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."

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