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

Chapter 367: Lunch With Herbert II

The restaurant was the sort of place where the lighting seemed to flatter everyone, warm and golden, casting soft glows on polished cutlery and crystal glasses that caught the candlelight like they were holding secrets.

Plush velvet chairs lined the tables, the deep wine-red fabric contrasting with the pale, gleaming tablecloths. A soft hum of low conversation mingled with the muted clink of forks against porcelain.

Somewhere in the corner, a pianist coaxed an elegant melody from the keys, the notes floating lazily through the air, landing gently on the ears of diners who looked as though they had nothing but time.

Just a restaurant across from the hospital, my foot. Athena thought absentmindedly, while waiting for Herbert to be done with his meal. With every beat of her finger against her cup, she counted time against the male who she believed was taking more time than necessary to consume mere food.

She let her gaze sweep across the space, momentarily distracted again from her impatience by the sheer polish of the place. Waiters moved like clockwork, each step measured, their trays balanced with effortless grace. The scent of garlic butter and herbs drifted from a passing dish, and she caught herself glancing at it before pulling her attention back to Herbert.

He sat across from her, leaning back in his chair with the easy comfort of someone entirely at home in such surroundings. The corner of his mouth quirked upward, amusement flickering in his eyes as he noticed her restless tapping against her wine glass.

"If I’d known my little story was going to ruin your appetite, I might’ve kept my mouth shut," Herbert said, his voice tinged with mock regret.

His brows lifted theatrically as he gestured toward the half-eaten plate in front of her. "You barely touched meal number sixteen." A pause. I feel like I wasted my words in hyping the uniqueness of the food variety.

Athena shrugged, as if dismissing the comment, though the corner of her mouth twitched. "I don’t see the hype you see, old man," she murmured, glancing down at the untouched delicacy. "Besides, I’m more concerned about the gist than the food. You are right... you should have known better."

Herbert’s expression softened, but the teasing glint in his eyes didn’t vanish. He raised a hand and signaled to the nearest waiter, who swept over almost instantly.

"Clear this away," He instructed with the smooth authority of someone used to being obeyed. Then, turning back to her, he asked, "Dessert?"

She shook her head quickly. "No."

He gave a mock sigh, shaking his head at her refusal. "Your loss," he said, before placing an order for himself. "The chocolate soufflé. With extra cream."

coming—Herbert would not be rushed. If he had decided to tell a story, he would take his time, savouring every detail

slightly. "What did

the glass of red wine in front of him. He swirled it slowly, watching the liquid cling to the crystal. Only when

was... well, it was like steering a ship with holes in the hull. Debts stacked up like firewood. Contracts falling apart. Suppliers refusing to deliver because their invoices hadn’t been paid

of his interviews... he walked into three different banks in one day, his shoulders squared, his tie knotted perfectly, determined to present himself as a man worth backing. Each time, they smiled politely, offered him tea... and then turned him

seen her grandfather in that kind of desperation,

on an edge. "She told

slightly. "She really

the news then. I was just out of college then, I think, and was appalled at her behaviour. According to her, she was supporting the acquisition for

churned. The betrayal in that kind

a steaming soufflé dusted with powdered sugar, a small silver jug of cream placed delicately beside it.

for a moment as he took the

"Herbert..." she

replied mildly,

chimed softly. She glanced down and saw a message from

one apologizing. Without overthinking it, she typed back, I’m sorry too, and—after a moment’s

her phone lit up with his call. She hesitated, glancing at Herbert, who was entirely absorbed in his

"Antonio?" she said softly.

then a sigh that seemed to travel the whole distance

"I’m sorry," she repeated.

his voice low, warm, and a little tired. "Are you free tonight?

She was free, but something in her pulled back. "Not tonight,"

he said easily. "How’s your day

talked a while longer—about his work ("tedious, but I like it"), about the little frustrations and small victories of last week, about nothing and everything. It was easy, familiar, the kind of conversation that left her