Read The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins novel by Artemis Z.Y. Updated 2025 -26 - The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 473

The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 473

“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 going to walk up to us and ask our rates. I’m serious. We look like ”

“Like women who know their worth?” Sophie finishes. One eyebrow arched. That expression she gets when she’s about to say something devastating.

“Like prostitutes, Sophie. We look like prostitutes.”

Scarlett chokes on her vodka cranberry.

“We do not-” She coughs. Wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “-we do not look like prostitutes.”

“We look like high-end escorts at minimum.”

“There’s a difference,” Sophie says primly.

“There really isn’t.”

“There really is.” She takes a sip of champagne. Delicate. Precise. “Escorts get dinner first.”

I stare at her.

She stares back.

Scarlett is still coughing.

“I’m a mother,” I say finally. The words come out strange. Heavy. “I have three children. Three. And I’m standing in a nightclub at eleven p.m. in a dress that—” I look down at myself again. At the amount of skin visible. At the way the fabric clings to places fabric shouldn’t cling. “-in a dress that my daughter would not be allowed to wear until she’s forty. Maybe fifty.”

“Madison is six.”

“Exactly. She has forty-four years before she’s allowed to dress like this. And I’m doing it now. At thirty-four. As a mother.”

Sophie sets down her champagne glass. The movement is careful. Deliberate. The way she does everything.

“Mia.” Her voice has softened. Just slightly. “You’re allowed to be a woman and a mother at the same time. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“I just—” I pull at the hem of my dress. It doesn’t move. It’s physically incapable of moving.”—I feel ridiculous. I feel like I’m wearing a costume. Like everyone is looking at me and thinking ‘who does she think she’s fooling?””

“No one is thinking that.”

“That man by the bar is definitely thinking that.”

We all turn to look. A guy in his early enties is staring at us. At me specifically.

eyes moving up and down in that way that makes you want to shower.

“He’s not thinking you’re foolish,” Scarlett says. “He’s thinking about whether he has a chance.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Obviously. But that’s what he’s thinking. Trust me.”

I turn back to the bar. Flag down the bartender. He’s young too. Forearms that

suggest more gym time than bartending experience.

“Can I get a sparkling water? With lime?”

He blinks.

“Sparkling water?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?” He leans closer. That bartender-flirting thing. “First drink’s on the house for ”

“I’m sure.”

“She’s sure,” Sophie confirms. “She’s being responsible tonight. It’s a whole tragic situation.”

The bartender shrugs. Turns away. Comes back with a glass of fizzy water that probably costs eight dollars even though it’s tap water with bubbles.

I take it. Drink half in one go. The bubbles burn going down.

“So,” Scarlett says. She’s scanning the room with the focus of a predator. “Target acquisition. Sophie, two o’clock. Tall. Dark hair. Nice shoulders.”

“I see him.” Sophie doesn’t even turn her head. Some kind of peripheral vision

superpower. “But look at nine o’clock. The blonde one. Very European.”

“How can you tell he’s European from here?”

“The shoes. Americans don’t wear shoes like that.”

I take another drink of my water. Watch them strategize. This is what they came for.

This is their element.

I’m just here because they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“What about you, Mia?” Scarlett turns to me. “See anyone interesting?”

“I see a lot of children.”

“They’re not children. They’re in their twenties.”noveldrama

“Exactly. Children.”

“You’re not that old.”

“I feel that old set down my empty glass. The bartender is already moving toward me with a questioning look. I shake my head. He moves away. “I feel like everyone’s mother. Every single person in this room, I look at them and think ‘did you eat dinner?’ and ‘does someone know where you are?’ and ‘please don’t drink too much, you have work tomorrow.””

Sophie laughs. That sharp, bright sound.

“That’s called being a good person, darling. Not being old.”

“It feels like being old.”

“You know what would help you feel less old?” Scarlett is leaning closer.

Conspiratorial. “A drink. A real drink. With alcohol in it.”

“No.”

“One drink. Just one. It’ll take the edge off.”

“No.”

“Mia-”

“The last time I had a drink at a club, I ended up pregnant with twins.” The words

come out flat. “I’m not risking it.”

Scarlett opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

“That’s…” She pauses. Thinking. “Okay, that’s actually a fair point.”

“Thank you.”

“But statistically speaking, the chances of that happening again are ”

“Scarlett.”

“Fine. Fine.” She holds up her hands. Surrender. “Sparkling water it is. Virgin Mia at

the nightclub. There’s probably a joke there somewhere.”

“Please don’t make it.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were definitely going to.”

“I was maybe going to. But now I’m not. See? Growth.”

The music shifts. Something with more bass. More energy. The crowd on the dance floor responds. Bodies moving closer together. That

particular Friday night alchemy of alcohol and music and possibility.

I watch them. All those young bodies. All that confidence. All that certainty that the

night will lead somewhere good.

I used to feel like that. Maybe. A long time ago. Before children and divorce and

almost dying and ex-husbands who fake their own deaths and come back with new faces.

Before everything got complicated.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I announce.

“Now?” Sophie looks disappointed. “We just got here.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“Do you want us to come with ”

“No.” I’m already moving. Sliding off my barstool. Adjusting my dress for the hundredth time. “I’ll be fine. Stay here. Hunt your prey. I’ll be back in five minutes.” The bathroom is down a hallway. Past the DJ booth. Past a group of girls taking selfies. Past two guys who definitely try to make eye contact but I’m moving too fast. Inside, it’s quieter. The bass is still there but muffled. Like hearing music underwater.

I lock myself in a stall. Lean against the door. Close my eyes.

What am I doing here?

I take a breath. Then another. The air smells like perfume and hand sanitizer and

something sweet that’s probably vape residue.

It’s a lie. But it’s a convincing one.

I fix my lipstick. Sophie’s lipstick,

actually. Some expensive French

brand that costs more than my grocery bill The coloris darker than I would usually wear. More dramatic.

“You look ridiculous,” I tell my reflection.

My reflection doesn’t argue.

I leave the bathroom. Start making my way back to the bar. The crowd has gotten

thicker in the five minutes I was gone. More bodies. More noise. More everything.

I’m almost there when I hear it.

A voice. Cutting through the music somehow. Clear and sharp and utterly, impossibly familiar.

“OH. MY. GOOOOOD.”

I stop. Turn.

Guess who I see.