The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 460

Mia's POV

"Private." He repeats the word like he's testing it. "Architectural drawings are private?"

"Old ones. Yes."

"Hm." He reaches down. Picks up one of the folders Alexander dropped. Opens it. His eyes scan the first page. "This is a good elevation drawing. Clean lines. Proper perspective."

"Thank you."

His fingers move to turn the page.

"Don't." My hand shoots out. Grabs the folder. Pulls it away from him before he can flip to the next page.

The movement is too fast. Too desperate.

Kyle's eyebrows rise slightly. That almost-smile playing at his mouth.

"Don't?" he repeats. His voice has changed. Gone softer. Almost amused.

"Don't look at those." I'm clutching the folder against my chest now. My heart hammering. "They're not—they're just old work. Homework assignments. Nothing worth looking at."

He takes a step closer. Just one. But it's enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye contact.

"You seemed pretty determined to stop me from seeing nothing worth looking at."

"Because it's embarrassing. The quality is—it's not good. I was learning. Making mistakes."

"Everyone makes mistakes when they're learning." His head tilts slightly. Studying me. His eyes moving from mine down to where my hands are pressed against the folder.

He reaches out. Not for the folder. Just his hand coming up slowly. His fingers brush the edge of the folder. Testing. "What are you so afraid I'll see, Mia?"

I take a step back. My hip hits the edge of the coffee table.

His hand drops. But he's smiling now. Really smiling. That slow smile that used to make my seventeen-year-old heart stop.

Still does, apparently.

"Exactly. So there's no reason to look at them."

"Then why do you still have them?" He moves again. Casual. Like he's just shifting his weight. But now he's between me and the stairs. "If they're just embarrassing homework. If the quality is so bad. Why keep them? Why move them here to this house?"

My mouth opens. Closes. No answer comes.

"Unless—" His voice goes quieter. More thoughtful. His eyes never leaving my face. "Unless they're not embarrassing because of the quality. They're embarrassing because of the content."

"MAMA! LOOK!"

Alexander's shout from outside cuts through the moment like a knife.

Kyle's hand drops immediately. He steps back. Puts proper distance between us.

But his eyes don't leave mine. And that smile is still there. Smaller now. But there.

We both turn. He's at the sliding glass door, his face pressed against the glass, both hands cupped around his face to block the reflection.

"There's LEAVES everywhere! Can we play in them? PLEASE?"

I can see past him to the backyard. The oak tree in the corner has dropped most of its leaves. They're scattered across the grass in drifts of brown and gold and red.

"We'll be careful! We won't break anything!" Alexander's breath is fogging the glass.

"There's nothing to break yet," I say. My voice sounds wrong. Too high. Too breathless. "Go ahead."

"YES!"

He's already running. Ethan and Madison follow, more slowly. Madison pauses at the door to take off her shoes—she always takes off her shoes before going outside, some instinct she has about not tracking dirt—and then she's gone too.

I watch them spill out onto the deck. Alexander jumps off the side—no stairs yet, just a three-foot drop to the grass—and lands with his arms spread wide. Ethan uses the side steps, holding the railing. Madison sits on the edge and slides down carefully, her socks immediately soaking through from the wet grass.

They move toward the leaves like they've found treasure.

Kyle is still standing too close. Still watching me with that expression.

"After you."

I walk to the stairs. Take them two at a time. My feet loud on the hardwood.

The office closet is open. The boxes are there. Three of them. I shove the folders and loose papers back in. Don't organize them. Don't look at what page anything is open to. Just shove them in and close the box and stack another box on top.

I know what's in there. I know exactly what's in there.

Page after page after page of him.

His profile when he sat three rows ahead in calculus. The way his shoulders looked in that navy hoodie he wore every Tuesday. His hands holding a coffee cup in the library. His hands holding a pencil. His hands doing nothing. Just existing. Just being hands I wanted to draw.

The back of his head. God. I must have drawn the back of his head two hundred times. The way his hair grew. The small cowlick at his crown. The exact angle where his neck met his collar.

I was seventeen and stupid and so desperately in love it felt like a physical illness.

And I documented all of it. Every angle.

Pathetic.

That's what it was. Pathetic teenage obsession.

He can't see them. Ever.

The children are calling again.

"MAMA!"

I walk back downstairs. My heart still racing. My face still burning.

Kyle is standing now. By the window. Looking out at the backyard.

When I come back downstairs, Kyle is at the sliding door. Looking out at the children. His hands in his pockets.

I walk past him. Pull open the sliding door. Step out onto the deck.