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

"He never loved me. Ewan, I mean. He never did love me, despite all my antics. All he did, all his services, all his care, was all out of duty… If I hadn't been a saviour, I wouldn't have been the object of his attention…I was just too blinded by lust and anger to see that." Fiona muttered, after Ewan's tense response; after the silence had held the stage for about two minutes.

"And during the time of my fruitless chase, I wasn't even faithful. I was always with Morgan, visited him… Morgan treated me like I wanted to be treated… all that… and I wasn't even aware that I was destroying myself." She added, as if talking to herself, but her voice, as soft as it was, could still be heard by everyone in the room.

A pause.

"I'm ready to take any punishment." She stated in a more steady tone, finally looking up, looking at Old Mr. Thorne. "I can take anything, sir. Only let me not remain here… please…"

"You will surely remain here!" Ewan pointed out sharply. "Your mother will join you too!"

Fiona shut her eyes in pain. No matter how much she despised her mother, no matter how much she disregarded the woman who had always had her back then, she didn't want her to go through torture in Connor's hands. It would kill the older woman.

She almost pleaded with Athena, but remembered that her rival was just as cold-hearted as Ewan when the latter chose to be. And seeing that these truths didn't put her in a good light, Fiona doubted Athena would help her.

But maybe Old Mr. Thorne would show mercy… since he had found his long-lost grand daughter. And didn't he promise to let her stay in the black cells for her confession?

Meanwhile, Old Mr. Thorne's gaze drifted to Athena, whose position had remained unchanging—her sideways gaze still trained on Fiona, an astonished expression still clouding her face.

His granddaughter. Cecilia Thorne. His Emily's child.

He clasped his hands tighter, a control measure to stop his eye faucet from cracking open. From the way his wife clutched her cloth, he knew she was holding on too, that she was trying not to show much emotion in public.

But did it matter?

His eyes trailed over Athena's features for the umpteenth time, and he wondered how he hadn't known she was his blood. Even Florence had called her Emily the first time they had met.

He clasped his hands even tighter. Maybe if he had dug deeper, he might have found the answers sooner.

A sigh.

Athena was his granddaughter, and the twins were his great-grandchildren.

A smile broke out on his lips before he could stop it, followed by a single tear rolling down his cheek. When he felt it, he sniffed and turned away. Looking at Athena made his control harder to achieve.

"Do you have your mother's number?" He asked Fiona, his gaze centering on her.

Fiona, thinking that Old Mr. Thorne's inquiry about her mother's phone number meant death for her old woman, instantly shook her head, laying flat on the ground—ignoring the pain that rocketed across her body as a result; that made her gnash her teeth.

"Please… I'm sorry. Don't let my mother…" She begged.

"Just give me the number." Old Mr. Thorne insisted, not giving Fiona any explanations; she wasn't worth it.

Hesitantly, Fiona called out the number.

"It's not connecting." Old Mr. Thorne said, frowning at her. "Are you sure you gave me the right number? Because if you didn't…" He trailed off, warning evident in his tone.

"She gave you the right number." Athena's interruption, soft and steady, caused everyone's attention to land on her.

She sighed and sat up. "Margaret changed her number when she left the country. She gave me her new number, in case certain situations arise… I think this must be what she had in mind."

As she spoke, she lifted her phone and called out Margaret's number in the next breath. Old Mr. Thorne was sharp enough to take the numbers.

"Hello, Margaret Adams…" He started, putting the call on loudspeaker.

Fiona returned to her sitting position, her ears attentive to hear her mother's voice.

"Just Margaret. I don't bear that last name anymore." Margaret said in a hushed voice.

"And why is that?"

A pause, then the voice on the other end responded, "Who am I speaking to?"

"Edward Thorne. Do you remember me?"

Another significant pause. Shuffling sounds—perhaps papers or objects—echoed through the phone.

Maybe Kendra's toys. Athena thought. How was the little one doing?

"Yes, I remember you, Mr. Thorne. To what do I owe this call?"

"I want to ask you some questions. But first, why don't you no longer bear the name Adams?"

"Alfonso and I are divorced. Finalized a week ago." Margaret answered without hesitation this time.

Old Mr. Thorne's eyes flicked to Fiona for an instant—the woman who had bowed her head in resignation. He felt no pity for her.

"I see. Well, Margaret, I'm with Fiona now in the psychiatric clinic. We've been talking for a while, and she mentioned that Athena was truly the one who saved Ewan from drowning all those years ago. Is that so?"

A heavy pause which lasted a full minute.

"Margaret…" Old Mr. Thorne called out impatiently.

"Yes, it's true," Margaret finally replied. "I worked with her father to cover that truth. We wanted so much for Fiona and Ewan to marry, so we could gain a foothold in the Giacometti's company."

Ewan gritted his teeth. Sandro and Zane weren't left out of the raging storm.

"I see… Do you remember my daughter, Emily Thorne?"

"Yes. She was a close friend of Ewan's mother. A friend to me too. A good woman," Margaret answered, a trace of sadness in her voice.

"Then, do you know that Athena is her daughter? That Athena is a Thorne? Because surely you must have seen the bracelet."

But there was no response. Not for a full minute.

"Margaret, you'd better speak up, or else the consequences will be dire!" Old Mr. Thorne shouted, his free hand clenched in anger at the years lost—at the memories stolen.

"I saw the bracelet," Margaret finally said, voice trembling. "I was shocked when Fiona mentioned it belonged to the girl. But I didn't know that Emily had a daughter. I told Fiona to keep the bracelet hidden because of the suspicions. If the girl was a Thorne, we didn't want to risk the wrath of the family."

"Well, now you will have it in full!" Old Mr. Thorne finally lost his temper. "Pack your bags, woman! You'll be going to your daughter in the black cells!"

And with that, he ended the call without giving Margaret a chance to respond.

Over there, Margaret collapsed to the floor, her buttocks hitting hard in shock—no matter that Kendra was right in front of her.

"No, please!" Fiona begged, tears streaming down her face.

"Don't bother. I think it's fitting that your whole family spend some time there. If she was remorseful, she would have told the full truth during the court case!" Old Mr. Thorne insisted, scoffing at Fiona's attempts to plead.

Instead, he watched as his wife stood to her feet and walked, slowly, toward Athena as if afraid that the latter wouldn't accept or acknowledge her position.

"My daughter…" Florence called, stopping before Athena, hesitantly touching Athena's cheek. Athena, who was still trying to gain control of the emotions running through her.

Relief that she had found her real family. Happiness. Confusion. Unnamed feelings, especially when it came to the topic of Ewan.

Maybe because she was now in a relationship, with someone else…

Yet now she could understand why she had been so besotted to him, even during their cold marriage—her heart had remembered.

Even if her brain had forgotten, her heart had remembered who Ewan was. Probably why fate always brought them together. Probably why he hadn't been able to thoroughly hate her despite Zack's machinations.

Cecilia Thorne. She was Cecilia Thorne.

"I'm sorry." Florence's gentle voice pulled Athena from her thoughts.

"I'm sorry I didn't…"

Athena shook her head. "You weren't aware in the first place. No need to take the blame." She whispered, aware of Old Mr. Thorne—her grandfather, right? Wow. No wonder she felt at home with him—getting to his feet, approaching her.

"Still, I'm sorry for not being a better mother to your mother… If I had been, she might have told me about you. Confided in me instead of her friends. And I'm sorry for that. Please, don't hold it against us."

Athena smiled sadly, removing Florence's hand from her cheek, then rising to her feet.

Hold it against them? She couldn't—even if she wanted to. Without knowing her true origins, they had taken into their home, her, the children, even her friends, without a complaint. What better family could she have?

Fiona was right. She was the lucky one.

Athena knew the twins would be pleased with this news.

"I don't hold it against you, Grandma…" She said softly, with a wide smile which tugged at Florence's heartstrings.

"As a matter of fact, I'm relieved that it's you both…" Athena continued, looking at Old Mr. Thorne, who now stood beside his wife.

"I'm glad I'm your granddaughter. I'm happy."

And then she hugged them, finally letting the dam break open.