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“She’s your what?” Daniel’s voice cut through my thoughts, disbelief evident in every syllable.
“My wife.” Kyle’s voice was ice cold, the same tone he used when closing million–dollar deals. “She is my wife.”
My fingers tightened around the coffee cup. The irony made my chest ache.
Daniel’s eyes found mine, filled with concern. “If you’re experiencing threats or violence,” he said softly,
leaning closer, “I can help you, beautiful lady.”
“Don’t,” Kyle’s voice dropped dangerously low, “say that to my wife.”
I saw his jaw tighten, that subtle tell I’d learned to recognize over years of watching him from a distance. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple – something so uncharacteristic it made me blink. Kyle Branson didn’t sweat.
Kyle Branson was always perfect, always controlled.
A bitter laugh threatened to escape my throat. Of course Daniel would think that. We didn’t look like a couple.
We looked exactly like what we were – a business arrangement gone wrong. A contract marriage where one
party had foolishly fallen in love while the other pined for someone else. 1
“Thank you for your concern,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “But this really is my
husband.”
The words tasted like ash in my mouth. Husband.
Daniel hesitated before pulling out a business card. “If you ever need anything…” He slid it across the table.
I took it before Kyle could react, tucking it into my purse. “Thank you.”
The silence after Daniel left felt suffocating. Kyle sat perfectly still, but something was off. That single bead of
sweat had been joined by others. His tie wasn’t quite straight. The Kyle I knew never showed such
imperfections. 1
“Would you like something else to eat?” His question broke through the silence, catching me off guard. His
voice held an unfamiliar note – almost gentle, yet awkward, like he was trying out words he’d never used
before.
“No, I’m fine.” The coffee had grown cold between my hands. 1
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Chapter 32 Not Like A Couple
“You should eat something.” He frowned at my untouched cup. “You’ve lost weight.”
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The observation startled me. Since when did Kyle Branson notice such things about Mia? He barely looked at me
most days, unless it was necessary for maintaining our façade.
“I had breakfast,” I lied, not meeting his eyes. Mrs. Chen’s concerned face flashed through my mind – her
attempts to tempt me with favorite dishes I could no longer stomach.
Kyle’s fingers drummed against the table – another crack in his perfect facade. “Mrs. Chen says you barely
touch your food these days.”
Of course. He hadn’t noticed himself. He’d been briefed, probably like one of his business reports. My throat
tightened.
“I had a meeting nearby,” he said abruptly, changing topics. His fingers hadn’t stopped their nervous
movement. “Your therapy session ended early.”
It wasn’t quite a question, but I heard the demand for information beneath the words. The same tone he used in
board meetings when he wanted answers.
“Yes,” I replied softly, studying the way the light caught his wedding ring – the ring he only wore when it suited
his image. “Dr. Sarah thought we’d made progress.”
His jaw tightened again. “That’s… good.” He paused, seeming to struggle with words – something I’d never
seen before. “Did you… want to talk about it?”
The question hung awkwardly between us.
“It’s fine,” I managed. “Just standard therapy things.”
He nodded, relief flickering across his face at not having to pursue that line of conversation. Another silence
fell.
“The weather,” he started, then stopped, looking almost embarrassed. “It’s been… good for the construction at
the Havers site.”
“Yes,” I whispered, my heart aching at his obvious discomfort. Why was he trying so hard today? “The project
is progressing well.”
“I wanted to attend the last site meeting,” he said, then added quickly, “For business reasons. But there was a
board…” He trailed off, tugging at his collar. Another bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
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“Well. That’s okay. Ana thanks for the whole hotel project.” I said, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “And… and my mother’s care.”
“That is what I should do. And the project, It was an objective decision.” His voice turned clinical, distant, clearly more comfortable with business terms. “Your designs showed talent. It was logical to utilize it. ”
Of course. Everything reduced to business terms. Just like our marriage. The brief moment of something almost like care vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Silence. More slience.
“Why architecture?”
The question startled me. It was so personal. My heart clenched as I remembered my graduation ceremony, I also answered this question in my graduation speech. And I also remember my mentor’s disappointed face when I’d chosen to become Kyle’s secretary instead of pursuing my dreams. 1
“I’ve always wanted to build beautiful houses, even when I was a little girl” I whispered, lost in memories of a time when dreams still seemed possible. “Places where people could be happy. Where families… ” My voice cracked slightly. Families. Like the one we’d never be. Like the babies we’d lost.
Something flickered across Kyle’s face – an emotion I couldn’t name. He shifted in his seat, that strange look crossing his face again. “Your mother,” he began, then stopped. Started again. “The doctors say her treatment is… progressing.”
The awkward attempt at comfort made my chest tight. “Yes, thank you.”
“If you need…” he cleared his throat. “That is, if there’s anything…”
“It’s fine,” I saved him from his fumbling attempt at support. “Really.”
He reached for his water glass, nearly knocking it over – another unprecedented display of clumsiness. “Mia,”
he said, his voice strange. “Did you ever leave the country as a child?”
The question felt wrong, out of place. “No,” I answered, confused by the intensity in his eyes. “I’ve always lived
here.”
His face darkened with what looked like disappointment. Another bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
“I should go,” I said, suddenly needing to escape. The café felt too small, too warm. Too full of things we’d
never say.
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I stood too quickly, my heel catching on the chair. The world tilted dangerously, and then – his hand was on my
arm, steadying me. The touch burned through my sleeve, reminiscent of that night with Catherine’s potion. Of
all the things we pretended didn’t happen.
“Careful,” he murmured, his grip tighter than necessary.
As we walked to his car, Kyle kept closer than usual, as if afraid I might stumble again. The strange tension
between us remained – his uncharacteristic concern, my confusion at this new version of him, both of us
dancing around words we didn’t know how to say.
“I can drive you,” he offered, another unprecedented gesture.
“No need,” I said quickly, already stepping back. “I have my car.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it again. His hand twitched toward me before dropping back to
his side.
“Mia,” he called as I turned to leave.
