**Kyle's POV**The memories come unbidden in the darkness of my bedroom, rising like ghosts from the depths of my mind. I close my eyes, and suddenly I'm seven years old again, standing in my father's study with its imposing mahogany walls and the perpetual scent of cigars that always made my throat tight."Remember, Kyle." Father's voice echoes across time, as cold and precise as the cut crystal tumbler in his hand. "In this world, your existence is meaningless unless you prove yourself worthy of the Branson name."I remember how tall his leather chair seemed, how the evening light through the window cast his shadow long across the Persian carpet. How I'd stand there, spine straight despite my trembling, as he assessed me with those steel-grey eyes I'd inherited. He'd tapped the report card with one manicured finger. "Second is not acceptable. Bransons don't come second.""I tried my best, Father." My voice had been small, though I'd struggled to keep it steady. A Branson never show
**Mia's POV**The morning light filtered through the bay windows of my bedroom, casting rainbow prisms across the polished wood of my vanity. I stared at the small army of pill bottles that had appeared there sometime during the night, arranged in neat, clinical rows. Blues, whites, pale pinks, and soft yellows – a rainbow arsenal of chemical intervention.My fingers traced the edge of the nearest bottle. The label bore some long, unpronounceable name, followed by precise instructions in stark black text. Behind it stood at least a dozen more, each with its own schedule, its own promises of healing.This must have emptied an entire pharmacy. Mrs. Chen had arranged my morning pills in a small crystal dish – the kind usually reserved for expensive chocolates or delicate petit fours. A knock at the door startled me from my reverie. Three sharp raps – precise, measured. I glanced at the elegant Cartier clock on my nightstand. 9:47 AM. Too early for Kyle to be home. He should be at K.T.
**Mia's POV**The deliveries started at dawn.First came the Italian silk bedsheets, their fabric so fine it felt like water running through my fingers. The deep purple shade reminded me of twilight skies, of quiet moments I used to spend sketching on the balcony. A small card accompanied them, printed in nice handwriting: "For better sleep."By ten, a collection of organic bath products had appeared – lavender-infused soaps from Provence, hand-blended essential oils, bath salts from the Dead Sea. Another card: "For relaxation."Noon brought aromatherapy candles, each one hand-poured in crystal vessels that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. The scents were carefully chosen – chamomile, vanilla, sandalwood. A third card: "For peace of mind."I stood in the middle of my bedroom, surrounded by Kyle's latest attempts at... what? Apology? Compensation? Control wrapped in cashmere and silk?"Mrs. Branson?" Mrs. Chen appeared in the doorway, her arms full of yet another pac
**Mia's POV**"Hey, woman!" Scarlett's voice cut through my thoughts. Her perfectly manicured fingers snapped in front of my face. "You've been staring at that coffee cup for ten minutes. Spill."I blinked, focusing on my best friend's concerned face across the café table. Scarlett looked exactly as she always did – fiery red hair styled in elegant waves, designer clothes, and an expression that said she'd brook no nonsense."I'm fine," I said automatically, the words feeling hollow even to my own ears."Right." Scarlett leaned back, crossing her arms. "And I'm the Queen of England. Come on, what's going on? You look like y
**Mia's POV**Empty rooms.I wandered the halls of Kyle's mansion—our mansion, technically, though it had never truly felt like mine.Three days. Three days since Taylor's triumphant display at the store. Three days since Kyle had last been home. Three days of silence that proved every bitter word Taylor had spoken.I convinced myself not to care. I. Don't. Care."Mrs. Branson?" Mrs. Chen's voice carried a note of concern I was growing tired of hearing. "Your breakfast is getting cold."I turned from the window, forcing a smile. "I'm not very hungry.""You need to eat." She moved closer, her usually composed face creased with worry. "You've barely touched anything these past few days.""I know." The words came out softer than intended. "I just... can't."Mrs. Chen hesitated, then said quietly, "Mr. Branson called. He wanted to know if you're taking your medication."Whoa. The perfect husband, checking on his unstable wife. "Did he mention where he's been?" The question slipped out be
**Mia's POV**"Mia Williams?" Dr. Nate Pierce's voice held a note of pleased recognition that made me pause. His ocean-blue eyes studied my face with unexpected warmth, as if seeing an old friend rather than a patient's family member."Actually, it's Branson now," I corrected automatically, though the name felt heavy on my tongue. "I'm sorry, but have we met before?"He smiled, and something about it transformed his already handsome face into something almost boyish. "Not personally, no. But I know your work. Your paintings, specifically - they're extraordinary."I blinked, caught off guard. Paintings? I hadn't touched a brush in years, not since... "There must be some mistake," I said carefully. "I haven't painted in a very long time.""The series you did for your final exhibition at university," he continued, pulling up a chair to join Dr. Matthews and me. "Particularly that piece with the old Victorian house at twilight - the way you captured the light through the broken windows,
**Kyle's POV**The medical report lay on my desk like a ticking bomb, its crisp pages rustling softly in the air-conditioned silence of my office. Taylor sat across from me, her usual confident posture replaced by something more fragile, more vulnerable. The late afternoon sun caught in her perfectly styled hair, creating a halo effect that reminded me of countless childhood memories."I didn't want to tell you," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the report. "I thought I could handle it on my own, like I always have."I leaned forward, studying the medical terminology that jumped out from the pages. Cardiomyopathy. Stress-induced complications. Risk of acute cardiac event. The clinical language painted a stark picture of a condition that had apparently shadowed Taylor for the past twenty years."Why now?" I asked, my voice rougher than intended. "After all this time, why tell me now?"Taylor's lower lip quivered – a tiny gesture
**Mia's POV** The soft glow of my laptop screen illuminated the study as I immersed myself in the children's center project details Nate had sent. Five acres of possibility spread across my screen. Nature had already gifted us with mature oak trees standing like ancient guardians around the perimeter, their sprawling canopies offering the perfect foundation for what these children would need most: a sense of shelter without confinement, protection without isolation. The site's southern exposure was perfect, which means we could capture natural light throughout the day, letting sunshine become a healing element in itself. The existing topography practically begged for terraced healing gardens, creating intimate spaces that would feel both private and connected to the larger landscape. My pencil moved across the sketchpad as I explored possibilities for the central courtyard. The notification appeared in the corner of my screen with a soft chime. I almost ignored it, but the familiar
Mia's POVI was finally strong enough to be wheeled to the NICU. The actual sight of my sons—not through a screen—overwhelmed me completely. They were impossibly small. Baby A seemed more active, his little fists waving. Baby B was quieter, more still."Can I touch them?" I asked the nurse."Yes, through the ports. But hygiene is crucial."I reached through the isolette opening for Baby A. His skin was warm, softer than anything I'd ever felt. When I touched his palm, his fingers curled around mine."Hi, baby," I whispered. "I'm your mama."The tears came then, pouring out."Careful," the nurse reminded gently. "We can't let any fluids inside the isolette. Premature babies have extremely compromised immune systems."I nodded, wiping my face with my other hand before reaching for Baby B. He was equally tiny, equally perfect."Have you thought about names?" the nurse asked."Not
Mia's POV"Mia?" The voice was far away. Familiar but distorted.I tried to respond, but my throat was sandpaper. Where was I? What happened?"Mia, sweetie. Can you hear me?" Closer now. Mom's voice. But different. Strained.Slowly, I forced my eyes open. The fluorescent lights above were too bright. I blinked rapidly, tears forming as my vision adjusted."Oh, thank God." That was Scarlett. "She's awake."The room came into focus gradually. Hospital room. Machines everywhere. Tubes running from my arms. A catheter. The smell of antiseptic was overwhelming."What..." My voice came out as a rasp. "What happened?""Shhh." Mom's cool hand on my forehead. "Don't try to talk yet.""Kyle," I managed to croak. "Where's Kyle?"Mom and Scarlett exchanged a glance."Mia, honey, you need to stay calm," Mom said."My babies." Panic rose in my chest. "The twins. Where are they?""They're fine," Scarlett said quickly. "Both of them. Healthy and perfect.""How long have I been...""Three days," Mom s
Kyle's POVPain. My eyelids felt like lead weights, but I forced them open anyway.Hospital room. Stark white. The antiseptic smell burned my nostrils. A heart monitor beeped steadily beside my bed, its rhythm matching the throbbing in my chest. I tried to move, but tubes and wires restrained me. My throat was sandpaper dry when I swallowed."Mr. Branson?" A voice. Female. Sharp. "Sir, can you hear me?""Mia," I croaked. God, my voice sounded like gravel. "Where is she? Is she—""Please don't try to sit up, sir." The nurse—young, efficient-looking—pressed her hand gently on my shoulder. "You've had major surgery.""Answer me.""I'll get the doctor immediately."A doctor bustled in. Older man, silver at his temples. Professional mask in place. "Mr. Branson, I'm Dr. Harrison. You've been through extensive surgery. The bullet—""I don't care about the bullet. I want to know what happen to my wife"Dr. Harrison exchanged a look with the nurses. My stomach dropped. No."Your wife..." He pa
Mia's POVPain unlike anything I'd ever known tore through my body, a white-hot blade slicing from my spine to my abdomen. The contractions were relentless now, coming one after another without respite, each one stronger than the last. I could feel myself slipping, the edges of my consciousness growing dim."Her blood pressure is dropping again—80/40," a nurse called out, her voice tight with tension. "Heart rate 135.""She's hemorrhaging," Dr. Levine's voice cut through the haze. "Looks like a partial placental abruption. We need to get these babies out now."A mask was placed over my face, the rush of oxygen cool against my skin. The room swam before my eyes, faces blurring into indistinct shapes as blood loss pulled me closer to unconsciousness."Type and cross for four units of packed cells, two units of fresh frozen plasma, and one unit of platelets," Dr. Levine ordered. "And get me an OR. We're doing an emergency C-section."My body felt foreign to me now—heavy and light simulta
Kyle's POVPain. Unimaginable pain.My consciousness came in waves, each one bringing a fresh torrent of agony. The bullet had torn through me like fire, leaving devastation in its wake. I could hear voices around me, urgent and clinical, but they seemed to be coming from underwater, distorted and distant."BP dropping again!""More blood, now!""We're losing him!"I felt myself slipping. The pain began to recede, replaced by a strange weightlessness that should have alarmed me but instead felt oddly peaceful. Was this what dying felt like?The operating room faded around me. The harsh lights, the metallic clink of instruments, the desperate commands of the surgical team. All of it dissolved into a soft darkness.And then, unexpectedly, light.I was small again. Six years old, terrified, huddled in the corner of a damp warehouse. The ropes had cut into my wrists, leaving them raw and bleeding. I could still feel the ache of hunger, the desperate thirst that had made my tongue stick to
Mia's POV"KYLE!" My scream echoed through the hospital corridor as they wheeled him away, his blood leaving a horrifying trail on the white floor. The medical team moved with terrifying urgency, their faces grim."BP critical at 70/30!" "He's tachycardic, pulse 140!" "Blood loss approximately two liters!" "Move, people! We're losing him!"I lunged forward, desperate to reach him, my hands outstretched toward his motionless form. His face had turned an ashen gray, lips tinged blue, eyelids still. So still. Not like Kyle at all."Ma'am, STOP!" A nurse blocked my path as they rushed Kyle through swinging doors marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. "You can't go in there.""He's dying!" I sobbed, my voice breaking. "He took that bullet for me!""If you want him to live, you need to let the surgical team work," she said firmly, gripping my shoulders. "And you—" her eyes dropped to my blood-spattered belly, "—need immedia
Kyle's POVMia.She was alive.The maintenance door opened into a utility closet adjacent to the main room. Through a narrow ventilation grille, I could see part of the penthouse interior—plush furnishings, expensive artwork. A man's voice continued speaking, the tone cultured and cold."...the Branson bloodline ends today."I'd heard enough.The door burst open under my shoulder, splinters flying as the reinforced wood gave way. The scene unfolded before me with crystal clarity—Mia, bound and terrified. Charles Porter, gun raised. Nate Pierce, lunging forward too late.My first shot took Porter in the shoulder, spinning him away from Mia. The second caught him in the upper chest, not immediately fatal but debilitating.Our eyes locked across the room—his filled with shock and hatred, mine with the cold certainty of a man protecting what was his."Kyle," Mia gasped, her voice breaking through the ringing in my ears.Porter recovered with surprising speed, raising his weapon toward me
Kyle's POVTime became a physical entity, something I could feel slipping through my fingers as I raced across the Atlantic. Seven hours had never felt so eternal.As soon as the plane touched down in New York, I was already on my phone. "Status update," I demanded, not bothering with pleasantries."No response from Ms. Williams," Matthew replied, his usual professional detachment wavering slightly. "Her phone appears to be turned off. We've checked her apartment—she's not there. Her mother hasn't seen her since this morning.""And Nate Pierce?""Still tracking. His digital footprint is... unusual. Almost professionally scrubbed.""What about the surveillance feeds? I know you have access."Matthew hesitated. "We've been searching traffic cameras near her building, sir. Nothing conclusive yet.""Keep looking," I said, already striding toward the waiting car. "And tell the security team at her apartment to stay alert. I want to know the instant she returns."But she hadn't returned. Fo
Mia's POVThrough my tears, I recognized the man—it was Nate.I hadn't seen him in so long, and he seemed different from the Nate I remembered. Seemed thiner, taller. His usually compassionate features were hardened.My heart surged with relief and confusion. Had he come to save me?"Uncle Charles, don't kill her," Nate said, his voice steady but urgent.Uncle Charles? I blinked in confusion, my mind struggling to process this new information as it tried to fit the pieces together.The man named Charles turned to face me, sizing me up through the rim of his glass. "Wasn't that your decision? You lost Carol, and now you want Alexander Branson and Kyle Branson to lose their wives too. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."My head was about to explode. The fragments suddenly aligned, and I finally understood the truth.Diana's daughter was Carol.Carol was Nate's wife.Nate's expression was filled with sorrow. He looked at me, then back at Charles, his posture tense with indecision.C