Read The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins novel by Artemis Z.Y. Updated 2025 -26 - The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 116

The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 116

The interior of the private jet redefined luxury–cream leather seats, polished wood details, and what appeared to be a fully stocked bar at the rear. Scarlett immediately made herself at home, kicking off her heels and curling into one of the oversized chairs.

“Isn’t it fabulous?” she grinned at my wide–eyed expression. “Wait until you see the bedroom in the back.”

“There’s a bedroom?” I couldn’t help the disbelief in my voice.

“Of course there’s a bedroom,” she laughed. “Where else would we nap during a seven–hour flight?”

Morton directed me to what was clearly the most comfortable seat, already equipped with extra pillows, a cashmere blanket, and what appeared to be a specialized pregnancy support belt for long flights.

“Pressure will stabilize quickly after takeoff,” he explained, helping me get settled. “If you experience any discomfort at all, please let us know immediately. We have direct communication with air traffic control and can make an emergency landing if necessary.”

“James,” I said gently. “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.” Discover more novels at

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His expression softened slightly. “Scarlett would never forgive me if anything happened to you or the babies on my watch. Neither would Thomas, for that matter.”

The casual mention of his brother made me glance up sharply. “Thomas?”

“He’s been quite concerned about your well–being,” Morton said carefully, his expression giving nothing away. “Asked quite a few questions about the flight accommodations, the medical contingencies we’ve arranged.”

Before I could respond, Scarlett appeared with a glass of what looked like sparkling water garnished with cucumber. “Hydration for the mama–to–be,” she announced, handing me the glass. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Which doctor?” I asked suspiciously, accepting the drink.

“All of them, probably,” she shrugged. “Staying hydrated is like, universal medical advice, right? Along with ‘ don’t lick doorknobs‘ and ‘try not to get stabbed.“”

I laughed despite myself. “Sound medical guidance.”

The flight attendant–Elise, according to her nameplate—appeared with more refreshments and an update for Morton. “We’re cleared for takeoff in seven minutes, sir. Captain says weather conditions are ideal all the way to

Paris.”

“Excellent,” Morton nodded. “Thank you, Elise.”

The preflight preparations passed in a blur of safety instructions (much more personalized than commercial flights) and final comfort checks. Before I knew it, we were airborne, the private jet climbing smoothly through scattered clouds toward cruising altitude.

“Now the vacation officially begins,” Scarlett declared once the seatbelt sign turned off. She stretched

luxuriously in her seat, looking every inch the pampered socialite. “Paris awaits!”

“In about seven hours,” I reminded her, shifting to accommodate my increasingly active twins. One of them seemed determined to use my bladder as a trampoline.

She waved dismissively. “Time is an illusion on private flights. We’ll be there before you know it.”

Morton excused himself to handle some business calls, disappearing into what Scarlett referred to as “the boring room“-apparently a small office space equipped with secure communications equipment.

“God, he’s still working,” Scarlett rolled her eyes fondly. “You’d think crossing the Atlantic would be enough of an excuse to take five minutes off.”

“Some people find work relaxing,” I offered.

“Some people are deeply disturbed,” she countered, curling her legs underneath her. “But I knew what I was signing up for. Mostly.” Her expression softened. “Though he’s been surprisingly good about setting boundaries. Better than I expected.”

“Really?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. Morton struck me as the quintessential workaholic.

“Mhmm,” Scarlett nodded. “Date night is sacred. No phones, no business talk, just us.” She smiled, a genuine expression I rarely saw from her. “Last week he actually turned off his phone. Completely off. I nearly had a heart attack.”

“True love,” I teased.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, but her cheeks flushed slightly. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, that’s all.”

“Right,” I said, not believing her for a second. “That’s why you’re blushing.”

“I don’t blush,” she insisted. “It’s this lighting. Makes everyone look… glowy.”

I decided to let her maintain the illusion for now. Whatever was happening between Scarlett and Morton was their business, but I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of happiness seeing my usually cynical friend possibly falling for her husband of convenience.

The flight progressed smoothly, with Elise appearing periodically to offer snacks, drinks, and comfort checks. I dozed intermittently, lulled by the steady hum of the engines and the comfort of the specialized seat. Scarlett alternated between flipping through fashion magazines and typing furiously on her tablet–finalizing Paris plans, she explained when I asked.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, I remembered Mom’s gift. I retrieved the small package from my carry–on, carefully unwrapping the elegant paper.

Inside was a beautiful leather–bound journal, the cover embossed with tiny stars. A note in Mom’s familiar handwriting was tucked into the first page:

For all the adventures ahead–both Paris and motherhood. Some moments deserve to be remembered. Love,

Mom

My fingers traced the delicate constellation pattern on the cover, throat tight with unexpected emotion. It was perfect exactly the kind of thoughtful gift Mom always seemed to know I needed before I knew myself.

“That’s gorgeous,” Scarlett commented, noticing the journal. “Your mom?”

I nodded, still not trusting my voice.

“She’s pretty amazing,” Scarlett said softly. “You’re lucky to have her back.”

“I know,” I managed, blinking back tears. Pregnancy hormones made every emotion feel amplified, turning even simple moments of gratitude into potential waterworks.

“You know what we need?” Scarlett declared suddenly, clearly trying to distract me from imminent crying. “A movie. Something mindless and French. To get us in the Paris mood.”

“Do we have options?” I asked, gratefully accepting the diversion.

“Honey, this is Morton’s jet. We have every movie ever made,” she said, reaching for a hidden control panel. ” Including, I’m almost certain, films that haven’t been released yet.”

We settled on “Amélie,” which Scarlett insisted was mandatory viewing before visiting Paris despite having seen it “like, seventeen times already.” The familiar story provided a welcome distraction, and I found myself relaxing into the experience of simply being a passenger–no responsibilities, no decisions, just the peaceful journey toward something new.

About halfway through the film, the cabin phone beside Scarlett rang. She answered it, listened for a moment, then broke into a surprised smile.

“Well, this is unexpected,” she said, hanging up. “Apparently we have a last–minute addition to our Paris entourage.

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“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“Thomas,” she said with entirely too much innocence. “He’s meeting us in Paris. Business trip, supposedly, but what a coincidence that he’s staying at the same hotel, don’t you think?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Scarlett, what did you do?”