The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 177

Mia's POV

"Scarlett's sick?" I sat up straighter, worry immediately replacing my fatigue.

"She came down with something last night. Started with a headache, then progressed to a fever this morning." There was genuine concern in Morton's voice.

"Is she okay? Did you call a doctor?" The questions tumbled out of me in rapid succession.

"Dr. Klein saw her this morning. Nothing serious. But you know Scarlett—she's not exactly a model patient."

I could almost see her, red hair wild against her pillows, indignantly refusing medicine and insisting she was perfectly fine while burning up with fever. That was Scarlett, stubborn to the core.

"I want to talk to her," I said, already calculating how quickly I could get to their place.

"She's resting now," Morton replied. "Finally convinced her to take something for the fever and she dozed off about twenty minutes ago."

"Tell her to call me when she wakes up, please?"

"Of course. She actually asked me to call you earlier, then changed her mind. Said you didn't need the stress with everything else going on."

A pang of guilt shot through me. Of course Scarlett would think of my wellbeing even when she was sick herself. How many times in the past weeks had I unloaded my problems on her without asking about her life? Had I been so wrapped up in my own drama that I'd missed signs she wasn't feeling well?

"Morton, I'm coming over."

"Mia, that's not necessary. She specifically asked me not to bother you with this."

"It's not a bother," I insisted, already pushing myself up from the couch. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."

"She'll be furious with me," Morton warned, though I detected a note of relief in his voice.

"I'll tell her I bulldozed over your objections. She knows how stubborn I can be."

After ending the call, I found Mom in the kitchen, organizing dinner preparations with her usual efficiency.

"Scarlett's sick," I announced, grabbing my purse from the counter. "I'm going over to check on her."

Mom paused, a bunch of fresh herbs in hand. "Is it serious?"

"Morton says it's just a viral thing, but you know how Scarlett downplays everything. I need to see for myself."

She studied my face for a moment, then nodded. "Don't stay too long—you need your rest too."

"I won't," I promised, grateful she wasn't trying to stop me. "I just need to make sure she's okay."

"Bring her some of that chicken soup from the freezer," Mom suggested, already moving toward the refrigerator. "I made a double batch last week."

Ten minutes later, I was heading toward Scarlett and Morton's penthouse, a thermos of homemade chicken soup and a small bag of other "sick day essentials" Mom had insisted on sending along resting on the seat beside me. Outside, New York continued its relentless pace, pedestrians hurrying along sidewalks, yellow cabs jockeying for position in the afternoon traffic, life proceeding as normal despite the chaos of my own small world.

The twins were unusually active, as if sensing my anxiety. I rubbed my stomach absently, trying to soothe them with gentle circles as I gazed out the window. Twin B delivered a particularly sharp kick just beneath my ribs, causing me to wince.

"Active little ones you got there," Edmund commented, catching my expression in the rearview mirror.

"They never seem to sleep at the same time," I replied, offering a small smile. "One's always on duty, making sure I don't forget they're there."

I nodded, then slipped into the dimly lit bedroom.

Scarlett lay amid a tangle of silk sheets, her vibrant red hair a stark contrast against the white pillowcases. Her normally porcelain complexion was flushed with fever, a light sheen of sweat visible on her forehead. She looked simultaneously younger and more vulnerable than I'd ever seen her, the customary sharpness and animation drained from her features in sleep.

I moved to the bedside chair, lowering myself carefully to avoid waking her. Gas, who had been surprisingly well-behaved throughout the journey, settled at my feet with a quiet huff.

Scarlett stirred at the sound, her eyelids fluttering before opening fully. She blinked several times, as if processing my presence through the fog of fever.

"Mia?" Her voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking on my best friend," I replied, reaching over to brush a damp strand of hair from her forehead. "You're burning up."

She tried to sit up, wincing with the effort. "I told Morton not to call you. You have enough going on without worrying about my stupid cold."

"First, it's not stupid. Second, did you honestly think I wouldn't come the second I heard you were sick?"

"You're supposed to be on bed rest," she protested weakly.

"Modified bed rest," I corrected, the familiar argument bringing a small smile to my lips. "And I'm currently sitting, so technically I'm following doctor's orders."

She laughed, then immediately grimaced, bringing a hand to her throat. "Ouch. Laughing hurts."

"Then don't be funny," I advised solemnly, which only made her try to laugh again.

"Stop," she croaked, swatting at my arm. "Evil pregnant woman, making the sick girl laugh."