Read The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins novel by Artemis Z.Y. Updated 2025 -26 - The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 172
The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 172
We don’t have a ‘family,‘ Kyle.
**Mia’s POV**
Kyle stands in the hallway, looking simultaneously immaculate and disheveled. His gray eyes are intense, almost feverish as they lock onto mine. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ fіndnovel.net
“Mia,” he says, my name a breath of relief on his lips.
“Come,” I inform him coolly, stepping back to allow him entry. “I’m not feeling well, and I need to rest. So spit it out.”
He enters cautiously, his gaze sweeping over me with an assessment that’s both professional and intimately familiar. “You look pale. Have you eaten today?”
The question irritates me more than it should.
“My eating habits aren’t your concern, Kyle,” I reply, closing the door behind him.
He moves into the living room but remains standing. “You’ve seen the press conference,” he says.
“The entire world has seen the press conference,” I counter.
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “It wasn’t a publicity stunt, Mia.”
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “Then what would you call it? A spontaneous declaration of undying love? In front of cameras, reporters, the entire business world?” 1
“The truth,” he says simply.
I laugh.
“I needed to set the record straight. To make it clear that none of this was your fault. That you didn’t trap me, manipulate me, use me for my money or position.”
“And you couldn’t have done that with the statement we agreed on?”
“It wasn’t strong enough,” he insists.
“Please, enlighten me. What your self–indulgent performance for?”
His eyes narrow at my choice of words. “Is that what you think it was? Self–indulgence?”
“What else would you call it?” I shoot back. “You turned a straightforward PR statement into a one–man show.‘
I fully intend to win back my wife’s trust and love,‘” I quote, mimicking his serious tone.
Kyle steps closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “I said what needed to be said, Mia. The truth. Our marriage wasn’t a business arrangement. It wasn’t a convenience. It was real. And its failure was my fault, not yours.”
“So now you’re what?” I ask, throwing up my hands in exasperation. “A reformed man? Ready to make amends?
11
He doesn’t flinch at my tone, his gaze steady. “I’m trying to make things right.”
“Stop saying that! What is it you want, exactly?” I cut him off, too angry to hear whatever platitude he’s about to offer. “To be some showbiz personality? Is that what this is about? Creating a spectacle for the cameras? Do you think it’s romantic to air our private business in front of the entire world?”
“That’s not-”
“Or maybe you just couldn’t resist the drama of it all,” I continue, the words pouring out now. “The great Kyle Branson, baring his soul in a press conference, declaring his intent to win back his wife. Did you practice that line in the mirror? Did your PR director help you craft it for maximum impact?”
A flash of genuine hurt crosses his face at that, quickly replaced by frustration. “This isn’t about PR or drama or controlling the narrative,” he says, his voice low and intense. “This is about us, Mia. About our family.”
“We don’t have a ‘family,‘ Kyle. We have two unborn children and a legal arrangement for co–parenting. That’s it.”
“That’s not true and you know it.” He said.
“Enjoy the moment yourself, Kyle,” I say, deliberately hardening my voice against the unwelcome flutter of emotion. “I’ll find a new boyfriend immediately, and I hope you enjoy the self–performance of ‘the lovestruck bachelor.‘”
“I see,” he says stiffly. “Well, then. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
He moves toward the door, his posture rigid with controlled anger. At the threshold, he pauses, turning back to
- me.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for the inconvenience my statement has caused you,” he says formally. “That was never my intention.”
And then he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him with a finality that feels oddly like loss.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at the space where he stood, feeling hollow and unsatisfied. Instead of the righteous anger I’d expected to feel, I’m left with a complicated tangle of emotions that I don’t have the energy to untangle.
Mom emerges from the kitchen, her expression carefully neutral. “That went well.”
“I think I need to lie down again,” I murmur, already feeling my eyelids grow heavy.
“Of course,” Mom helps me up. “Rest. I’ll wake you if Robert calls with any updates.”
Sleep claims me before the tears have fully dried on my cheeks.
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