought, quiet as a hand slipping into mine: Two more days. Let him believe what he needs to believe. Soon there will be a different paper on this desk.

“Well?” His voice cracked like a whip.

“Believe whatever you want, Kyle.”

I set the folder down. He surged around the desk, his chair scraping back.

“That’s all? That’s all you have to say?” His hand slammed into the wall beside my head, and I flinched. He was so close I could see the storm turning in his grey eyes. “You’ve been at his studio – you quit without a word – the lawyer’s card in your bag – how long, Mia? How long has this been going on?”

One question, something in me was crying, even now, even at the end. You could have asked me one question first. I have loved you since I was fifteen.

The grief of it was enormous, and far away, like weather on another coast.

“Are you finished?” I asked softly.

“You’re not keeping it.” The words were like ice. “Do you hear me? Whatever this is, however far along you will deal with it, or I will destroy you. You and your artist both.”

“Let me go, Kyle.” I stepped past him. “We are done.”

He didn’t follow.

Taylor was waiting at the top of the stairs.

She stood with her arms crossed, backlit by the hallway sconce, and she wasn’t performing now – the honeyed voice, the trembling lip, all of it set aside like a coat indoors. What remained was the girl I’d known since I was fifteen, cold and bright with appetite.