Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife The Twins Are Not Yours novel Chapter 337

Chapter 337: Fiona’s Truth IV

"He never loved me. Ewan, I mean. He never did love me, despite all my antics. All he did, all his services, all his care, was all out of duty... If I hadn’t been a saviour, I wouldn’t have been the object of his attention...I was just too blinded by lust and anger to see that." Fiona muttered, after Ewan’s tense response; after the silence had held the stage for about two minutes.

"And during the time of my fruitless chase, I wasn’t even faithful. I was always with Morgan, visited him... Morgan treated me like I wanted to be treated... all that... and I wasn’t even aware that I was destroying myself." She added, as if talking to herself, but her voice, as soft as it was, could still be heard by everyone in the room.

A pause.

"I’m ready to take any punishment." She stated in a more steady tone, finally looking up, looking at Old Mr. Thorne. "I can take anything, sir. Only let me not remain here... please..."

"You will surely remain here!" Ewan pointed out sharply. "Your mother will join you too!"

Fiona shut her eyes in pain. No matter how much she despised her mother, no matter how much she disregarded the woman who had always had her back then, she didn’t want her to go through torture in Connor’s hands. It would kill the older woman.

She almost pleaded with Athena, but remembered that her rival was just as cold-hearted as Ewan when the latter chose to be. And seeing that these truths didn’t put her in a good light, Fiona doubted Athena would help her.

But maybe Old Mr. Thorne would show mercy... since he had found his long-lost grand daughter. And didn’t he promise to let her stay in the black cells for her confession?

Meanwhile, Old Mr. Thorne’s gaze drifted to Athena, whose position had remained unchanging—her sideways gaze still trained on Fiona, an astonished expression still clouding her face.

His granddaughter. Cecilia Thorne. His Emily’s child.

He clasped his hands tighter, a control measure to stop his eye faucet from cracking open. From the way his wife clutched her cloth, he knew she was holding on too, that she was trying not to show much emotion in public.

But did it matter?

His eyes trailed over Athena’s features for the umpteenth time, and he wondered how he hadn’t known she was his blood. Even Florence had called her Emily the first time they had met.

He clasped his hands even tighter. Maybe if he had dug deeper, he might have found the answers sooner.

A sigh.

Athena was his granddaughter, and the twins were his great-grandchildren.

A smile broke out on his lips before he could stop it, followed by a single tear rolling down his cheek. When he felt it, he sniffed and turned away. Looking at Athena made his control harder to achieve.

"Do you have your mother’s number?" He asked Fiona, his gaze centering on her.

Fiona, thinking that Old Mr. Thorne’s inquiry about her mother’s phone number meant death for her old woman, instantly shook her head, laying flat on the ground—ignoring the pain that rocketed across her body as a result; that made her gnash her teeth.

"Please... I’m sorry. Don’t let my mother..." She begged.

"Just give me the number." Old Mr. Thorne insisted, not giving Fiona any explanations; she wasn’t worth it.

Hesitantly, Fiona called out the number.

"It’s not connecting." Old Mr. Thorne said, frowning at her. "Are you sure you gave me the right number? Because if you didn’t..." He trailed off, warning evident in his tone.

"She gave you the right number." Athena’s interruption, soft and steady, caused everyone’s attention to land on her.

She sighed and sat up. "Margaret changed her number when she left the country. She gave me her new number, in case certain situations arise... I think this must be what she had in mind."

As she spoke, she lifted her phone and called out Margaret’s number in the next breath. Old Mr. Thorne was sharp enough to take the numbers.

"Hello, Margaret Adams..." He started, putting the call on loudspeaker.

Fiona returned to her sitting position, her ears attentive to hear her mother’s voice.

"Just Margaret. I don’t bear that last name anymore." Margaret said in a hushed voice.

"And why is that?"

A pause, then the voice on the other end responded, "Who am I speaking to?"

"Edward Thorne. Do you remember me?"

Another significant pause. Shuffling sounds—perhaps papers or objects—echoed through the phone.

Maybe Kendra’s toys. Athena thought. How was the little one doing?

"Yes, I remember you, Mr. Thorne. To what do I owe this call?"

"I want to ask you some questions. But first, why don’t you no longer bear the name Adams?"

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