Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife The Twins Are Not Yours novel Chapter 491

Chapter 491: Apologies

"Ewan, Athena is here."

For a moment, Ewan thought he’d imagined it.

Sandro’s voice came from the doorway, but his mind barely registered the words. He sat on the edge of the bed, a book half-open in his hand, eyes fixed on a line he’d read a dozen times without absorbing a single word. The letters swam before him, a blur that refused to arrange themselves into meaning.

Athena’s face—her expression when he last saw her—kept flashing before his eyes. The accusation in her voice, the exhaustion in her eyes. The pain. It haunted him every time he blinked.

It was strange, he thought. He’d been through worse—had seen blood, betrayal, loss. Yet somehow, that woman’s broken look had done what bullets and knives could not: it had gutted him clean.

He exhaled sharply and shut the book, trying to push away the memory, but Sandro’s words echoed again. "Athena is here."

Ewan frowned when he realized his friend was still standing by the doorway. He tilted his head slightly, his mind scrambling for reason. "What?"

"You heard me," Sandro said, leaning against the doorframe, his tone flat. His expression gave nothing away—except maybe irritation.

Ewan scoffed, shaking his head. "Nice try. You’re not funny."

"I’m not joking," Sandro replied coolly. "She’s in the living room."

That made Ewan look up sharply. His heart thudded once, hard and fast.

He studied his friend’s face for a hint of humor—some twitch of a grin, a glint in his eye—but Sandro’s face remained still, unamused, and Ewan’s disbelief slowly melted into something else.

A rush of energy coursed through him. He tossed the book aside carelessly, the sound of it hitting the floor breaking the thick silence. "You’re serious?"

Sandro gave a small nod. "She came in about five minutes ago. Said she wanted to see you."

Ewan rose abruptly, his legs feeling heavier than they should. His mind, meanwhile, was chaos. Athena. Here. Why? What could she possibly want now?

He rubbed the back of his neck, pacing a few steps. "What do you think she’s here for?"

Sandro gave a dry shrug. "Maybe she wants to take your mansion too."

That earned a hollow laugh from Ewan. "Right. Because nothing says more revenge like real estate."

He was joking, but his chest was too tight for humor to land properly. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for a sweatshirt, pulling it over his white T-shirt.

He was already in cream shorts—hadn’t planned on going anywhere today. His reflection in the mirror looked tired, older somehow.

He ruffled his hair, trying to make himself presentable and yet not too eager, ignoring the unimpressed grunt Sandro gave behind him.

"You done checking yourself out?" Sandro muttered.

Ewan shot him a sideways look. "You’d do the same if a storm named Chelsea showed up at your door."

That shut Sandro up for a moment.

Ewan took one last breath—slow and deep—before stepping out of the room.

The short walk down the hallway felt much longer than it should. His mind was everywhere—images of Athena laughing sarcastically, crying, angry, cold. He didn’t know which version awaited him now, and part of him wasn’t sure he could handle any of them.

When they reached the sitting room, he stopped dead.

She was really there.

Athena was pacing the length of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, the flare of her navy-blue gown flowing slightly with every movement. Her bare feet peeked from beneath the hem—toenails painted a soft pink that tugged painfully at his chest.

She had taken off her heels? She always did that when she was nervous.

She shifted on her feet, head bowed, her fingers brushing against the hem of her gown.

The silence that followed was thick.

Ewan cleared his throat, but before he could speak, she did. "I’m sorry."

Her voice was low, almost fragile.

He froze. Was this real?

"I should have let you explain," she continued, her words tumbling out faster now, like she’d been holding them in too long. "I should have trusted you. Instead, I acted on anger—on fear. And I hurt you. I hurt us."

He didn’t answer immediately. Couldn’t. He stood there, watching her, listening to the quiver in her voice, the regret lining every syllable.

And his silence made her nervous. Her hands twisted together. "Ewan, please say something."

But Ewan was yet gripped with disbelief. That and sheer relief.

He’d spent the past days convincing himself that he’d lost her—that his punishment for his past sins was watching her walk away, taking the children and the light with her. And now here she was, apologizing. Apologizing.

His lips parted slightly. But no word came out.

Athena licked her lower lip. "I am sorry, Ewan. Truly." A pause. "For everything. For the company. For not believing you about Victoria. For thinking the worst of you." Her voice cracked then, just a little. "You didn’t deserve that."

She swallowed, met his gaze, when he wouldn’t speak, when his expression didn’t change.

"I..." She started to repeat the apology, anything to fill up the suffocating silence, but the words never came.

Because Ewan closed the distance between them and kissed her.