Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife The Twins Are Not Yours novel Chapter 522

Chapter 522: At Herbert’s II

Herbert’s personal quarters felt nothing like the rest of the mansion.

The air was different here—still, heavy, as though whatever secrets Herbert kept had soaked into the walls and refused to leave.

The space was split into two large rooms: a bedroom to the left, and an office space to the right, each with its own adjoining bathroom. It didn’t feel like rooms inside a home; it felt like a sealed-off miniature apartment, built for privacy, for solitude, for work.

Ewan veered toward the bedroom without a word, the tension in his shoulders telling Athena he was bracing for whatever he might find.

Athena turned the opposite way, toward the office. Her heartbeat was steady—too steady. That only meant she was forcing herself to remain calm, to not be overly expectant.

The office was dimly lit, one of the bulbs flickering faintly overhead. It smelled faintly of cologne and old paper.

The first thing that drew her eye was the wide wall of shelves taking up the entire right side of the room. Wooden, polished, weighted with files, thick binders, and hardcovers arranged with military precision.

Herbert had always been organized to a fault, but something about this level of order felt like a warning—like a man terrified of anything slipping through his fingers.

Athena walked toward the shelves and let her fingers skim the spines of the files. Accounts. Contracts. Shareholder reports. Land and business documentation. Row after row of nothing shocking, nothing personal, nothing human. All legal, all standard, all spotless.

Too spotless.

She pulled out random books as she searched—law textbooks, business development manuals, foreign trade regulations. Dry things. Lifeless things. Things a man like Herbert would consider valuable.

The drawers built into the base of the shelves came next. She crouched and yanked them open one by one. More documents. Receipts. Invoices. Copies of export certifications. Perfectly categorized.

Normal.

"Too normal," she muttered.

She stood and crossed the room to the far-left wall, where a row of tall cupboards stood like silent guards. Solid wood. Heavy. The kind that wouldn’t open unless their owner wanted them to.

She tugged at the first handle. Locked.

Second. Locked.

Third. Also locked.

Athena sighed through her nose and scanned the office for keys. She checked the mahogany desk—large, polished, intimidating—with drawers on each side.

She pulled them open roughly. Nothing. Pens. A few clipped documents. A half-used planner. No keys.

"Of course," she whispered. "You wouldn’t make this easy."

She found a thick metal letter opener on the desk and weighed it in her hand. It wasn’t ideal, but it was solid enough.

She wedged the metal object into the lock of the first cupboard, gritted her teeth, and forced pressure onto it. The lock resisted. She leaned harder. Something snapped—she wasn’t sure if it was the lock or the metal—but the cupboard door swung loose.

She opened it quickly, half expecting something dramatic. But what she saw made her go still with frustration.

More documents, yes. Folders stacked carefully. Some tied with strings. Nothing outwardly unusual.

But beneath them—sitting in the corner as though shoved aside too quickly—was a small blue journal with frayed edges.

A journal meant for a child.

Athena’s brows furrowed. She reached for it and lifted it gently, turning it over in her hands. The cover had stickers on it—peeling stars, a faded cartoon character.

"Zane’s," she murmured.

She opened the journal to the first page.

Hello diary. My name is Zane. Dad says boys shouldn’t keep diaries but Ms. Harriet at school said it helps you think. I won’t tell Dad.

Athena felt something twist in her chest. She flipped to the next page.

Dad’s work is too big. He says I have to learn it early so I don’t embarrass him when people visit. Today I learned about imports. I don’t know what that means but Dad said good job so I wrote it down.

Another page: School was okay. Jason and Tim pushed me again because I didn’t want to play rough with them. Dad says boys who cry are weak. I didn’t cry.

Another: Dad slapped me because I asked about Mom. I won’t ask again.

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