Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife: The Twins Are Not Yours!

Morgan was elated. Freedom had come. Finally, he'll be escaping from this hellhole.

With his shoulders, he nudged the fellows beside him, while using his leg to gently touch Fiona, who had been chained to a rod near the middle of the room.

The three of them opened their weary eyes, fixing their gaze on Morgan, who had a triumphant smile on his lips.

"Idiot, what are you smiling about?" Fiona managed to ask through her dry, bleeding lips, annoyance creasing her features.

"The rescue team has arrived, my love. We will be out of here soon," Morgan said, his voice thick with hope.

Fiona's heart soared immediately, her mind taking the hope like wings and flying free from one fantasy to another.

Once she was out of here, she would move straight to another continent; away from Morgan, away from Athena, and anything related to her—including Ewan. None of these people were worth her sanity.

Being here day after day, her priorities had been hammered straight, most especially after the incident a few hours ago, where she had been climbed by more than five men, while Morgan watched and screamed.

She didn't think she had ever heard a more heart-wrenching shout. She had almost told him to keep quiet though, for his loud cries were preventing her from staying blank during the maniacal torture. It was a miracle she still had her mind intact.

To think she had told Morgan to do the same to Athena months ago…

Fiona shook her head. This was really karma. It was why she hadn't made a sound until the men were done—not even when they slapped her while they were at it. She deserved it. All of it.

But maybe, the universe was giving her a second chance. Fiona swore not to misuse it.

She smiled when she heard Connor's frantic steps around the house. She would soon be free to start over.

She smiled at Morgan too, not stopping when tears started streaming down her face unabated—soon, she would be free.

"Don't worry, my love. I will make sure you forget all these terrible experiences. We will get married and have our honeymoon… it doesn't matter that your body has been contaminated…"

Fiona smiled more, her face trembling with a bittersweet hope. Contaminated? Well, it was her fault.

Maybe she was pregnant, seeing as those men didn't think to pull out. No. Not again. Once she was out of here, she would get medication. She didn't need a baby to start over. She didn't need anyone.

Yet, she kept smiling at Morgan because he was her only ticket out to freedom.

"Thank you, Morgan." She whispered softly, making a show of reaching for his hands as a damsel would, even though she knew she couldn't reach him. She didn't even want to touch him, didn't want to reach him at all.

She let her hand fall when the bullets finally stopped flying. Was this it? Freedom? She allowed peace to settle within her, and she started counting the seconds.

Ten minutes later, the door suddenly barged open, startling her. Her attention snapped to the intruder. She held back a cry when Connor entered, smiling brightly.

Why was he smiling—and not bleeding? Why was he not dead?

——————

Dead bodies littered the environment, Florence noticed with a chillingly calm expression as she walked elegantly beside her husband toward the front porch of the house Ewan had mentioned—belonging to Connor, an associate of his.

But Florence knew exactly who Connor Brafus was. After all, she had once utilized the services of his old man. It seemed the thirsty killing instinct ran deep in his blood.

She was, in fact, more than happy that Morgan's escape plan had failed. Yet, her mind was reeling—why had the escape plan even happened in the first place?

According to Ewan, it shouldn't have happened unless one of them had been wearing a tracker. Morgan had been the first person to come to mind.

But, according to the agents standing guard around the house, who Florence could see clearly, Morgan and his men were free from any tracking software. So then, how could members of the Vipers' gang have known?

"Are you okay, love?" Old Mr. Thorne asked softly, a gentle smile playing on his lips, concern flickering in his eyes.

"I'm fine, worrywart. You should be asking about Athena and her friend Susan," She replied.

Old Mr. Thorne chuckled. "No. Those two are used to this sort of carnage."

Florence scoffed lightly, her eyes narrowing as she perused the two women stepping around the dead bodies as if they were nothing more than logs of wood blocking the way. Her husband was right—those two were impenetrable by matters like this, just like her.

Inside the spacious sitting room, chairs had already been arranged in a perfect circle, as if for a round-table meeting. Only, instead of a table in the center, there was Fiona, Morgan, and his crew of two.

No living member of the rescue team was present—Connor had wiped them all off the face of the earth, most likely to protect his place in the gang where he was still serving.

"Please sit," Connor said with a sly smile, motioning to the seats. He took one, and the visitors complied. The men sent by Spider stood erect like soldiers guarding the perimeter, their eyes unblinking and sharp.

"Morgan, how are you doing?" Old Mr. Thorne started, his arms crossed over his chest, unmoved by Morgan's bloodied state or that of his men. "How did you get the escape team here?"

Morgan shrugged. "I don't know, old man." He responded flatly.

"I'd be careful with your answers, if I were you." Florence warned, her tone calm yet commanding.

Athena wasn't surprised in the least. She knew Florence was as tough as her husband. She reclined deeper into her seat, choosing to remain silent. She wouldn't be doing the questioning today.

"I'll ask again…"

"Don't bother. I don't truly know. I wasn't even expecting to be saved," Morgan cut in sharply, grimacing in pain as Connor stomped hard on his damaged fingers.

"Please…" Morgan cried out, clutching Connor's leg desperately. "I honestly do not know." He added, his voice strained.

"Let him be," Old Mr. Thorne waved Connor away, his gaze cold. "I'll get to him later. I'm here for her—Fiona Adams."

Fiona's head, which had been drooping, shot up in shock. She was the reason the infamous man was here? What had she done again?

She ransacked her memory, trying to pinpoint where she had wronged the old man personally, seeing the hatred in his eyes—but nothing came to mind. She stopped thinking as headaches started visiting her for the umpteenth time.

"How are you doing, Fiona?"

Fiona only nodded, her tongue feeling heavy and parched. She hasn't taken water for two days now. When she had asked Connor, he had told her to lap up the urine in the closet.

Fiona had thought him mad, yet she knew that if this continued, she might actually… a tear slipped from her eye. Surely, the black cells were better than this?

"I'm pleased you're doing okay," Old Mr. Thorne continued, ignoring that she looked paler than the dead men outside.

"Do you recognize this bracelet? Ewan told me that you stole it from someone it belonged to…" He asked, lifting the bracelet.

Fiona's eyes widened for a nanosecond before relaxing to normal. But Old Mr. Thorne already had his answer. She knew what it was, remembered who it belonged to.

"Tell me, and maybe I'll let you go to the black cells. Surely you'd prefer that to here…"

This time, Fiona didn't nod. She stared blankly at the old man, but in her mind, she rained curses on Athena—and on whatever good luck was backing the woman.

How? she asked herself for the third time. How was this happening? Why was it happening? Why did Athena have all the good things? Why couldn't she have them instead? Why Athena?

Tears ran freely from her eyes, surprising everyone around her.

Why was she crying? Florence wondered, watching her closely.

Ewan shrugged with a faint smile. "You can talk, Fiona, or we can get Connor to do the needful."

Before knowing the wickedness of Connor, Fiona would have dared Ewan—would rather have chewed her tongue than expose this truth.

But she knew who the devil was. She knew the painful ways he treated her, making her wish for death. Her eyes drifted to her leg, which was possibly crippled forever, and she let more tears flow.

Maybe it was time to give up this fight. Even the rescue team had failed. There was no escaping this reality now, especially with the Thorne family stepping into the matter.

"Water," She whispered hoarsely, her voice croaky like a frog's.

Old Mr. Thorne nodded toward Connor, who hurried to comply. Two bottles of water were handed to her.

She drank eagerly, her face and hair still filthy from the ordeal. Fiona was ready to speak her truth for the first time in her life.

"You've been given water. Now, talk. Who owns the bracelet?" Old Mr. Thorne commanded.

Fiona, without hesitation, turned to Athena and inclined her head toward the latter. "She is the owner of the bracelet."