The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 132

Chapter 132 Wounds We Hide

Mia’s POV

The drive back to the hotel passed in a blur.

Carol was Nate’s wife.

The revelation shouldn’t have shocked me as much as it did. Nate had mentioned her death, after all. But somehow, I’d never made the connection that she might have been his wife rather than a girlfriend. The depth of his loss suddenly took on new dimensions.

And to build an entire home for her, filled with every detail she might have loved…only to lose her before she could ever step foot inside.

Could this be true? Did this really happen to Dr. Pierce? To my friend Nate? “Madame? Are you alright?” Henri’s concerned voice broke through my thoughts.

I blinked, realizing we’d arrived back at the hotel. “Yes, sorry. Just thinking.”

“You seem troubled,” he observed gently. “Was the architecture not what you hoped?”

“It was beautiful,” I said, gathering my purse as he came around to open my door. “Just…sad.”

Henri helped me from the car with quiet efficiency. “Many beautiful things in Paris have sad stories behind them,” he said philosophically. “It is what gives the city its depth, perhaps.”

I nodded, unable to form a proper response through the tangle of my thoughts. “Thank you for today, Henri.”

“My pleasure, Madame. Will you need the car again this evening?”

“No. We have a dinner reservation, but I think we’re walking.”

He bowed slightly. “Then I wish you a pleasant evening. Tomorrow at nine–thirty, yes?”

“Nine–thirty,” I confirmed, remembering Scarlett’s plans for a morning at the Tuileries Gardens before visiting Montmartre.

I entered the suit.

My phone buzzed with a text from Thomas:

Dinner tonight at 7:30. Looking forward to hearing about your meeting with Leblanc. Should I meet you at the hotel or the restaurant?

I’d almost forgotten about dinner. Dinner with Thomas and Scarlett. Celebrating my potential job offer.

Let’s meet at the hotel at 7:15, I texted back. The restaurant is only a short walk, and I could use the fresh air.

His response came immediately: Perfect. See you then.

I set my phone aside and pushed myself up from the sofa. A shower might help wash away some of the emotion day.

due of the

Under the warm spray, I let my mind drift back to the Jardin House. Its perfect, uninhabited rooms. Its immaculate, untouched garden. The love that had gone into every architectural choice, every design decision. All for a woman who would never see it.

Everyone has wounds they don’t want to tell others about, I thought as I shut off the water and reached for a towel. Mine were visible for the world to see–pregnant and divorced, betrayed by my husband and stepsister. But Nate’s were buried deep, only revealed through yearly garden photos and an empty house in the 16th arrondissement.

I was drying my hair when Scarlett returned, the distinctive sound of her heels clicking across the suite’s marble entrance announcing her arrival.

1/3

wounds we Hice

+25 BONUS

“Mia? Where are you hiding?” she called, her voice carrying through the closed bathroom door. “Just finishing up in here,” I replied. “Be out in a minute.”

“Hurry! I’ve had the craziest afternoon and I must tell you everything before Thomas arrives.”

I smiled despite myself. Scarlett’s enthusiasm was a welcome distraction from my heavy thoughts. I wrapped my robe more securely around myself and opened the door to find her sprawled dramatically across my bed, still in her auction house outfit–a sleek black pantsuit with crimson heels that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

“Please tell me you bought that Modigliani and bankrupted Morton,” I said, sitting beside her.

“Better,” she grinned, propping herself up on her elbows. “I stopped him from buying it because it’s a forgery.”

“What?” I stared at her. “How would you know that?”

“I have eyes.” She sat up fully, excitement radiating from her. “Remember that art history class 1 barely passed sophomore year? The professor was obsessed with forgery detection techniques. Made us study them for weeks. And something about the brushwork just felt… off. So I mentioned it to the auctioneer–very discreetly, of course.”

“Of course,” I echoed, imagining Scarlett’s version of discretion, which typically involved the vocal projection of a Broadway

actress.

“Turns out I was right!” She clapped her hands together gleefully. They’re pulling it from the sale pending authentication. Morton was impressed. Like, genuinely impressed. I don’t think he’s ever looked at me quite that way before.”

“Like you’re an actual human being with a brain?”

“Exactly!” She flopped back on the bed. “It was thrilling.”

“I bet.” I smiled at her genuine excitement. “So, crisis averted? No multi–million euro mistake hanging in the library?”

“Crisis completely averted. We celebrated with champagne at that little place by the Seine.” Her expression softened slightly.” He said he was proud of me, Mia.”

The vulnerability in her voice touched me. For all her bravado, Scarlett had always craved validation, especially from people whose opinions she actually valued. And apparently, despite her protests to the contrary, Morton’s opinion mattered to her.

“He should be proud,” I said sincerely. “You saved him from a major embarrassment.”

She waved a dismissive hand, though her smile remained. “Enough about me. How was your architectural exploration? Find anything interesting?”

I hesitated. The discovery about Nate felt private somehow, not my story to share. “Just wandered through some, neighborhoods, admired the residential styles. Nothing dramatic.

She studied me for a moment, clearly sensing there was more to it. “Right. And you had that ‘I’ve seen a ghost‘ expression when `I walked in because…Paris is just so architecturally stimulating?”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, standing to check the time. “Just tired. And we need to get ready for dinner. Thomas will b

than an hour.”

e in less

“Fine, keep your secrets.” She rolled gracefully off the bed. “But I expect a full report eventually. That’s the best friend tax.”

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