Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife The Twins Are Not Yours novel Chapter 482

Chapter 482: Damning Consequence II

Athena’s mocking laughter caused chills to break out on Florence’s skin—chills that had nothing to do with the cold that came with the unending rain.

She looked at her granddaughter sadly, understanding what the latter was feeling, knowing the bitterness sinking its roots afresh in her, and also knowing the consequences of letting that plant grow.

Florence inhaled deeply, her left fist tightening at her side. She wouldn’t let that happen. Not to her granddaughter.

Her decision to save Athena from herself didn’t waver even when the latter stopped the guards from reaching out to Ewan, who lay as if dead on the wet ground.

Florence’s hands itched to touch the male who had become akin to a son to her. Her throat tightened, but Athena’s voice cut sharply through the air.

"You chose me, Grandfather. That starts now."

Florence watched her husband blanch, the color draining from his face, and felt sorry for him. However, knowing that nothing would shake Athena from her stance now, she turned to the maid and told her to bring her phone from the sitting room, then asked Athena for a few minutes.

"Why?" Athena questioned, her brows furrowing, eyes narrowing as they searched her grandmother’s serene face. What plot did she have cooking now?

"I need to call his friends, Athena. Surely, you wouldn’t want the father of your children dead?" Florence asked softly, her tone pleading even though her expression remained composed.

Athena shrugged, crossing her arms across her chest with icy indifference. "I don’t care. Do what you have to, but I don’t want to see him here when I start out later for work."

And then she turned away sharply, her robe swaying behind her as she walked back inside the house. The heels of her slippers slapped against the marble floor in clipped, angry sounds.

"Athena... what you are doing..." Old Mr. Thorne opened his mouth to call her back from that path—it was futile—but Athena beat him to it.

"That’s enough, Grandpa! You are to blame for this too, you know..."

Florence sighed when her husband paled further, his wrinkled hands gripping his cane as though he needed it to steady himself.

"Me?" he asked weakly.

"Yes!" Athena stamped her foot, not caring for the audience gathering around. Her face flushed with frustration. "If you hadn’t told me to open my heart... blah, blah, blah... I wouldn’t have looked at him. I would have stayed with Antonio."

Old Mr. Thorne chuckled drily, shaking his head with an incredulous expression, and Florence—knowing what would come next from her husband’s mouth—immediately hurried into the space between her two favorite people.

"Okay, that’s enough," she said firmly, her voice gentle but authoritative. "Athena, return to your room. We will talk with you later, however long you try to deter it."

Athena snorted softly, rolling her eyes before walking away, her shoulders squared in defiance.

"Flo, can you imagine?" Mr. Thorne muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of disbelief and weariness.

Florence could indeed imagine—and understand. Her gaze softened. "She will be fine," she murmured, rubbing his arm reassuringly. "She’s still processing things."

Old Mr. Thorne scoffed, frowning deeply. "But things could go wrong! Already, the situation now is delicate... we need to be united, not divided..."

Florence calmed her husband with a gentle touch on his cheek. Her thumb traced the wrinkle lines there in slow, soothing circles. "We will be fine. We will talk with her later. Before then, we’ll need to get to the root of the matter."

A pause followed, where she turned to Ewan. Her eyes softened as she stretched her hand to collect the phone from the yet-worried maid. The sight of his pale, soaked form lying motionless made her chest tighten painfully.

"For now," she continued, her tone calm but firm, "we will focus on getting Ewan back to health, knowing the feeble state of his body sometimes. He will talk to us when he is awake."

And with that, she called Spider first. Then Sandro. Then Zane.

–

A few hours later, Athena, dressed in a sharp business suit, looking more put-together than ever, stood before her mirror.

Her expression was unreadable as she slicked back any stray strand of hair into the bun she had packed neatly behind her head. The reflection that stared back at her was composed, professional—controlled.

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