The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 453

Mia

"Did anyone—" I started, then stopped. Tried again. "Was there anyone she was close to? Inside? Anyone she talked to?"

More paper sounds. "Ms. Porter was described by staff as reserved. She had no documented incidents with other inmates. No close associations were observed."

Reserved.

That Taylor had been reserved in prison.

"What about her cell?" I asked. "Was there anything—journals, letters, drawings—anything that might explain—"

"Standard personal effects were recovered and logged," the warden said. His voice had taken on that administrative tone again. "A few books from the prison library. Toiletries. A photograph. Nothing that indicated—"

"A photograph of what?"

A pause. "I'm not at liberty to discuss specific personal effects during an ongoing investigation, ma'am."

"The medical examiner will conduct a thorough autopsy," he continued. "Toxicology reports typically take four to six weeks. A full psychological autopsy will be performed, which includes interviews with staff, review of her medical records, analysis of any writings—"

"Is there anything else I can help you with, Ms. Williams?"

"No," I said. "Thank you."

"Again, my deepest condolences. Someone from our office will be in touch regarding the release of the body and personal effects once the ME completes their examination."

"Okay."

"Have a good day, ma'am."

Have a good day.

The call ended.

The screen went dark.

Behind me, Kyle was waking up.

I listened to him surface. The small sounds of consciousness returning. A groan. Movement. The couch creaking under his weight.

"Mia?"

His voice was thick. Rough with sleep.

"What time is it?" Kyle asked.

"Early," I said. "Around seven."

"Did you sleep?"

"Some."

I could feel him looking at me.

"Mia. What's wrong?"

I turned to face him.

He was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, hair sticking up on one side. His shirt was wrinkled beyond recognition.

"Taylor's dead," I said.

"What?"

"The prison called. This morning. They found her unconscious in her cell. She died at 4:51 a.m."

Kyle was very still. "How?"

"Self-inflicted. Suicide."

He nodded once.

"Okay," he said.

Okay.

That single word sat in the air between us like a stone dropped in still water. No ripples. No disturbance. Just weight.

"Okay?" I repeated.

My voice came out strange. Higher than I meant it to. Like my throat had tightened without my permission.

"Are you okay?" His voice. Nothing about him looked shocked.

He looked the way he looked when Morton told him about a business deal done.

"Did you do this?"

Kyle's head snapped up. "What?"

"Did you arrange this?"

"No." He stood up fast. The movement sharp. Sudden. "Jesus Christ, Mia. What do you think I am?"

"I don't know." I stood too. We faced each other across the coffee table.

"Taylor did enough bad things to land herself exactly where she ended up," Kyle said. "I didn't need to lift a finger. And I certainly wouldn't stoop to having her killed in prison. That's not how I operate."

"How you operate." I laughed.. "You talk like it's another business problem to solve. ."

"She was."

"I don't understand you," I said finally.

Kyle moved around the coffee table. Not touching me but near enough that I could feel the heat of him.

"I didn't kill Taylor," he said. "I didn't arrange it. I didn't even think about it. I stopped thinking about Taylor the moment she went to prison. She was done. No longer a factor in my life or yours."

"She was your high school girlfriend." The words came out small. Weak.

His mouth twisted.

"I never loved Taylor," he said. "Not once. Not for a second. I helped her because I thought she was the girl from the warehouse. The one who gave me hope when I was five years old and terrified. That's it. That's the only reason. And the moment I realized it was you, not her—" He stopped. Swallowed. "That whole relationship, if you can even call it that, disappeared. It was never real."

"K.T. Enterprises. You named it after her."

"No." Kyle's voice was sharp now. "I didn't."

"K.T. doesn't stand for Taylor," Kyle said. "It never did. It stands for Kyle Technologies. My company. My work. I would never name my business after a girlfriend. That's idiotic."

He turned back to me.

"It's the kind of thing the Morton family does. Mixing business with their arranged marriages and family alliances. It's sloppy thinking. It compromises judgment. And I don't compromise judgment for sentiment."

"But everyone said—"

"Everyone assumed." He cut me off. "Let them assume. I never corrected anyone because it didn't matter. Taylor mattered so little to me that I let people believe whatever they wanted about a fucking acronym."

His voice had gone hard again. That ice I recognized. That distance.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" he asked. "She was that irrelevant."

I felt dizzy.

"You were with her for years. You took her to dinners. Events. You introduced her as your girlfriend. You let her wear your mother's necklace. You—"

"I performed a role," Kyle interrupted. "Because I thought I owed her. Because I thought she saved me. But I never loved her. I never even liked her that much."

"That's not—" I stopped. Started again. "That's not how feelings work. "

"I don't feel nothing. I feel plenty. I just don't feel sad. And I won't pretend to."

We stood there facing each other.

"And she was never truely my girlfriend," Kyle said. His voice was quieter now. Steadier. "We never slept together. We barely kissed. She wanted something from me—the role, the status, the attention—and I let her have it. For the hope she gave me."

He stopped.

"Except it was never her. It was always you."

"I don't understand you," I said again.