Read The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins novel by Artemis Z.Y. Updated 2025 -26 - The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 476

The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins Chapter 476

“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.”

Sophie has released Daniel’s hand finally. She’s sitting down now. In the seat next

to him. Closer than strictly nChapter 475 The Divorced Women Energyecessary. Her thigh almost touching his. The leather booth curves around them, creating an intimate half-circle that separates them from the rest of the VIP section.

“So,” she says. Her voice has dropped. Gone smokier. The words almost lost in the pulse of the bass. “You own this place?”

“Co-own. My business partner handles the boring parts.”

“And what parts do you handle?”

The question hangs there. Loaded. The lights shift again—purple to blue to pink— and Daniel’s face cycles through colors like he’s in a dream. His smile widens. The expression is different now. Less practiced. More genuine.

“The fun parts.”

“I bet you do.”

“SOPHIE.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. “Stop. Please. He’s my friend.”

Sophie looks at me. One eyebrow raised. The movement precise. Calculated. Everything about Sophie is calculated.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re doing EVERYTHING. I can see it from here.”

“I’m just being friendly.”

“That’s not friendly. That’s—” I gesture vaguely at her entire body language. At the way she’s angled toward Daniel. At the hand that’s somehow found its way to his knee. The movement catches the light-her rings flashing, her nails gleaming.”— that’s predatory.”

Daniel laughs again. He doesn’t seem bothered by the description. If anything, he seems intrigued. His posture has shifted slightly-not pulling away, but not leaning in either. Maintaining his space while allowing her to occupy hers.

“She’s not wrong,” he tells Sophie. “You do have a certain… energy.” “What kind of energy?”

“The kind that makes men nervous.” He picks up his whiskey. Takes a sip. Doesn’t move away from her touch. The ice has melted completely now, the drink diluted and pale. “In a good way.”

“There’s a nervous-in-a-good-way?”

“There’s definitely a nervous-in-a-good-way.”

“Interesting.” Sophie’s fingers tap against his knee. Light. Rhythmic. Matching the bass from below. “Tell me more about this nervousness.”

“OKAY.” I hold up both hands. “Enough. Both of you. Daniel-she’s been divorced three times. Three. One of them was annulled after forty-eight hours.”

Daniel’s eyebrows go up. The movement pulls at his whole face, transforming his expression into something between impressed and alarmed.

“Forty-eight hours?”

“He was boring,” Sophie says. Unapologetic. The lights shift to pink, casting her face in a soft glow that makes her look almost innocent. She is anything but. “Life is too short.”

“That’s—” Daniel pauses. Considering. His finger traces the rim of his glass, a thoughtful gesture. “-actually kind of iconic.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m serious.” He’s looking at Sophie with new appreciation now. The kind of look that suggests recalculation. Reassessment. “Most people stay in boring relationships for years. Decades. You lasted forty-eight hours and said ‘no thank you.’ That takes courage.”

“Or insanity,” Scarlett mutters beside me. She’s stirring her vodka cranberry with the tiny straw, creating a small whirlpool in the glass. The ice cubes clink together softly.

“Same thing sometimes.” Daniel raises his glass. The liquid catches the light— amber turned purple turned blue. “To the women who refuse to settle.”

Sophie raises her champagne. The bubbles catch the shifting lights, turning the glass into something that looks like it’s filled with tiny stars. Scarlett rolls her eyes but raises her vodka cranberry. I lift my pathetic sparkling water, the bubbles long dead, the lime wedge wilted against the glass.

We drink.

The music shifts again. Something with a different tempo-slower, more melodic. The bass is still there but more subdued. Background rather than foreground. Around us, other VIP tables are filling up. Women in dresses that cost more than my monthly mortgage. Men in shirts unbuttoned just enough to suggest wealth and indiscretion.

“You know what I sense from you three?” Daniel sets down his glass. The sound is soft against the table, barely audible over the music. He’s looking at all of us now. That particular focus he gets. Like when he’s diagnosing a patient, but warmer. More personal. “You all have this this ENERGY. This vibe. Like you’ve been through something and come out the other side.”

“Divorced women energy,” Sophie says immediately. “That’s what it is.” “Is that a thing?”

“It’s absolutely a thing.” She gestures at herself. At Scarlett. At me. The movement takes in our dresses, our postures, something invisible that hangs between us. “We’ve all been married. All been divorced. All Survived. There’s a specific Confidence that comes from that. A specific-” She searches for the word. Her champagne glass tilts in her hand, the liquid catching the light. “-freedom.”

“Freedom?”

“From expectation. From pretending. From-” She waves her hand. The gesture is expansive, taking in the whole club, the whole night, maybe the whole world outside these walls. “—performing for men who don’t deserve the performance.”

Daniel nods slowly. Taking this in. The lights shift from pink to purple, and the color settles across his features like a mask.

“I can see that.” He’s looking at each of us in turn. His gaze lingering. Reading. “There’s something different. Something I don’t know. Settled? Like you know exactly who you are.”

“We do,” Scarlett says. “That’s the thing about divorce. It strips away all the bullshit. Forces you to figure out who you actually are without the other person.”

“That sounds painful.”

“It is.” Scarlett’s voice has gone quieter. Sincerer. She’s stopped stirring her drink. The whirlpool has settled into stillness. “It’s really fucking painful. But then it’s over

and you’re—” She shrugs. “-you’re you. Just you. Without all the noise.”

I think about my own divorce. About the months after Kyle left. About lying in bed with newborn twins and feeling like a ghost. Like a person who had stopped existing. The apartment too quiet. The nights too long The weight of two tiny bodies dependent on me and me alone.

The table goes quiet.

Even the music seems to soften for a moment. A bridge between songs. A breath between beats.

Sophie reaches across. Squeezes my hand. Her fingers are cool from holding her champagne glass. Her rings press into my skin-cool metal against warmth. “That’s beautiful,” Daniel says softly. “And also deeply depressing.” “Welcome to the divorced women energy.” Scarlett raises her glass again. The ice has melted completely. The vodka cranberry is more water than cocktail now. “It’s a whole vibe.”

“I need to meet more divorced women.”

“You need to meet less divorced women,” I correct. “We’re dangerous.”

“Noted.” But he’s grinning. That full grin again. The one that makes him look ten years younger. “Danger acknowledged and accepted.”

Sophie is still looking at him. That particular assessment she does. The lights have shifted to blue, and the color deepens her features, makes her look almost predatory.

“You’re not married,” she says. Not a question.

“No.”

“Ever been?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

Daniel hesitates. Just for a second. Something flickers across his face-too fast to

identify, but there. A shadow in the blue light.

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“Sophie,” I warn. “Don’t interrogate him.”

“I’m not interrogating. I’m inquiring. There’s a difference.”

“There really isn’t.”

But Daniel is already answering. “There’s someone. Was someone. I don’t know. We’re—” He makes a vague gesture. His hand cuts through the air, through the colored lights, leaving invisible trails. “—figuring things out.”

Sophie nods. Understanding.

“The worst stage,” she says. “When you know what you want but you’re not sure if you’re allowed to want it.”

“Exactly.”

“I hate that stage.”

“Everyone hates that stage.”

They share a look. Something passing between them that I can’t quite read. A

recognition of some shared experience. Some common wound.

“Well,” Sophie, says finally. She pulls her hand back from Daniel’s knee. The flirtation draining from her posture. Her shoulders relax. Her softens

sm you ever fignet

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out give me a call um excellent at celebrating good news. And even better at consoling bad news.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You should.” She picks up her champagne. The glass is almost empty now, just a

few bubbles clinging to the bottom. “I’m very good at consolation.”

“I bet you are.”