Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife: The Twins Are Not Yours! - Chapter 456

Chapter 456: Cottage Dinner

Meet me at the last cottage in the mansion.

Signed: co-birthday celebrant.

Athena smiled when she read the message. Her thumb lingered over the screen, tracing the words as if they carried heat. Her ex-husband’s handwriting—digital or not—still had a way of stirring something in her chest.

“Dinner at 11 p.m.?” she murmured under her breath, her lips curling into a rueful half-smile. She rubbed the back of her phone against her palm, debating whether to laugh or sigh. “With my ex-husband…”

Was that a good idea?

The thought pressed against her like a whisper of temptation and reason all at once.

The mansion was quiet, everyone likely fast asleep after the long evening. No one would question her absence for an hour or two. Still… having dinner this late, alone with Ewan, felt like playing with embers she had no business touching.

But then again—it was their birthday. Their shared birthday. A strange coincidence life had refused to untangle even after the divorce.

And she was curious—perhaps too curious—about his cooking.

She exhaled, soft and drawn-out, trying to tame the jitter in her chest. “It’s just dinner,” she reminded herself. “Just dinner.”

Her voice was low, uncertain, as she pushed herself off the bed and walked to the full-length mirror. The cool marble floor chilled her bare feet before she slipped them into the low silver heels lying beside the dresser. She stopped in front of the mirror, hands brushing down her sides.

The reflection staring back was both familiar and foreign.

Her gown was red—not the screaming kind of red that demanded attention, but the deep, elegant shade that glowed under light. The fabric hugged her upper body with modest precision, sleeveless but draped with a soft fall at the shoulders that gave her movement grace.

The neckline was tasteful, showing just enough skin to whisper allure without shouting it. Below the waist, the gown fell smoothly, parting subtly at the thigh where the fabric split—enough for ease of walking, yet daring enough to draw the eye if one looked long enough.

Her hair was pulled into a soft bun at the nape, with delicate strands curling loose to frame her face. Her makeup was minimal—just a hint of shimmer on her eyelids, a soft blush to warm her cheeks, and red lipstick that matched her gown but deepened her eyes. The look was modest, sensual, deliberate.

A slow smile curved her lips. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she murmured, though the fluttering in her stomach betrayed her calm exterior.

She turned to her vanity, checked her perfume, and dabbed a little behind her ears. The scent of roses and vanilla mixed lightly in the air.

The clock on the wall ticked past 10:45

With one last glance at her reflection, Athena grabbed her shawl, draped it around her shoulders, and quietly left the room.

The mansion was hushed, breathing only the faint sound of the old grandfather clock in the corridor. The chandeliers above were dimmed, casting gold shadows over the walls. She moved silently past the living room where the remnants of the feast still lingered—wine glasses, dessert plates, and laughter that had faded into memory.

They had all feasted well earlier. Even Areso, who had decided to sleep over in Chelsea’s room—an unusual decision given her pickiness with food—had admitted the meal was wonderful. Everyone was content, satiated, lost in dreams by now.

And here she was, tiptoeing through the sleeping mansion like a woman sneaking out for an affair.

Her lips twitched at the thought. Well, technically… no.

Outside, the night air was cool, brushing across her skin as soon as she stepped past the main door. The soft fragrance of the garden—roses and trimmed hedges—mingled with the earthy scent of dew. The moon was full and bright, the kind that illuminated everything with silver grace.

She drew her shawl closer and made her way down the stone path.

The estate was large, dotted with small cottage-like houses spread across its expanse. The gravel crunched under her shoes as she followed the familiar turn that curved away from the main security routes, the one with fewer cameras.

Ewan had promised to take care of that too.

As she walked, her thoughts scattered like fireflies. What exactly was she expecting tonight? A meal? A conversation? Closure? Or something else?

Her heart skipped a little faster when she spotted the last cottage in the line. Its windows glowed softly, golden light spilling out through the drawn curtains.

She slowed, her pulse quickening.

The air around the cottage carried a faint scent—something warm, sweet, maybe cinnamon or cardamom. Music floated faintly into the night, low and soothing. Her kind of music.

When she stepped onto the porch, she noticed the door wasn’t fully shut. It was open, just a fraction—like an invitation.

Her hand hesitated on the doorknob. “Is this really a good idea?” she whispered.

Her heart was beating far too quickly now, like a teenager about to confess something forbidden.

Taking a breath, she pushed the door gently open and stepped inside.

The air shifted instantly—warm, fragrant, romantic.

She froze.

The living room had been transformed. Candlelight flickered from every corner, soft and golden, throwing dancing shadows on the walls. A slow, melodic tune played from hidden speakers—her favorite piano instrumental. The scent of sandalwood and something floral hung in the air, delicate and inviting.

Throw pillows were arranged across the floor and long sofas, positioned carefully to form a cozy lounging area—like a space waiting for two people to curl up and watch an old movie together. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting the moonlight join the candle’s glow.

Her eyes darted toward the dining area—and her breath caught.

The table was set for two.

Silver cutlery gleamed beside porcelain plates, the wine glasses catching the candlelight like crystals. A small velvet cake sat at the center—no inscription, no message—just a tiny heart symbol with their initials etched beside it. Simple. Subtle. Perfect.

Her throat tightened. Were they really just having dinner tonight?

Before she could form a thought, the soft clink of utensils came from the kitchen. She turned—and froze again.

Ewan stepped out.

He wore a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark trousers that fit him like they were made for him. An apron was tied loosely around his waist, his hair slightly tousled, as though he’d run his fingers through it too many times. The faint light from the kitchen behind him caught the lines of his jaw, the ease in his movements, the calm confidence that had always made her breath hitch.

He smiled—slow, genuine, disarming. “You came,” he said softly.

Athena blinked, momentarily speechless. Her lips parted, but words refused to come out. He looked… devastatingly good. Handsome in that quiet, effortless way he always had been—but tonight there was warmth, gentleness, and something deeper in his eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d actually agree to dinner at this hour,” he continued, his voice deep, threaded with amusement.

Athena found her voice then, though it trembled slightly. “You didn’t give me much of a choice. The invitation was… convincing.”

He chuckled, the sound low and familiar, and walked toward her, drying his hands on a towel. “Happy birthday, Athena.”

Her heart skipped. “Happy birthday, Ewan.”

For a heartbeat, they stood there—just looking at each other, the space between them alive with things unspoken.

Then Ewan gestured toward the dining table. “Shall we?”