The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 207

Kyle's POV

Pain. My eyelids felt like lead weights, but I forced them open anyway.

Hospital room. Stark white. The antiseptic smell burned my nostrils. A heart monitor beeped steadily beside my bed, its rhythm matching the throbbing in my chest. I tried to move, but tubes and wires restrained me. My throat was sandpaper dry when I swallowed.

"Mr. Branson?" A voice. Female. Sharp. "Sir, can you hear me?"

"Mia," I croaked. God, my voice sounded like gravel. "Where is she? Is she—"

"Please don't try to sit up, sir." The nurse—young, efficient-looking—pressed her hand gently on my shoulder. "You've had major surgery."

"Answer me."

"I'll get the doctor immediately."

A doctor bustled in. Older man, silver at his temples. Professional mask in place. "Mr. Branson, I'm Dr. Harrison. You've been through extensive surgery. The bullet—"

"I don't care about the bullet. I want to know what happen to my wife"

Dr. Harrison exchanged a look with the nurses. My stomach dropped. No.

"Your wife..." He paused, and that pause nearly killed me. "She's alive."

I sagged back against the pillows.

"What happened?"

He sighed, pulling up a chair beside my bed. "Mrs. Branson went into active labor during transport to the hospital. The trauma, the stress—her body couldn't handle it. They delivered the twins by emergency C-section."

"And then?" I felt my jaw clench.

"She hemorrhaged. Severely. They had to operate immediately." He paused again.

My hands were shaking. "Where is she now?"

"ICU. She hasn't regained consciousness since the surgery."

"How long?" My throat constricted.

"Twenty-six hours."

"I need to see her. Now."

"Sir, if you reopen your surgical site—"

"Then you'd better help me not reopen it."

They made me sign forms. Acknowledgments. Waivers. I scrawled my signature while my IV alarm blared. They finally relented, bringing a wheelchair and helping me into it with excruciating care.

The bandages wrapped around my chest felt too tight, constricting my breathing. Blood had soaked through in places, creating dark stains on the white gauze. They wheeled me through endless corridors. Fluorescent lights blurred past. The ICU doors required a special code. They hissed open, revealing a different world. Dimmer lights. More machines. The sounds of ventilators and monitors creating an orchestra of human struggle.

"She's in bed twelve," the nurse said softly.

And then I saw her.

My Mia wasn't there.

In her place was this pale stranger, hooked to more machines than I could count. Tubes ran from her arms, her nose, her chest. Her skin had lost all color. The dark circles under her eyes were so pronounced they looked like bruises. Her lips, usually pink and full, were gray and bloodless.

"She's stable," Dr. Harrison said quickly. "All vital signs are improving. The next twenty-four hours are critical, but we're optimistic."

I wheeled closer. My hands trembled as I reached for hers. So cold. So still. I'd never seen Mia this quiet.

"Can she hear me?"

"We believe patients in her condition can process auditory input. Hearing is often the last sense to go, the first to return."

I took her hand in both of mine. "Mia? Can you hear me? It's Kyle. I'm here. You're safe now."

Nothing. The ventilator continued its rhythmic whoosh. The heart monitor beeped steadily.

"Has she... shown any signs of waking?"

"Not yet. But brain activity is normal. No oxygen deprivation. No neurological damage."

I nodded absently, unable to look away from her face. "The babies. Where are they?"

"I don't know if you're listening," I said quietly. "I don't even know if you exist. My father taught me that men create their own destiny. That relying on anything beyond yourself is weakness."

The ventilator whooshed.

"But I'm out of options."

I leaned forward, careful of my IV lines. "She's here because of me. All of it."

Rain started hitting the windows. Large drops that sounded like gunfire.

"I have thirty-seven billion dollars. Controlling interest in seventeen companies. Political connections on three continents. I can buy almost anything on earth." I swallowed hard. "None of it matters right now."

The machines beeped their steady rhythm.

"If you're real, if you're listening, I'll give you everything. Every dollar in my accounts. Every share of stock. Every property, every asset, every connection. I'll liquidate it all."

Thunder rumbled outside.

"Just let her live. Let her wake up. Let her be whole again."

My throat closed up. "And if she does... if she lives... I'll give her the freedom she always wanted. Real freedom. She won't have to see me, deal with me, think about me. I'll make sure she and the boys have everything they need. The best care, the best life, unlimited resources. But I'll stay away."

The promise felt like cutting out my own heart.

"She deserves better than me. She always did. I just need her to have the chance at that better life."

Nurses came and went. Doctors checked monitors, adjusted medications. One surgeon stopped by to check my dressing, scolding me for being out of bed so soon.

I didn't care. I watched Mia's pale face for any sign of change. Counted the breaths the ventilator forced into her lungs. Wondered if she was fighting somewhere behind those closed eyes.

Around midnight, I must have dozed off. My pain medication had been increased against my will. When I jerked awake, dawn light was filtering through the blinds. My neck ached from the angle I'd slept at.

That's when I felt it. The smallest movement under my palm.

"Mia?" I leaned forward despite the pain. "Mia, can you hear me?"

Her eyelids fluttered. Once. Twice.