Read The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins novel by Artemis Z.Y. Updated 2025 -26 - The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 38

The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 38

“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, like the house itself was breathing… It was haunting.”

My breath caught. I remembered that painting – remembered the hours spent capturing the interplay of

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shadow and light, trying to convey the beauty I saw in abandoned places. But how did he…?

“I’m a shareholder at the university,” he explained, as if reading my confusion. “I make it a point to attend the

student exhibitions. Your work stood out.”

Dr. Matthews cleared her throat gently. “Perhaps we should focus on Mrs. Williams’s case?”

“Of course.” Dr. Pierce’s expression shifted seamlessly to professional focus, though that warmth remained in his eyes. “I’ve reviewed all the scans and reports. The procedures we’re proposing are complex, but I believe they offer your mother the best chance at recovery.”

He pulled out several detailed diagrams, explaining each step with a clarity that made even the most technical aspects understandable. His hands moved with surgeon’s precision as he pointed out various areas of concern, but his voice remained gentle, encouraging.

“I won’t minimize the risks,” he said honestly. “But I’ve performed similar procedures before, and the success rate is promising. The key is taking it step by step, allowing proper healing between surgeries.”

“And you’ll be performing all three procedures?” I asked, trying to focus on practical matters rather than the

“Personally, yes.” He met my eyes directly. “I don’t usually take private cases anymore, but when I saw the

patient name…” He paused, then added softly, “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in seeing your mother

recover.”

Something in his tone made me look up sharply. “Why?”

He glanced at his watch, then smiled. “Would you join me for dinner? I’d love to explain properly, and we could

discuss the procedures in more detail. There’s an excellent restaurant nearby – Le Jardin.”

I hesitated. Dinner with a handsome doctor who somehow knew my art? It felt… inappropriate, somehow. Even

though Kyle was probably with Taylor right now, even though our marriage was just a contract, even though…

“Just dinner,” Dr. Pierce said gently, as if sensing my internal struggle. “As colleagues. I’d really like to hear

about your current work – I noticed your name attached to the Havers Hotel project.”

“You know about that too?”

His smile widened. “I try to stay informed about promising architects in the city. Especially those who

understand the relationship between space and healing.”

Before I could overthink it further, I found myself nodding. “Alright. Dinner would be nice.”

Le Jardin turned out to be more than just “an excellent restaurant.” The maitre d‘ greeted Dr. Pierce by name, leading us to a private table on a terrace overlooking the city. Fairy lights twinkled in carefully trained vines, and the evening air carried the scent of jasmine.

“Please,” he said as we settled in, “call me Nate. ‘Dr. Pierce‘ feels too formal for dinner.”

“Nate,” I tried the name, finding it suited him somehow. “Then you should call me Mia.”

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He ordered wine – a vintage I was sure cost more than my monthly salary when I’d been Kyle’s secretary – and somehow managed to make even the menu selections feel like a comfortable conversation between friends.

“So,” he said after our appetizers arrived, “why did you stop painting?”

The question, though gently asked, made something twist in my chest. “Life took a different direction,” I said carefully. “I’ve focused more on architecture and interior design lately.”

“Ah yes, the Havers project.” His eyes lit up with genuine interest. “I’d love to hear more about your vision for it. The preliminary renders I’ve seen suggest something revolutionary in terms of space utilization.”

I found myself reaching for my tablet, always close at hand these days. As I pulled up the designs, Nate leaned

closer, his attention focused completely on the screens as I explained the concepts.

“See how the light moves through these spaces?” I traced the path with my finger. “I wanted to create areas that feel alive, that respond to the natural rhythms of day and night.”

“Like your paintings,” he observed. “That same understanding of how light shapes experience.”

Something about his genuine interest, his thoughtful questions, made it easy to keep talking. Before I knew it, I was explaining not just the technical aspects but the emotional core of the design – my belief that spaces could

heal, could nurture, could make people feel safe and valued. 1

“That’s exactly what we need for the children’s center,” he said, almost to himself.

“Children’s center?”

He set down his wine glass, his expression turning more serious. “I’m investing in a rehabilitation center for children – completely charitable. We need someone who understands that healing spaces are more than just functional buildings. Someone who can create an environment that helps children feel safe while they recover.”

My heart beat faster at the possibility. “Are you offering me a job?”

“I’m offering you an opportunity,” he corrected gently. “To use your talents to help others, while also helping yourself. The budget is substantial – enough to cover your mother’s medical expenses, if you’re concerned

about that.”

I started to protest, but he held up a hand.

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“Not as charity,” he said quickly. “You’d earn every penny. The work would be challenging, and the timeline is tight. But I’ve seen what you can do, Mia. Both in your art and your architecture. You understand what these spaces need to be.”

The aroma of truffle–infused risotto wafted up from my plate, and for the first time in weeks, my stomach responded with genuine interest rather than reflexive nausea. By the time our plates were cleared, I realized I’d eaten every bite, my body finally remembering what it felt like to be hungry for more than just food.

It wasn’t until we were finishing our desserts that I noticed them.

–

Kyle and Taylor sat at a table across the terrace, partially hidden by decorative screens. She wore red – always red, his favorite – and leaned close to him, laughing at something he’d said. His hand covered hers on the table, an intimacy that felt like a knife to my heart.

“Fine,” I said automatically, though my voice sounded strange even to my own ears. “I just… I should go. It’s getting late.”

Nate signaled for the check, his movements unhurried but purposeful. “Let me drive you home.”

“No,” I said quickly, not wanting Kyle to see me leaving with another man, not wanting to give Taylor more ammunition. “I’ll call a car. But thank you – for dinner, for the opportunity, for…”

“For seeing you,” he finished simply. “I’ll send you the project details tomorrow,” Nate said as we stood. “Take your time reviewing them. But I would be happy if you could join.”

“Thanks. Dr.P..well. Nate.” I said. I slipped out through the restaurant’s side entrance, refusing to look back at Kyle and Taylor’s table.