Read The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins novel by Artemis Z.Y. Updated 2025 -26 - The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 475

The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 475

Daniel is still staring at me. His mouth slightly open. The whiskey Sasha brought him sits untouched on the table, the amber liquid catching the purple neon light from the ceiling, turning it into something that looks like liquid amethyst.

“Wait,” he says finally. “Wait wait wait. Back up. Pregnant with twins? From a CLUB NIGHT?”

“Yes.”

“The twins. Alexander and Ethan. Those twins?”

“Those are the only twins I have, Daniel.”

“Oh my GOD.” He leans back against the leather booth. The material creaks under him, that expensive sound of real leather being tested. He presses both hands to his face. His rings catch the light-three of them, silver and gold and something with a small diamond. “Oh my GOD. This is this is like a MOVIE. This is like a terrible Lifetime movie that I would absolutely watch.”

“It wasn’t that dramatic.”

“You got PREGNANT. From a CLUB NIGHT. With TWINS. That is the DEFINITION of dramatic.”

I take a sip of my sparkling water. The bubbles are going flat already. The glass is warm where my fingers have been holding it too long. Club sparkling water is never good. It’s always just tap water with disappointment.

“To be fair,” I say, “you were there. Both times.”

Daniel freezes. His hands still pressed against his cheeks. His eyes visible between his fingers, wide and getting wider.

“Both times?”

“Both times I’ve been to a club. You were there.”

He counts on his fingers. His nails are manicured, I notice. Perfect half-moons.

Clear polish that catches the light. He stops. Counts again

“Paradise. Four years ago.” He holds up one finger. “And tonight.” He holds up another. “That’s that’s only two times.”

“Exactly.”

“You’ve only been to a club TWICE in four years?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“With WHAT?”

“Three children. A career. An ex-husband who faked his death. The usual.”

Daniel’s hand comes up again. Pressing against his chest. That dramatic gesture he does. His shirt shifts with the movement-definitely designer, the fabric too smooth, too perfect to be anything off the rack. The top three buttons are undone. Deliberate. Strategic.

“The ex-husband who—” He stops. Shakes his head. “You know what? No. We’re not getting into that tonight. That’s a whole other conversation. A sober conversation. A conversation that requires snacks and possibly therapy.”

“Probably therapy.”

“Definitely therapy.” He picks up his whiskey finally. The ice has started to melt, a thin layer of water sitting on top of the amber. He takes a long drink. Sets it down. The glass makes a soft thunk against the table. “But for now-for NOW-we’re focusing on the fact that I am apparently your club good luck charm. Or bad luck charm. Depending on how you feel about twins.”

“I love my twins.”

“Then GOOD luck charm.” He grins. That full Daniel grin. The one that shows all his teeth and makes his eyes crinkle and probably breaks hearts across three continents. “I’m taking credit for those babies. Partial credit. Like, emotional support credit.”

“You weren’t even at Paradise that night. Not when ” I stop. Feel the heat rising in my cheeks. The bass from downstairs pulses through the floor, through the booth, through my bones. A steady heartbeat that seems to match the one suddenly pounding in my chest. “Not when it happened.”

“When WHAT happened?” His eyes go wide. Delighted. The purple lights shift to blue, then pink, cycling through colors that paint his face in different shades of excitement. “Mia Williams. Did you have SEX at Paradise? In the CLUB?”

“No.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not ”

“You’re BLUSHING. You totally did. Oh my god. Where? The bathroom? A back room? Tell me everything.”

“We went to his apartment after.”

“Boring.” Daniel waves his hand dismissively. His rings flash in the shifting light— purple, blue, pink, purple again. “I wanted scandal. I wanted exhibitionism. I wanted

“It was plenty scandalous, trust me.”

“HOW scandalous? Scale of one to ten.”

I think about that night. About Kyle appearing at Paradise out of nowhere. About the way he looked at me across the dance floor. About what happened after. The memory hits me like a wave-the taste of champagne on his lips, the way his hands felt on my waist, the heat of his skin against mine.

“Eleven,” I say quietly.

Daniel’s eyebrows shoot up. They’re perfectly shaped. Threaded or waxed or whatever it is people do to eyebrows now.

“ELEVEN?”

“Maybe twelve.”

“I need DETAILS.”

“You’re not getting details.”

“But MIA-”

“No.”

He pouts. Actually pouts. His bottom lip pushing out like a child denied dessert. The expression shouldn’t work on a grown man with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, but somehow it does.

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” He takes another drink. The ice clinks against the glass. “But I’m filing this away. For later. When you’re drunk enough to share.”

“I don’t get drunk anymore.”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

A commotion near the stairs catches my attention. I turn.

ection

The VIP section has its own staircase—a spiral thing made of brushed metal and tempered glass that looks like it belongs in a modern art museum. The lights embedded in each step pulse in time with the music, creating a runway effect that makes everyone ascending look like they’re walking through a music video.

Sophie and Scarlett are ascending. Being led by another server. Both of them somehow looking more glamorous than they did twenty minutes ago. Like they’ve

been touched up by an invisible makeup artist between floors.

Sophie’s red dress catches every shifting light, transforming from crimson to burgundy to something almost orange as she moves. The silk ripples with each step, liquid and alive. Her hair has loosened slightly from its updo a few strands framing her face in a way that look accidental but is probably entirely calculated.

Scarlett’s leather pants reflect the lights like a mirror, each color bouncing off the material in flashes. She’s removed her jacket somewhere between the main floor and here, her bare shoulders catching the blue light and turning her skin almost

ethereal.

Sophie sees me first. Her face lights up.

“THERE you are!” She’s moving toward our booth. That particular walk she

has. Like the floor exists specifically to showcase her legs Her heels click against the glass floor of the VIP section-they’ve lit the floor from below, I realize, making it glow like we’re walking on frozen light. We were looking everywhere! Scarlett thought you’d been kidnapped.”

“I did not think that,” Scarlett says behind her. She’s slightly breathless from the

stairs. “I thought she’d gotten lost. Different thing.”

“Getting lost in a club is basically being kidnapped,” Sophie argues. “By the crowd. By the chaos. By-” She stops. Notices Daniel. Her entire demeanor shifts. Something clicks into place behind her eyes—that particular sharpening that happens when Sophie spots something interesting. “Oh. Hello.”

Daniel stands. That particular way he stands when he’s about to perform. Shoulders back. Chin up. Smile dialed to maximum wattage. The movement is fluid, practiced, the gesture of someone who knows exactly how to take up space. “Ladies.” He extends his hand. His sleeve rides up slightly with the movement, revealing more of his forearm—toned, smooth, the kind of arm that comes from dedicated gym time. “Daniel. Owner of this fine establishment. And you must be the friends who forced Mia into that dress.”

Sophie takes his hand. Doesn’t shake it. Just holds it. Her fingers curling around his. Her red nails stark against his skin.

“Sophie Field. And yes. The dress was my idea.”

“It was an excellent idea.”

“I know.”

They’re just standing there. Holding hands. Looking at each other with an intensity

that makes me uncomfortable. The music from below shifts-something with more bass, more urgency. I can feel it in my chest, in my stomach, in places I don’t want

to think about.

“Sophie-” I start.

“Shh.” She doesn’t look away from Daniel. “I’m having a moment.”

“What kind of moment?”

“A reconnaissance moment.” Her eyes are moving over Daniel’s face. His body. Taking inventory. The same way she assesses investment properties or vintage wine or anything else she’s considering acquiring. “I’m assessing the terrain.” Daniel laughs. Bright and delighted. The sound carries even over the music, even over the bass that’s making the glasses on the table vibrate slightly.

“I like her,” he tells me. Still holding Sophie’s hand. “She’s direct.”

“She’s dangerous.”

“Same thing.”

Scarlett slides into the booth next to me. Her leather pants squeak against the leather seat. That particular sound of expensive materials meeting. She smells like vodka and something floral-her perfume mixing with the club’s ambient scent of smoke machines and spilled drinks.

“Is Sophie about to seduce your friend?” she whispers. Her breath is warm against

my ear. Close enough that I can smell the cranberry on her lips.

“It looks that way.”

“Should we stop her?”

“Can anyone stop Sophie?”

“Fair point.”