The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 458

Mia's POV

The contractor had left the front door unlocked for us. The knob turns smoothly under my hand—new hardware, brushed nickel, the kind that doesn't show fingerprints. I'd chosen it specifically for that reason. Three children and a dog means fingerprints on everything.

The door swings open and the smell hits me first.

Fresh paint. New wood. That particular clean scent of a space that hasn't been lived in yet. No cooking smells, no laundry detergent, no accumulated dust. Just potential. Just waiting.

Alexander pushes past me before I can stop him.

"WHOA!" His voice echoes in the empty space. The sound bounces off the walls, off the high ceilings, off the hardwood floors that haven't been scuffed yet. "IT'S HUGE!"

He's already running. His sneakers squeak against the floor—that's one thing I didn't account for. New floors and children's shoes. The squeak is almost musical.

"Alexander!" I call after him. "Slow down!"

He doesn't slow down. Of course he doesn't.

Ethan steps inside more carefully. His head tilts back, looking up at the ceiling. I watch his eyes track the beams—exposed, Douglas fir, the grain visible even from here. I'd debated about those beams for weeks. Whether to paint them white or leave them natural. The contractor thought I was crazy for spending so much time on ceiling beams.

"The structural support is beautiful," Ethan says quietly.

Madison's hand finds mine. Her fingers are small and slightly damp. Nervous. She stays close to my side as we step over the threshold together.

Kyle is behind us. I can feel him there without looking. That particular pressure of his presence. He doesn't rush in like Alexander or observe carefully like Ethan. He just waits.

"Go ahead," I tell him without turning around.

His footsteps on the floor. Heavier than the children's. More deliberate.

The entryway opens directly into the main living space. Open concept. That was non-negotiable for me. No walls where they didn't need to be. No separation between kitchen and living room. I wanted to be able to cook and still see the children. Still be part of whatever they were doing.

The windows are what make the space.

Kyle has moved to the kitchen. I watch him from across the open space. He's running his hand along the countertop. White quartz. I'd gone back and forth between marble and quartz for months. Marble was more beautiful. Quartz was more practical. Practical won.

His fingers trace the edge where the counter meets the backsplash. Small gray subway tiles in a herringbone pattern. I'd laid out the pattern myself, spending three hours with the contractor making sure every tile was aligned perfectly.

"The grout lines are precise," Kyle says.

He's not looking at me when he says it. Just looking at the tiles. His voice is neutral. Observational.

"I did the layout myself," I hear myself say.

"I can tell."

Kyle's laughter came out of nowhere, his smirk seeming more like a provocation.

What does that mean?