Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife The Twins Are Not Yours novel Chapter 456

Chapter 456: Cottage Dinner

Meet me at the last cottage in the mansion.

Signed: co-birthday celebrant.

Athena smiled when she read the message. Her thumb lingered over the screen, tracing the words as if they carried heat. Her ex-husband’s handwriting—digital or not—still had a way of stirring something in her chest.

"Dinner at 11 p.m.?" she murmured under her breath, her lips curling into a rueful half-smile. She rubbed the back of her phone against her palm, debating whether to laugh or sigh. "With my ex-husband..."

Was that a good idea?

The thought pressed against her like a whisper of temptation and reason all at once.

The mansion was quiet, everyone likely fast asleep after the long evening. No one would question her absence for an hour or two. Still... having dinner this late, alone with Ewan, felt like playing with embers she had no business touching.

But then again—it was their birthday. Their shared birthday. A strange coincidence life had refused to untangle even after the divorce.

And she was curious—perhaps too curious—about his cooking.

She exhaled, soft and drawn-out, trying to tame the jitter in her chest. "It’s just dinner," she reminded herself. "Just dinner."

Her voice was low, uncertain, as she pushed herself off the bed and walked to the full-length mirror. The cool marble floor chilled her bare feet before she slipped them into the low silver heels lying beside the dresser. She stopped in front of the mirror, hands brushing down her sides.

The reflection staring back was both familiar and foreign.

Her gown was red—not the screaming kind of red that demanded attention, but the deep, elegant shade that glowed under light. The fabric hugged her upper body with modest precision, sleeveless but draped with a soft fall at the shoulders that gave her movement grace.

The neckline was tasteful, showing just enough skin to whisper allure without shouting it. Below the waist, the gown fell smoothly, parting subtly at the thigh where the fabric split—enough for ease of walking, yet daring enough to draw the eye if one looked long enough.

Her hair was pulled into a soft bun at the nape, with delicate strands curling loose to frame her face. Her makeup was minimal—just a hint of shimmer on her eyelids, a soft blush to warm her cheeks, and red lipstick that matched her gown but deepened her eyes. The look was modest, sensual, deliberate.

A slow smile curved her lips. "Maybe it’s not such a bad idea," she murmured, though the fluttering in her stomach betrayed her calm exterior.

She turned to her vanity, checked her perfume, and dabbed a little behind her ears. The scent of roses and vanilla mixed lightly in the air.

The clock on the wall ticked past 10:45

With one last glance at her reflection, Athena grabbed her shawl, draped it around her shoulders, and quietly left the room.

The mansion was hushed, breathing only the faint sound of the old grandfather clock in the corridor. The chandeliers above were dimmed, casting gold shadows over the walls. She moved silently past the living room where the remnants of the feast still lingered—wine glasses, dessert plates, and laughter that had faded into memory.

They had all feasted well earlier. Even Areso, who had decided to sleep over in Chelsea’s room—an unusual decision given her pickiness with food—had admitted the meal was wonderful. Everyone was content, satiated, lost in dreams by now.

And here she was, tiptoeing through the sleeping mansion like a woman sneaking out for an affair.

Her lips twitched at the thought. Well, technically... no.

Outside, the night air was cool, brushing across her skin as soon as she stepped past the main door. The soft fragrance of the garden—roses and trimmed hedges—mingled with the earthy scent of dew. The moon was full and bright, the kind that illuminated everything with silver grace.

She drew her shawl closer and made her way down the stone path.

The estate was large, dotted with small cottage-like houses spread across its expanse. The gravel crunched under her shoes as she followed the familiar turn that curved away from the main security routes, the one with fewer cameras.

The air around the cottage carried a faint scent—something warm, sweet, maybe cinnamon or cardamom. Music floated faintly into the night, low and soothing. Her kind of music.

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