Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife The Twins Are Not Yours novel Chapter 478

Chapter 478: Damning Sight

Rodney slowed the car to a stop in front of Ewan’s company, the engine humming low beneath the heavy silence. The massive glass structure rose like a monument before them, cold and reflective under the gray afternoon sky.

Athena’s reflection in the tinted window looked pale and strained, her eyes shadowed from worry, her lips pressed tight.

She turned to Rodney, her voice quiet but firm. "Check on the children," she said. "If you notice anything—anyone following, any strange movement, any act of bullying—take them home. Don’t wait for me."

Rodney’s brow furrowed, sensing the storm behind her calm. "Ma’am..."

"Please, Rodney," she interrupted softly, her gaze fixed on the building. "Just... make sure they’re safe." She knew he had been training with the guards back at the mansion.

He hesitated, then nodded. "I will."

Athena exhaled shakily, pushing open the car door. The air outside was sharp, the wind biting at her coat as she stepped out. She paused for a moment, staring up at the towering structure. Everything about it screamed power and generational wealth.

The absence of reporters made her uneasy. It was too quiet. Too still.

Ciara had been lucky to catch the news early and alert her before the first vans could swarm the gates. But that luck wouldn’t hold.

Athena gave it a few minutes—fifteen at most—before flashing lights and microphones filled this place like a battlefield.

So she hurried.

The security guards recognized her immediately, their eyes widening. They didn’t stop her—they wouldn’t dare—but their exchanged glances told her enough. They had seen it. The news had spread already, even here. She donned the sunglasses.

Inside, the lobby gleamed with polished marble and quiet tension. The receptionist, a young woman with glossy hair and nervous hands, stood straighter when she approached.

"Good afternoon, ma’am. How may I—"

"I’m Dr. Athena," she said curtly, removing her sunglasses.

Recognition dawned. "Oh—oh, of course! Please, Dr. Athena. Mr. Giacometti is expecting no visitors, but—"

"I’m not a visitor," Athena cut in. Her tone was calm, but her eyes were cold steel.

The woman swallowed, then nodded quickly. "You can go. I’m sure he will want to see you..."

As she stepped back, Athena caught the faint, hesitant greeting from a few staff members who passed by—soft hellos, their eyes darting away too quickly. That hesitation confirmed her fears: they had seen the story. They had read the headlines. They were wondering if she was the woman behind the virus.

Athena’s spine straightened. She ignored their whispers, the subtle pull of judgment that followed her into the elevator.

The ride up was suffocatingly quiet. The numbers glowed one after another— 15, 16, 17...— until the doors slid open on the top floor.

The air up here felt different—colder, thinner, laced with the faint hum of authority. She slipped off her glasses and tucked them into her coat pocket. The secretaries didn’t need her to introduce herself; her presence said enough. Every one of them froze mid-call or mid-typing, eyes wide.

"Dr. Athena..." one stammered.

"Don’t bother. He has no qualms seeing me." Athena said, her voice controlled but icy. She had no time to play sit down with secretaries.

She walked quickly down the hall, stopping first at a smaller adjoining office. Sandro looked up from a file, surprise etching his face.

"Athena," he said, rising immediately. "You’re here—"

"Have you seen the news?" she interrupted.

He frowned. "No, what news?"

She handed him her phone. "Read it."

His eyes skimmed the headline—and then the blood drained from his face. He cursed under his breath, reading faster, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "This—this is madness," he muttered. "They can’t just—"

"Oh, they can," Athena said bitterly, snatching the phone back. "And they did. Come with me."

Without another word, he followed her down the hall, his face tight with anger. They didn’t knock. They didn’t think the occasion allowed it.

Athena pushed open the door to Ewan’s office—and froze.

But she didn’t.

She inhaled slowly, forcing her composure back piece by piece. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft—too soft. "Sandro," she said without looking at Ewan. "Inform Mr. Giacometti about the latest happenings. I’m sure he’ll find them... enlightening."

Then she turned and started for the door.

Behind her, Ewan’s voice broke the tension. "Athena, wait!"

Her footsteps faltered, but she continued until she was in the hallway.

Still, he followed her.

"Athena, please. It’s not what you think—"

She didn’t turn, even when his footsteps closed in. But when his hand caught her arm, she spun around, her face a mask of grief and fury.

"Don’t," she said quietly.

But he didn’t let go. "Please. Just listen to me—"

Her palm connected with his cheek before he could finish. The sound cracked through the hallway, sharp and final.

"Don’t ever touch me," she whispered, her voice trembling from the sheer force of holding herself together. "Not in this lifetime. Not in your miserable life again."

Ewan blinked, pain shrouding his face. "Athena..."

"Don’t," she repeated, her voice rising. "Don’t come around again. I don’t want to see you. Not now, not ever."

Her eyes glistened, but the tears didn’t fall. She wouldn’t give him that.

"Handle your business with Kael," she said, stepping back. "Or you’ll have me to contend with."