Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife: The Twins Are Not Yours!

Pleasantries were exchanged with the exact politeness expected at formal dinners.

Jonathan and Marianne— Cedric's parents — stepped forward with plastered smiles, but their eyes said something else entirely.

Athena could feel them scan her boldly from head to toe, eyes flicking over her gown, her makeup, the way she sat. It wasn't admiration. It was an audit.

"So," Mrs. Thorne started, her smile so tight it barely touched her eyes. "Still practicing medicine, dear?"

Athena nodded once, not betraying an inch of emotion. "Yes. I still see patients during the week."

Jonathan interjected, adjusting the edge of his silk cuff as a waiter placed a plate before him. "And you plan to keep doing that... while handling business?" His tone made it sound ridiculous, like asking if she planned to juggle knives and solve algebra equations at the same time.

"I believe I can do both," Athena replied, raising her glass for a slow sip. "But ultimately, it's up to Grandfather. If he wills me the legacy, I'll run it."

The table froze for a second. The moment had the weight of a prophecy.

A practiced chorus of congratulations followed, but the flatness of their voices gave them away. Cedric's father blinked slowly, drawing in a controlled breath. His mind was elsewhere — she could feel it.

If it were up to me, she'd still be on the street, forgotten like a clerical error.

She talks about running an empire like it's scheduling a manicure.

Doesn't even know the sacrifices Cedric made. Or the way we shaped him for this...

Mrs. Thorne's thoughts were no better.

She'll ruin it all. A stranger, parading in as if she belongs...

What does she know of company politics? Of legacy? Of hosting foreign dignitaries?

She's... capable, maybe, but she's not one of us.

"We'd love for you to visit," Mrs. Thorne added, voice dripping sweet poison. "During the week, before the party to be exact. Just to catch up properly. It would be nice."

"I'll think about it," Athena said with a smile so calm it cut.

Their silence, thick with disapproval, didn't daunt her. She continued eating with perfect poise as another waiter swept in with wine and fresh bread.

Then came the stories — Cedric's childhood, how old Mr. Thorne had taken him to board meetings as a boy, how he gave his first speech at sixteen. Jonathan spoke with forced humility, but there was a pointed gleam in his eye every time he said "groomed for leadership" or "naturally gifted."

Athena smiled at intervals. Calm, passive. Like a lioness sunbathing, watching monkeys chatter.

Antonio remained polite, quiet, his hand occasionally brushing hers under the table in silent encouragement. But Athena didn't need encouragement. She needed restraint. Her every smile was measured.

Then came the dagger.

Mrs. Thorne leaned forward, tone light as whipped cream. "And your college years? I do remember the news that circled the socials a few months ago. You were called..." She gave a soft, pitying chuckle. "An illiterate street girl, was it?"

Antonio's fork paused mid-air.

Athena didn't blink. "You're a bit too old, madam, to believe rumors."

The pause after her words was icy. Mrs. Thorne's smile faltered just slightly — not enough for scandal, but enough to mark the wound.

The conversation stumbled from then. Antonio tried to revive it, tossing in remarks about inflation, global markets, the recent merge talks in Asia. Nothing worked.

Athena returned to her dessert, ignoring the menace thick in the air. She focused on the sugar crust cracking under her spoon, the taste of it on her tongue. She did not break. She never broke.

Eventually, Cedric's father cleared his throat. "We have to leave," he said stiffly. "Early day tomorrow."

Everyone rose. Athena smiled — all teeth. "It was so nice seeing you."

They left with stiff nods and careful glances over their shoulders.

Antonio was not pleased.

He turned to her once they were alone, voice low but firm. "You didn't have to be that blunt."

"I wasn't blunt," Athena replied, rising and smoothing her dress. "I was polite."

"You could've pretended to be happy to see them," he said, watching her. "You'll be working with them. They're not strangers."

"They're already enemies," Athena answered simply, picking up her clutch. "Pretending would've been a waste of my energy. I'm heading home."

Antonio sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Athena—"

She stopped, waiting.

He let his pride go, just enough. "I'm sorry. You were right. They were out of line. I just... I don't want this to be harder than it has to be."

She turned, studying him for a moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Fine."

He drove them home in silence, but it wasn't hostile. Just full. Tired.

When they got in, Antonio barely waited for the door to close before he began kissing her — soft at first, then deeper. His hands on her waist, his mouth near her ear.

But Athena's mind was elsewhere. The kids. Her stomach twisted with longing.

She pulled back gently, breath catching. "I need to call Nathaniel."

Antonio exhaled, frustrated, but didn't protest. "I'll go change."

She retreated to the second bedroom and sat on the bed, pulling out her phone. She shouldn't be calling this late — she'd told Nathaniel to always be in bed before midnight. But she couldn't help it.

The phone rang twice.

Nathaniel answered, bleary-eyed but smiling. "Hey, Mom. You are calling later…"

"I'm sorry sweetheart. Just had to hear your voice. Where's Kathleen? Is she asleep?"

He switched the camera. "Sort of."

Her breath caught. Kate lay curled like a kitten; her tiny arm flung over the large figure next to her. Ewan.

He was fast asleep, shirt half-buttoned, her daughter's dark curls on his chest.

Athena's heart twisted. He stayed the night? The image froze her. Ewan, asleep with her daughter on his chest, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Who's that?" she whispered, even though she knew. She will know that body shape anywhere, even in her dreams.

Nathaniel angled the phone gently. "That's Daddy, Mom. Kate wouldn't sleep till he read her a story. I didn't plan it, but... I figured it was okay."

Athena couldn't speak for a second.

"Mom, do you want me to send him home?"

"No," Athena said quietly. "It's fine." A pause. "Go to bed, Nate. I will see you tomorrow, bright and early."

"Okay Mom, goodnight. Send my regards to godfather."

"I will." And she air-kissed him.

The call ended.

She stared at the dark screen. Her heart — tugged in two directions again. She could feel the tension between her ribs, the ache of guilt, longing, confusion.

She rose slowly, walked back to the main bedroom.

Antonio stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Finally," he murmured, walking toward her.

But the moment was gone.

"I'm tired," Athena said softly. "Headache."

His face dropped, the energy draining from him. "Seriously?"

She didn't reply. Just went to the bed, slid under the sheets, back turned to him.

Antonio stood still for a moment, then sighed and dropped the towel.

He didn't press her. But the air between them — tight with disappointment — lingered until the lights went out.

And still, even in the darkness, Athena could see the image burned behind her eyes: Ewan's sleeping form, and Kate breathing on his chest.

*****

They came for him when he least expected.

The door to his cell groaned open, letting in a shaft of dim, flickering light. Alfonso blinked against it, shielding his eyes with trembling fingers. It had been so long since he'd seen anything but black.

The guard who stepped in wore a mask — blank, unreadable — and said nothing.

"Where… where are you taking me?" Alfonso rasped. His voice sounded foreign, brittle with disuse.

No response. Just a gesture.

He staggered to his feet, bones aching from disuse, and followed. The corridors were a blur of concrete and dripping pipes. His bare feet slapped against cold, damp floors. He had no idea how many days — or weeks — he'd been here. Time had stopped existing after the third day without sunlight. After the fourth cold bath that burned more than it cleansed.

They shoved him into a room.

And there she was.

Fiona.

His daughter.

But not the girl he remembered.

She sat slouched in a chair under a sickly yellow bulb, wrists bandaged, one eye swollen half-shut. Her breath came in shallow wheezes. But her face… it was unmistakably hers. Still his daughter, even through the wreckage.

"Fiona." The name tore from his throat. He rushed forward, arms outstretched — but stopped when she flinched.

His hands hovered in the air. "What… what did they do to you?"

Her eyes flickered toward him. "Ewan."

The name landed like a slap.

"Ewan?" he echoed. "But… he doesn't remember. He couldn't—"

"He does now."

Alfonso sank to his knees in front of her, bewildered. "But why are you here?"

She looked at him then, truly looked at him. There was something cold in her gaze. "Because I touched what didn't belong to me. Just like you did."

He swallowed hard. "I was trying to save us."

"No," she whispered. "You were trying to destroy her. And now… look where we are. You didn't stop me either."

Her voice was brittle, sharp. It wasn't judgment — it was something worse. Pity.

Alfonso recoiled as if burned. "She… she's poisoned him completely," he muttered. "Turned him against us."

"Or maybe," Fiona murmured, "he finally saw things clearly. There wasn't much of a choice, with the whole evidence presented."

A pause. "We are scum, dad. We are reaping the fruits of our labor. I'm actually grateful to her. You wouldn't understand though."

He looked at her again, stunned. "You can't believe that," he whispered. "Not after all she's done."

But Fiona just closed her eyes, leaning back in the chair, her battered frame too tired to argue.

The guard returned without a word, grabbing Alfonso by the collar and hauling him to his feet. As he was dragged away, he looked back once, but Fiona didn't move.

Back in his cell, the darkness swallowed him again.

He pressed his back to the wall, breathing hard, trembling.

He didn't want freedom.

He didn't want peace.

He only wanted Athena to pay.

He gnashed his teeth, then broke down in tears at his helplessness.