The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 200

Mia's POV

I couldn't see a thing. The blindfold was tight. My wrists burned from the restraints, the plastic cutting into my skin whenever I shifted position. A gag filled my mouth, the taste of fabric making me want to retch.

I tried to focus on my breathing. In through the nose, out through the nose. Slow and steady.

The twins were still. Too still.

This scared me.

Stay calm for them, I told myself. They can feel your fear.

The car made another turn—right, I thought, though it was hard to be certain. I'd been trying to keep track: left out of the restaurant district, straight for what felt like ten minutes, then right onto what must have been a highway from the sudden increase in speed. We'd been driving for at least forty minutes now.

Each minute took me further from the city. Further from anyone who might help me.

No one had noticed when the man approached me outside Yiayia's restaurant. No one saw the gun pressed against my back, or my expression as I was forced into the black sedan with tinted windows.

I'd been stupid. So stupid. Going alone to question Yiayia about Nate, without telling anyone where I was going. Mom thought I was resting at home. Scarlett was busy with Morton. I hadn't even brought Gas with me.

There were at least two men in the car—the driver and the one who'd grabbed me. They hadn't spoken a word since forcing me inside, ignoring my muffled pleas through the gag. I didn't even know what they wanted, though it had to be connected to Diana Porter.

Would anyone realize I was missing before it was too late?

The car slowed, turned again—left this time—and began to descend. The sound quality changed, becoming hollow and echoing. A parking garage? A tunnel?

The vehicle came to a stop. Doors opened, then closed. Hushed voices exchanged words I couldn't make out.

My door opened. Rough hands grabbed my arms, hauling me out. I struggled instinctively, but stopped when I felt something hard press against my abdomen.

"The babies won't feel a thing," a voice whispered. "But you will."

Terror flooded through me. I went limp, letting them guide me forward.

My feet shuffled across what felt like concrete, then carpet. An elevator hummed around us. We ascended. Another corridor, the floor now softer beneath my feet. The air smelled different—cleaner, with hints of wood polish and expensive cologne.

A door opened. I was pushed forward, then forced to sit. The surface beneath me was soft, yielding. I can feel it's a sofa upholstered in what felt like velvet or high-quality microfiber.

Suddenly, the blindfold was ripped away. I blinked rapidly, the light painfully bright after the prolonged darkness. As my vision adjusted, a figure came into focus across from me.

A man, perhaps fifty, sat in a leather armchair. His silver-streaked dark hair was immaculately styled. His suit looked custom-made, the kind Kyle would wear to board meetings. His posture was relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, but his eyes were gray, cold as winter.

He nodded to someone behind me, and the gag was removed. I coughed, working my jaw to relieve the ache.

"Water," the man said, and a glass appeared before me, held by another suited figure.

I stared at it suspiciously.

"It's not poisoned," the man said, his voice cultured, with the faintest trace of an accent I couldn't place. "If I wanted you dead immediately, you wouldn't be sitting here."

My throat was painfully dry. I leaned forward awkwardly, my bound hands making it difficult to drink without spilling. The water was cold and clean, and I gulped it greedily.

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