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

Chapter 374: Sugar High II

Athena woke with a splitting headache.

A groan slipped past her lips as she rolled beneath the weight of it, dragging herself up from under the sheets. Her palm pressed flat to her forehead, as though she could somehow halt the steady, merciless pounding there.

She leaned back against the headboard with a weary sigh, grateful for the heavy curtains that kept the sunlight from spilling across the room and worsening her mood.

Her gaze drifted to the wall clock. The numbers swam for a moment before settling, and she gasped softly when she made them out—eleven a.m.

She shook her head in disbelief, making a mental note never to eat sugared cookies from strangers again.

Who had done this to her still?

Her thoughts shuffled through the faces from yesterday’s porch greetings. Was it Geraldine? Or the old woman with the glittering clothes? The overly grateful young couple? Or that girl who was already married at nineteen?

She gave a small, humorless huff. What was the point in speculating?

With a fitful sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. That was when she noticed the small arrangement on her bedside table: a cup of water, two tablets neatly placed on a book, and a bottle with a label she had to squint to read—hangover medicine.

Beside it sat a stainless steel bowl, its lid trapping the faint, spicy aroma already curling at the edges. She didn’t need to open it to know it was Florence’s soup, the kind that could chase away half an illness with its heat.

Athena’s chest tightened at the gesture, the quiet care of it. It reminded her—painfully—of her first mother, long gone. She brushed the thought away before it could root itself and pushed to her feet.

Her balance faltered at first, her legs unsure beneath her, but steadied after a few breaths.

nausea, however, chose then to arrive—late

took you so long?" she muttered inwardly, quickening

step jarred her skull, the pounding in her head like carpenters hammering from all directions. She bit down on

of cool water, then pulled on a flimsy robe. She accepted—reluctantly—that she wasn’t going to work today. The carpenters and cobwebs in her

her phone lying beside the glass. Two messages from Ewan blinked up at her. A small twist of nerves pressed at her

midnight, was simply an acknowledgment of

long? Dinner with Victoria? The thought amused her, though

tablets and hangover medicine. Her frown deepened. Ewan had

sharper. She tried to picture herself last night, but all she could recall were fragments—slurred speech, a scream,

in the

must have brought him. Of course. Ewan had

panic

way— She clenched her teeth, letting the silent threat burn through her until

throat, even up into her nose. Hoping Florence’s soup could wash it away, she uncovered the bowl, the steam rising in

the lingering taste of the medicine.

was nearly empty, she realized she already felt sharper, stronger—the headache duller. She glanced at the label again, committing the brand to memory. Bitter was good if it at least did a nice

task of the day—clarity—accomplished. She gathered the bowl and cup, padding out toward the kitchen. Florence was there, standing over a pot,

Grandma," Athena greeted,

unused to this affection, to the loving presence of a

the soup. "Did you take the medicine too?

rippled through her words before she returned her attention to the pot.