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

The restaurant was the sort of place where the lighting seemed to flatter everyone, warm and golden, casting soft glows on polished cutlery and crystal glasses that caught the candlelight like they were holding secrets.

Plush velvet chairs lined the tables, the deep wine-red fabric contrasting with the pale, gleaming tablecloths. A soft hum of low conversation mingled with the muted clink of forks against porcelain.

Somewhere in the corner, a pianist coaxed an elegant melody from the keys, the notes floating lazily through the air, landing gently on the ears of diners who looked as though they had nothing but time.

Just a restaurant across from the hospital, my foot. Athena thought absentmindedly, while waiting for Herbert to be done with his meal. With every beat of her finger against her cup, she counted time against the male who she believed was taking more time than necessary to consume mere food.

She let her gaze sweep across the space, momentarily distracted again from her impatience by the sheer polish of the place. Waiters moved like clockwork, each step measured, their trays balanced with effortless grace. The scent of garlic butter and herbs drifted from a passing dish, and she caught herself glancing at it before pulling her attention back to Herbert.

He sat across from her, leaning back in his chair with the easy comfort of someone entirely at home in such surroundings. The corner of his mouth quirked upward, amusement flickering in his eyes as he noticed her restless tapping against her wine glass.

"If I'd known my little story was going to ruin your appetite, I might've kept my mouth shut," Herbert said, his voice tinged with mock regret.

His brows lifted theatrically as he gestured toward the half-eaten plate in front of her. "You barely touched meal number sixteen." A pause. I feel like I wasted my words in hyping the uniqueness of the food variety.

Athena shrugged, as if dismissing the comment, though the corner of her mouth twitched. "I don't see the hype you see, old man," she murmured, glancing down at the untouched delicacy. "Besides, I'm more concerned about the gist than the food. You are right… you should have known better."

Herbert's expression softened, but the teasing glint in his eyes didn't vanish. He raised a hand and signaled to the nearest waiter, who swept over almost instantly.

"Clear this away," He instructed with the smooth authority of someone used to being obeyed. Then, turning back to her, he asked, "Dessert?"

She shook her head quickly. "No."

He gave a mock sigh, shaking his head at her refusal. "Your loss," he said, before placing an order for himself. "The chocolate soufflé. With extra cream."

Athena tried not to groan. She knew what was coming—Herbert would not be rushed. If he had decided to tell a story, he would take his time, savouring every detail like the dessert he had just ordered. Yet… she chose to try her luck.

She leaned forward slightly. "What did my grand-aunt do?"

Herbert didn't answer right away. Instead, he smoothed a hand down the front of his suit, his gaze dropping to the glass of red wine in front of him. He swirled it slowly, watching the liquid cling to the crystal. Only when the soufflé was on its way did he lean forward, folding his hands on the table.

"Old Mr. Thorne," Herbert began, "wasn't exactly handed the company in perfect shape like I mentioned earlier. By the time he took over, it was… well, it was like steering a ship with holes in the hull. Debts stacked up like firewood. Contracts falling apart. Suppliers refusing to deliver because their invoices hadn't been paid in months. And the banks—" Herbert gave a short, mirthless laugh. "They wanted nothing to do with him."

He paused, his gaze going distant as if recalling a sight. "I remember once, well from one of his interviews… he walked into three different banks in one day, his shoulders squared, his tie knotted perfectly, determined to present himself as a man worth backing. Each time, they smiled politely, offered him tea… and then turned him down. No one wanted to risk money on a sinking ship."

Athena's chest tightened at the image. She'd never seen her grandfather in that kind of desperation, but she could picture it—his quiet dignity, battered but unbroken.

"So," Herbert continued, "he went to his twin sister. Asked her for help. Not charity, mind you—help. But she…" Herbert's voice took on an edge. "She told him it was his company, not theirs. She said he'd made his bed, and now he had to lie in it."

Athena's lips parted slightly. "She really said that?"

"Oh, she said more," Herbert said with a humorless smile. "Not only did she refuse to help, but she turned around and aligned herself with the media and the buying company—publicly, too. It made the news then. I was just out of college then, I think, and was appalled at her behaviour. According to her, she was supporting the acquisition for the 'future stability' of the business. Behind closed doors, she was practically shoving it out of her brother's hands."

Athena's stomach churned. The betrayal in that kind of move… blood against blood.

Herbert's dessert arrived then, a steaming soufflé dusted with powdered sugar, a small silver jug of cream placed delicately beside it. He picked up his spoon and broke the surface, letting the steam curl upward before drizzling cream into the hollow.

He closed his eyes for a moment as he took the first bite, humming in quiet appreciation.

Athena nearly groaned aloud. "Herbert…" she said, her voice strained.

"I'm getting there," he replied mildly, taking another bite.

Before he could continue, Athena's phone chimed softly. She glanced down and saw a message from Antonio. I'm sorry, babe.

She exhaled slowly, guilt pricking at her. She should be the one apologizing. Without overthinking it, she typed back, I'm sorry too, and—after a moment's hesitation—added a row of kisses.

Almost instantly, her phone lit up with his call. She hesitated, glancing at Herbert, who was entirely absorbed in his dessert. Satisfied he wouldn't mind, she swiped to answer.

"Antonio?" she said softly.

Silence, then a sigh that seemed to travel the whole distance between them.

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"I love you, Athena. So much." he said, his voice low, warm, and a little tired. "Are you free tonight? I thought maybe… cinema?"

Athena's mind ran through her schedule. She was free, but something in her pulled back. "Not tonight," she said gently. "I want to spend more time with the kids. Thursday?"

"Thursday works," he said easily. "How's your day been?"

They talked a while longer—about his work ("tedious, but I like it"), about the little frustrations and small victories of last week, about nothing and everything. It was easy, familiar, the kind of conversation that left her with a faint smile even after they said goodbye.

When she hung up, Herbert was watching her with a knowing look. "Congratulations," he said warmly. "New relationship, I see. So, the media wasn't lying this time…"

She rolled her eyes. "Something like that." But then, curiosity got the better of her. "You work with Antonio. What's he like?"

Herbert's smile deepened. "He's sharp. Hardworking. Loyal. I've never had to question where his loyalties lie. And he's… steady. That's worth a lot in this business."

Athena felt a little rush of quiet happiness at that.

Herbert wiped the last of the cream from his spoon and set it down. "Now… where was I? Ah, yes. The loan shark."

The air between them seemed to shift. Herbert's voice dropped slightly, his words slower. "His name was Victor Crane. You didn't go to Victor unless you had no other choice. He'd been in the business for decades—lending to the desperate, breaking those who couldn't pay. People said he had a list of debtors who'd… disappeared."

Athena's fingers curled against her lap.

"Your grandfather knew the risk," Herbert continued. "But he was desperate. He took the loan—huge interest, impossible terms—and then he gambled. Not at the tables—he gambled with business. Took risky contracts. Bought up a strip of real estate that everyone else thought was doomed to fail. And somehow… it paid off."

Herbert's eyes warmed, pride seeping into his tone. "He paid Victor back, every penny, and he rebuilt the company from the ground up. Won the shareholders back. Replaced those who'd betrayed him. And he never took a cent from his sister again—not even when she came crawling years later."

Athena sat back, the weight of it all settling over her. "How do you know all this, all this detail?" she asked quietly.

Herbert's gaze softened. "Because I worked under him. He was my mentor at one time. He hasn't told you yet?" Then his expression grew serious. "And because I know Cedric and his family. They want the empire. Be careful. I'm sure they killed your mother because of it. They will come for you."

She nodded somberly. "I know, and I will. Thanks Herbert."

Then they talked a little more—about the hospital, about smaller matters—before Athena mentioned she had files to go through. Rising together, they headed for the exit.

That was when she heard it—a high, familiar laugh, thin and a little whiny. She turned, her eyes narrowing, and there she was: Victoria, Cedric's fiancée.

But she wasn't with Cedric.

No. The whiny fellow was dining with Ewan.