Unmatched Wife: Not His To Claim Anymore novel Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Chapter 42

MATTHEW

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Over the next few days, I found myself watching Mia with different eyes. Noticing things I’d dismissed or ignored before.

How quickly she’d moved into my home after Bianca’s death. How she’d taken over the master bedroom without asking, had moved her clothes into the closet where Bianca’s designer dresses still hung, had placed her toiletries in the bathroom like she’d always belonged there.

How her illness had never shown physical symptoms beyond weakness and fatigue. No rashes, no visible deterioration, no obvious signs of the aggressive disease Dr. Hartwick had diagnosed.

How she touched me constantly now–possessive hands on my arm, my shoulder, my chest. Claiming me in small ways that should have felt natural but instead made my skin crawl with something like revulsion.

We were in the living room one evening when she brought it up. Theo was finally asleep upstairs after hours of crying, and I was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical tiredness.

“Matthew.” Mia curled against my side on the couch, her head on my shoulder. “I’ve been thinking. Now that you’re free, now that we can finally be together properly, maybe we should make it official.”

I stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“The mating bond.” She looked up at me with those soft eyes that had once made my heart race. “We could complete it. Become true mates. It’s what we always wanted, before circumstances separated us.”

My stomach turned with revulsion so intense I had to fight not to pull away.

“I still need time,” I heard myself say, the excuse automatic. “To grieve. To help Theo adjust. It wouldn’t be right to move forward so quickly after…”

“After Bianca’s death?” Mia’s voice was gentle, understanding, but something in her eyes didn’t match. “Matthew, I know you feel guilty. But she chose to help me. She chose to use her abilities to save my life. You can’t blame yourself for her decision.”

Chose. The word rang hollow.

Bianca hadn’t chosen anything. I’d forced her. Dragged her to the hospital. Slapped her when she tried to explain. Strapped her to a table and demanded she sacrifice herself.

“I need more time,” I repeated, standing abruptly. “I need to check on Theo.”

I left her sitting on the couch, confusion and something that might have been anger flickering across her face.

In the days that followed, Mia moved through my house like she owned it. Rearranging furniture to suit her taste. Replacing Bianca’s understated decorations with brighter, more cheerful items. Disposing of things without asking–Bianca’s coffee mug, her favorite throw blanket, the books she’d left on the nightstand.

“I’m just trying to help you move forward,” she said when I finally protested. “To create new memories untainted by the past. You can’t heal if you’re surrounded by reminders of what you lost.”

But I didn’t want to move forward. Didn’t want to create new memories or forget the old ones.

I wanted to go back.

Wanted to hear Bianca’s voice one more time, even if it was telling me I was wrong. Wanted to see her stand her ground, refuse to submit, fight for herself even when I commanded otherwise.

Wanted to tell her I was sorry.

Chapter 42

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Late at night, when Mia finally left me alone to sleep in the master bedroom I could no longer bring myself to enter, I pulled up pack security footage on my laptop.

The cameras covered the house exterior, the driveway, the main entrances. I scrolled back through weeks of recordings, watching Bianca come and go, and with each frame, the weight of my guilt grew heavier.

Two months ago: Bianca getting out of her car after a shift, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion. She’d stood in the driveway for a full minute, just staring at the house like she was gathering strength to enter.

Six weeks ago: Bianca loading boxes into her trunk in the early morning before anyone else was awake. I zoomed in, recognizing her mother’s journals, personal items she was removing from the house. Preparing to leave even then.

Four weeks ago: Bianca sitting in her car in the driveway, her head on the steering wheel, her shoulders shaking with sobs I couldn’t hear through the silent footage.

Three weeks ago: Mia arriving with luggage. Bianca’s expression as she opened the door–resignation, defeat, like she’d already given up fighting.

The day before I forced her to the hospital: Bianca in the backyard, burning things in the fire pit. I could see her face clearly in this footage, illuminated by the flames. She wasn’t crying. Wasn’t angry. Just calm, peaceful, like she was conducting a ritual of release.

Letting go of our marriage before I’d even realized she’d been holding on.

And then the final footage: the day I’d dragged her to the hospital. The camera had caught us in the driveway as I pulled her toward my car. Her face–God, her face. The devastation in her eyes as she looked at me. The betrayal. The resignation.

She’d known. In that moment, she’d known I was choosing Mia over her. Choosing to sacrifice her for the woman I actually wanted.

And she’d gone anyway, because I’d given her no choice.

I slammed the laptop closed, unable to watch anymore, and sat in the darkness of my home office with my head in my hands.

“Matthew?”

I looked up to find Mia in the doorway, wearing one of the silk robes I’d bought for Bianca. The sight made something twist in

my gut.

“Are you coming to bed?”

“I’m sleeping in the guest room,” I said. “I can’t… I can’t sleep in our….in that room. Not yet.”

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