Read The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins novel by Artemis Z.Y. Updated 2025 -26 - The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 138

The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 138

Not Kyle anymore

Mia’s POV

I stared at the message. I took a screenshot and forwarded it to my lawyer with a brief message:

Received this just now from unknown number. Likely Taylor or associate. Please document for potential restraining order.

Then I blocked the number, set my phone aside, and crawled into bed.

I sat on the bed, thinking about the moment Taylor sent this message. Although I’m not 100% sure it’s her. But undoubtedly, she is the likeliest person. Threatening and manipulating are her favorite tricks. The only difference is that I’m no longer afraid. I figured something out. I don’t need Taylor to realize that she’s done wrong. I don’t need her to apologize. I just need to make the people who hurt me pay the price they deserve. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

I need to sleep. Tomorrow, after discussing work with Bernard Leblanc, I can go home. Although I have only been gone for less than two weeks, I miss my mother and Gas. A lot.

I close my eyes, letting the city’s magic seep into my dreams.

Bernard Leblanc greeted me with genuine warmth, rising from behind his architecturally significant desk with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. 1

“Madame Williams,” he clasped my hand between both of his. “Thank you for coming. And for accepting our offer. We are truly delighted to have you joining our team.”

“The delight is mutual,” I assured him, settling into the comfortable chair he indicated. Read full story at FιndNovel.net

Bernard shared preliminary sketches for the rehabilitation center project, outlining the vision and the challenges they’d encountered so far. The design was innovative but had practical limitations that needed addressing, I get excited every time I run into these kinds of difficulties. This is why I like interior design. “Your experience with the children’s center gives you a unique perspective,” Bernard noted, studying my reaction to the plans. “You understand the importance of creating spaces that heal, that provide both security and freedom for those who need it most.”

“That balance is crucial,” I agreed, pointing to a section of the design. “Children recovering from trauma need to feel safe without feeling confined. The architecture itself can facilitate that–open sightlines paired with clearly defined spaces, natural materials that ground and comfort, light that guides rather than exposes.”

Bernard nodded, his expression thoughtful. “This is exactly why we wanted you on the team, Mia. You see beyond the technical requirements to the human experience of the space.”

We continued discussing specifics–timeline, my remote work arrangements, the possibility of periodic visits to Paris before a more permanent relocation. Bernard was flexible and understanding about the impending arrival of the twins, expressing confidence that we could establish an effective working relationship despite the

distance.

“Children change our perspective,” he said as our meeting drew to a close. “They help us see the world with

Not Kyle anymore

fresh eyes. This will only enhance your work, I think.”

“I hope so,” I smiled, gathering my notes. “Though I expect sleep deprivation might temporarily impact my creative abilities.”

He laughed, a warm sound that filled his office. “Perhaps. But new parents discover reserves of creativity they never knew they possessed. Necessity becomes the mother of invention, yes?”

Bernard didn’t ask any questions about the father of the baby. I don’t know if Nate had told him anything in advance. But for whatever reason, I was grateful for Bernard’s respect.

As he walked me to the reception area, Bernard made a small detour to show me the studio’s material library–a meticulously organized collection of samples ranging from traditional building materials to cutting–edge sustainable options.

“This is one of our most valuable resources,” he explained, running his fingers over a particularly interesting reclaimed wood sample. “Touch, texture, the sensory experience of materials–these details matter immensely in therapeutic design.”

I nodded, understanding completely. “The physical properties of a space communicate on a level beyond words. Children especially respond to these subtle cues.”

“Exactly.” He seemed pleased by my grasp of the concept. “When you return to Paris, you must spend time here. It’s quite inspiring

“I look forward to it.”

At the reception desk, Bernard handed me a small package wrapped in simple brown paper. “A welcome gift,” he explained. “Something to remember Paris by until you return.”

Touched by the gesture, I carefully unwrapped it to find a beautiful leather–bound sketchbook, the cover embossed with the Leblanc & Associates logo and my name in gold lettering.

“For your ideas,” he said. “Sometimes the old ways are still the best for capturing initial inspirations.”

“It’s perfect,” I told him sincerely. “Thank you.

As I left the Leblanc offices and stepped into the Parisian morning, I felt a profound sense of rightness. I’ve already knew I will love this job.

Henri was waiting with the car, as punctual as ever. “To the hotel, Madame?” he asked, opening the door for me.

“Yes, please,” I replied, settling into the back seat.

Suddenly I thought of something. “Henri, can you perhaps do a small detour through the 16th arrondissement? I’d like to see that house one more time before we leave.”

“Of course, Madame.”

As we drove through the morning traffic, I still saw the Jardin House clearly. The beautiful, empty home Nate built for a wife who never got to see it.

Not Kylo anymore

The garden photographs he posted yearly, maintaining a connection to a place filled with memories of what might have been.

I was like a thief, secretly watching this sad hidden story.

Everyone had their ghosts, their unresolved pain. Nate burled his in gorgeous architecture and quiet remembrance. Kyle offers his wild love and obsession to scars and memories. My father channeled his into manipulation and destruction. Taylor transformed hers into burning resentment and calculated cruelty.

And me?

Even though I knew that Kyle didn’t really love me, but was just obsessed with the memories, I still had a slight sense of victory deep down inside. A twisted sense of satisfaction. I had hoped so much that he would see me in the past, and now it has really happened. Only I know that it is still false.

Work is what I need. Isn’t it? Maybe after moving to Paris, I will meet a cute French guy and start another romantic story.

Not Kyle anymore.