Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife The Twins Are Not Yours novel Chapter 477

Chapter 477: Damning Article

Athena’s fingers moved steadily over the keyboard, the soft hum of the air conditioner and the faint ticking of the clock the only sounds keeping her company.

Her office smelled faintly of disinfectant and coffee—a scent she had grown so used to, it was almost comforting. Papers lay neatly stacked on her desk, her tablet open beside them, and her glasses perched halfway down her nose as she worked on the latest medical report for the hospital board.

It had been three days since Kael’s threatening text, about a certain gift, and so far, there had been nothing. Just the usual throng of patients streaming into the hospital, though that had been kept under control.

She had almost convinced herself that the message had been nothing more than psychological warfare—a scare tactic, a cruel joke meant to rattle her.

Still, her gut refused to rest easy.

Antonio hadn’t shown up either, which was both a source of relief and curiosity. She wasn’t sure what to make of his silence. A part of her wondered what his next move might be, but another, the exhausted part of her was grateful for the space.

The search for Fiona, on the other hand, had been steadily progressive. Spider’s updates came twice a day, always brisk and coded, filled with quiet triumphs over digital firewalls and encrypted channels. He had promised that soon, they would have her precise location, and Athena clung to that sliver of progress like it was oxygen.

But despite all that, it wasn’t Fiona, or Antonio, or even Kael’s threat that dominated her thoughts.

It was Ewan.

Her lips curved faintly, her fingers pausing over the keyboard. Three days, and it felt like a lifetime’s worth of stolen moments. Ewan had been the very definition of restraint—all shades of caring, thoughtful to a fault, yet brimming with that same raw energy that made her knees weak whenever he looked at her for too long.

Three days of small, deliberate touches. Of fingers brushing in the hallway. Of hands finding each other in the dark. Of stolen kisses that went nowhere, leaving both trembling and cautious, as though they feared what lay on the other side of the line they hadn’t yet crossed.

They hadn’t told the family — not outright. But Athena knew they all knew.

Her grandmother’s teasing remark—"You’re lighter on your feet, dear"—had been delivered with a knowing twinkle.

Light on her feet? Athena had wanted to laugh. She was light in her soul.

She’d caught Gianna’s winks too, and Arseo’s sly smiles. Chelsea didn’t even bother pretending. The children weren’t much better—the way Nathaniel sometimes smirked when he caught her staring a little too long at their father, or how Kathleen giggled whenever she brushed imaginary lint off Ewan’s shirt.

Athena didn’t know love like this still existed. Or maybe she had just forgotten. The kind that was quiet but consuming, heavy but freeing—a paradox she was learning to live with.

It was sweeter now, perhaps because it was reciprocated. Because she didn’t have to guess anymore. He loved her. He trusted her.

Her heart raced at the thought of the night before—their time together in the cottage. The way he’d looked at her like she was both a miracle and a mystery while they had a late dinner he prepared. The way his laughter had filled the little house, soft and deep, like it belonged there.

She fanned her face, a laugh bubbling out of her. At this rate, she thought, I’ll be the one to drag him to bed. What was he waiting for, really?

Her smile lingered, eyes soft with warmth, until the door burst open.

Ciara stepped in without knocking, her face pale, her breath uneven. The door slammed softly behind her, and Athena’s heart lurched at the sight of the fear written across her secretary’s face.

"What?"

But Ciara didn’t answer. She simply crossed the room in quick, shaky strides and held out her phone. Her hands trembled so hard that Athena had to steady them to take it.

One look at the screen, and her stomach dropped.

It was the news.

The headline blared in bold across the top of the screen, impossible to miss:

"BREAKING: Business Mogul, Ewan Giacometti Exposed as Key Member of The Devil’s Vipers Gang!!!"

For a long moment, Athena couldn’t breathe. The world narrowed to that single headline, to the flashing red "LIVE" banner at the corner of the screen. Her throat felt like sandpaper, her pulse roaring in her ears.

She scrolled down, her vision blurring. The article was filled with screenshots — supposed "evidence."

Audio clips of encrypted conversations between Ewan and unknown people, allegedly tied to the Devil’s Gang.

Transactions—dated, documented—funneling money through shell corporations into drug business, women trafficking....

"Family of Head of Irish mafia—The Real Creators of the Variant?"

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