Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife The Twins Are Not Yours novel Chapter 377

Chapter 377: More Worries III

"How do you feel now?" Athena asked as she leaned forward, the sunlight pooling across her shoulders, and handed Susan a tall glass of orange juice.

They were outside in the north wing of the Thorne mansion, where the lawns stretched wide, green and immaculate, and two swimming pools lay side by side in the shape of the letter L.

The larger one was deep, tiled in dark blue stone so that the water shimmered like glassy sapphire under the fading afternoon sun. The smaller was shallower, built for leisure, its surface broken by the occasional lazy ripple of the breeze. Together, they seemed like mirror-lakes carved into the estate, bordered by white stone decks, cushioned lounge chairs, and umbrellas that tilted to follow the day’s arc.

The air smelled faintly of salt and citrus—Florence had been squeezing oranges nearby—and the perfume of sunscreen clung to their warm skin. The water from their swim still glistened in rivulets, catching the last strands of daylight, dripping down from their shoulders to the towels wrapped loosely around them.

For more than ten minutes, they had been swimming—playful races, slow glides, brief dives that sent sunlight scattering across the pool floor. Now, in the afterglow of motion, both women lay stretched out, letting themselves breathe.

Newspapers lay folded by their chairs, damp at the edges from careless wet hands. Florence’s insistent hand in the kitchen had resulted in a tray of peppered desserts—sweet, hot, the kind that lingered on the tongue—and low-sugar snacks arranged with precision. Their laughter still hovered faintly in the air, blending with the buzzing of cicadas along the trimmed hedges.

"I’m better," Susan answered after taking her first sip. The juice clung to her lips like a thin glaze.

Athena leaned back, tilting her chin so the sun brushed across her cheekbones. Still, her eyes were on Susan. She saw the way her posture relaxed into the lounge, but she also saw it—the shadow, the heaviness behind the eyes that orange juice couldn’t wash away.

"You’ve been running on empty," Athena murmured. Her voice was low, almost indulgent, but edged with care. "But you’ll get your strength back."

Susan exhaled slowly, the sound almost a laugh.

"Tell me," Athena said, folding her arms lightly across her chest. "How’s Nimbus’s new branch? I keep forgetting to ask."

The younger woman shifted, tucking damp hair behind her ears. "It’s steady. Careful. I had to restructure the order of events... no one is allowed to move unchecked. I keep my eyes open, my ears sharper, and my nose ready to catch the scent of any new mole that might sprout up. I’m not letting the past happen again. I’m not letting this branch run like the doggy CIA either."

Athena smiled faintly at the choice of words. It sounded playful, but Susan’s expression betrayed no frivolity. She had learned vigilance the hard way.

"You’re handling it though," Athena said softly.

"I’m trying." Susan swirled the juice, staring at the way the light bent inside the glass. Her voice was quiet. "But therapy is the part I wonder about. What if the sessions end, and I’m not really... okay?"

Athena tipped her head back, watching the clouds lazily rearrange themselves above the roofline. Her hair gleamed under the light, strands like spun bronze. "There’s no harm in trying. No one heals in a straight line, Susan. Not you, not me. We stumble, and then we keep walking."

Silence settled between them for a moment. Susan’s jaw worked, as if she was chewing on words she wasn’t sure she should say. Then:

"I told Ewan about Dr. Damian."

The sentence hit like a pebble into still water. Athena turned her head sharply. "You did what?"

"I told him about Damian. The way he spoke to us. His rudeness." A pause. A sigh of weariness. "It just happened in the heat of the moment. Now, I am not sure if it had been a good move."

Athena’s body stilled, her lips parting, but no answer came at first. Heat rose beneath her skin, her chest tightening.

Why? Why would she go to Ewan with that? And when did they even form that kind of camaraderie? She wasn’t aware that Susan and Ewan were ext buddies.

Biting down on her lips. And what would Ewan do now? Would he confront Damian? Strip him from the gig altogether? Perhaps exile him without warning, back to wherever he had come from?

Images flitted across her mind. Ewan’s decisive anger. Damian’s too-smooth smile. And her own hours she had spent researching on the doctor, clicking through databases, piecing threads of identity. But Damian had been smoke. Elusive. No records. No trail.

She had come up empty, frustrated, yet accepting that she had been right.

And now Susan had handed Ewan the powder keg directly. She actually pitied Damian.

Athena forced her shoulders into a shrug. "I... see." The words were flat, deliberately careless. Inside, her nerves buzzed like hornets.

Pretending not to mind, noticing Susan’s nervousness, she asked lightly, "Do you like him?"

Susan almost choked, shaking her head. "No. Of course not."

But Athena’s eyes caught the tell: the faint flush, the pink around the rims of Susan’s eyes, the avoidance in her gaze. Her young friend had the hots for the doctor, and was probably regretting telling Ewan about the matter.

She said nothing, however, stored the detail away.

The sound of footsteps interrupted them. A servant approached, head bowed, a tray balanced with two sleek phones. "Madam, your devices."

Athena accepted hers with a nod. Susan took hers, glanced at the screen, and frowned.

"Oh. I have a ton of calls from my boss. I should go, call him back." Rising, she brushed crumbs from her lap. "Thank you, Athena... for today. For the company. I think I needed it."

A soft smile. "I think we should thank your new neighbours."

Athena laughed. "Anytime. YOu will join me on that trip of appreciation though."

When a smiling Susan had gone, Athena thumbed on her own phone. Four messages blinked against the screen.

She opened Herbert’s first.

It was another dinner invitation.

Her lips pressed together. Herbert—an older man, refined, father of her friend. What exactly was he doing inviting her to a restaurant known for its romanticism?

Was this simply polite courtesy, the manners of his age? Or was it something else creeping beneath his words? The thought unsettled her.

The second message was easier. It was from Antonio–A love message, warm, dotted with kisses. Images of you never leave my mind. I miss your lips, darling Athena. There was a missed call too.

To Herbert: No, thank you. There’s the party on Friday. We can see each other then.

To Antonio: Missed your call. Love you too, darling. Always.

In the hospital?

"No," Athena muttered aloud. She typed back swiftly, fingers stabbing the screen. I’ll take care of it myself.

They will pay for this. They will all pay surely.

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