บททั้งหมดของ The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins: บทที่ 471 - บทที่ 480

Mia's POVThe steam from my coffee curls up like lazy smoke from a forgotten cigarette. It hits the light from the kitchen window, turning gold for a split second before vanishing. I'm sitting at the counter, my fingers wrapped around the mug, feeling the heat seep into my palms.Sophie and Scarlett are across from me, their voices bouncing around like ping-pong balls in a small room. They're talking fast, overlapping each other, the way they always do when it's just us girls."...and I swear, that dress she wore to the gala? Honey, it was screaming 'desperate' from every seam. Like, who pairs sequins with velvet in November? It's not 1995." Sophie's laugh is sharp, like cracking ice.She's leaning forward, her elbows on the counter, her red nails tapping a rhythm on her own mug. Her hair's pulled back in a messy bun, strands escaping like they can't be contained, just like her.Scarlett snorts, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling. "Please. That wasn't desperate—that was delusional. I

Mia's POV"Why do we look like this?"My voice comes out louder than I intended. The bass from the speakers swallows half of it anyway, but Sophie and Scarlett both turn to look at me.I gesture down at myself. At the dress Sophie forced me into an hour ago. Black. Tight. The kind of tight that makes breathing a negotiation. The neckline plunges lower than anything I've worn since—Actually, I don't think I've ever worn anything like this."Like what?" Scarlett tilts her head. Innocent. Like she doesn't know exactly what I'm talking about."Like—" I wave my hand at all three of us. At Sophie in her red silk thing that barely qualifies as a dress. At Scarlett in leather pants so tight they look painted on. At me in this black disaster. "—like we're working here. Not visiting."Sophie's champagne glass pauses halfway to her mouth."Working?""Yes. Working." I cross my arms over my chest. Then uncross them because the movement makes the neckline shift in concerning ways. "Someone is goin

Mia's POVDaniel is still staring at me. His mouth slightly open. The whiskey Sasha brought him sits untouched on the table, the amber liquid catching the purple neon light from the ceiling, turning it into something that looks like liquid amethyst."Wait," he says finally. "Wait wait wait. Back up. Pregnant with twins? From a CLUB NIGHT?""Yes.""The twins. Alexander and Ethan. Those twins?""Those are the only twins I have, Daniel.""Oh my GOD." He leans back against the leather booth. The material creaks under him, that expensive sound of real leather being tested. He presses both hands to his face. His rings catch the light—three of them, silver and gold and something with a small diamond. "Oh my GOD. This is—this is like a MOVIE. This is like a terrible Lifetime movie that I would absolutely watch.""It wasn't that dramatic.""You got PREGNANT. From a CLUB NIGHT. With TWINS. That is the DEFINITION of dramatic."I take a sip of my sparkling water. The bubbles are going flat alread

Mia's POV"Anyway." Daniel stands. Straightens his shirt. The fabric falls perfectly, because of course it does. "I need to check on things downstairs. Make sure the staff isn't burning the place down. But—" He points at all three of us. His finger catches the light—purple, then blue, then pink. "—you're staying. I'm sending up champagne. The good stuff. And—"He pauses. A smile spreading across his face. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of smile that suggests mischief."Actually, I have a better idea.""What kind of idea?" Scarlett asks suspiciously. She's leaning forward now, her arms crossed on the table, her chin resting on her forearms."The kind that involves attractive young men who are paid to be charming." He's already pulling out his phone. The screen lights up his face from below, making him look almost demonic for a second before the VIP lights take over again. He's texting someone. "I'm sending up some of my VIP hosts. The pretty ones. To keep you company.""Daniel—" I start."

Mia's POV"YOU'RE AT A CLUB!" Alexander shrieks. The camera shakes with his excitement. "MAMA'S AT A CLUB! MAMA'S AT A CLUB!""Alexander, quiet—"But he's already spinning. Already running. The camera becomes a blur of motion—floor, wall, doorway, the edge of a cabinet, Kyle's bare feet on the tile, Kyle's gray sweatpants, Kyle's back getting closer and closer—"DADDY! DADDY! GUESS WHAT!"No no no no no—"MAMA'S AT A CLUB! A REAL CLUB! WITH DANCING MUSIC! AND PRETTY BOYS!"I'm going to kill my dear Alexander.The camera steadies. Kyle has turned from the stove. The spatula frozen mid-air. Batter dripping back into the pan in slow, deliberate drops. There's flour on his cheekbone—a white smear against his jaw like war paint. His gray t-shirt is slightly damp at the collar. His hair is pushed back from his forehead, messy in that way that suggests small hands have been grabbing at it all evening.He looks domestic. Soft. Nothing like the CEO in tailored suits who commands boardrooms and