Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife: The Twins Are Not Yours! - Chapter 514

Chapter 514: Second Court Case II

Athena didn’t bother to hide the small, satisfied smile curling onto her lips when her grand-aunt’s head snapped toward her—so fast the movement was almost sharp enough to cut air.

For weeks, the woman had maintained that icy, veteran calm, the same detached arrogance she had worn for decades. But now? That cold façade cracked right down the middle, her nostrils flaring, her mask slipping just enough for the world to see panic bleeding through.

Athena hummed quietly in her mind. Finally. A reaction worth filing away.

Before she could savor it further, Ewan leaned in, his breath brushing the shell of her ear, voice dropping to that warm, velvet tone that always seemed to bypass her brain and arrow straight through her chest.

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips grazing the edge of her ear. “Does this feel the same as when you beat me at court months ago?”

Her smile widened despite herself. She nodded, then discreetly pinched the inside of his arm. Ewan jerked slightly, biting back a grin.

“Focus,” she whispered. “Before the judge sends us both out.”

But it wasn’t just focus she was fighting for—it was control. Because ever since that night in the cottage, when he had turned an ordinary evening into something resembling a fairytale, he hadn’t stopped touching her.

A hand on her waist. A brush of knuckles behind her knee. A lingering thumb at the back of her neck. And now? His fingers were lazily, infuriatingly tracing the inside of her palm where they were linked on the bench, each stroke sending ripples of heat up her arm.

Her lawyer called the first witness.

Athena straightened, her spine lengthening, all warmth folding into clean steel as she watched her grand-aunt from the corner of her eye. The woman’s complexion was already paling.

Good. Let her watch the empire she built crumble piece by piece.

John walked in.

A ripple of interest moved through the courtroom the moment the man stepped through the door. He was dressed in a stark missionary cassock, black fabric sweeping around his ankles, a polished silver cross gleaming at his neck.

He walked with measured calm, almost serene, his posture unbothered, his face open, prepared.

Athena’s grand-aunt stiffened—barely. But Athena saw it. Oh, she absolutely saw it.

John reached the stand, took the oath, and lifted his chin.

He began with the truth.

How he had been hired. Who hired him. How many times. For what purpose.

Then came the evidence.

He pulled out his phone—a simple, older model—opened a secure folder, and handed it to the court attendant. Text messages. Bank transfers. Voice recordings. Conversations. Receipts.

And he explained, calmly, that he always kept recordings of clients.

“Not for blackmail,” he clarified gently, “but for personal safety. Some jobs backfire. Clients become convenient enemies. One must protect oneself.”

A murmur swept through the courtroom.

Cedric’s lawyer rose, trying to gather his dignity as he approached for cross-examination. He offered a thin smile, eyes scraping over the cassock.

“A missionary robe,” he said, loud enough for the jury to hear. “Interesting outfit for someone giving testimony on criminal activity. Would you say this… costume is intended to influence the court?”

John blinked.

“No,” he replied simply.

“Is it true,” the lawyer pressed, “that you were once the head of the Viper’s Gang?”

Gasps filled the courtroom. Someone outright shouted. “Jeez!”

John didn’t flinch.

“Yes,” he answered. “I was.”

Silence. Then uproar—shrieks, whispers, folding fans snapping shut.

John lifted a hand, steady. “I left that life behind nearly a decade ago, when I met my wife. She asked me to bury my past, not erase the truth of it. She insisted I keep every record locked away in a bank vault, just in case.”

He turned his gaze calmly toward Athena’s grand-aunt. “Her instincts were correct.”

The defense lawyer sputtered. He fired off questions—weak, grasping questions—but John was ready. Every answer was clean, crisp, and unshakeable. The truth was a fortress, and he stayed within its walls without faltering once.

When he finally stepped down, the courtroom remained thick with murmurs.

Then Connor was called.

Cedric’s family visibly began to unravel. Every inch of their former composure was stripped away, replaced with fear, irritation, and the unmistakable weight of defeat.

Connor walked in with a surprisingly steady gait. His hair was tied back, his jaw tight, but his eyes—his eyes held none of the bravado or swagger he used to parade. Instead, there was a quiet resignation.

He swore in, then spoke.

He told the court how his father had taken the contract.

How they had been contacted.

The meetings.

The transfers.

The instructions.

He presented his own set of evidence—texts, receipts, timestamps.

Then… the recording.

The one where Cedric’s parents and grand-aunt discussed how to “resolve the Athena problem.”

A stir exploded across the benches. Shouts. Gasps. A woman fainted. The judge had to strike the gravel three times, each hit sharp enough to sting the air.

“Order in the court!”

Connor continued after the room calmed—barely.

He explained how Cedric had contacted him as well, from the prison, giving fresh orders to “finish the job,” despite mentioning that he had quit the underworld.

When he was done, he gave a slight bow, but remained in the witness box.

The judge leaned back, studying the young man with a mixture of sternness and something like reluctant respect.

“Mr. Connor,” he said, “you and Mr. John have admitted to prior criminal activity. Giving testimony puts both of you at risk. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Your Lordship.”

Before the judge could say more, Athena’s lawyer rose.

“Your Lordship,” she said, voice smooth but carrying steel, “these men are here today because they chose truth over fear. The law allows redemption—especially when testimony exposes a conspiracy layered over decades. They have fulfilled their civic duty, even at personal cost. The court should take this into fair consideration.”

She didn’t shout. She didn’t need to.

Every word carried weight.

And the judge nodded slowly.

The jury withdrew with him, leaving Cedric and his family in a silent, suffocating row.

Minutes passed. Long ones. Heavy ones.

When the judge returned, no one needed to be told to stand—the room rose as one. Cedric’s mother was trembling. His father’s jaw clenched so tight a vein jumped at his temple. His grand-aunt had gone utterly still.

The judge unfolded the verdict.

“On the count of premeditated murder, the court finds the defendant, Mrs. Beatrice Thorne, guilty. Life imprisonment, with no parole.”

The latter exhaled sharply, disbelief coloring her wrinkled face.

Murmurs surged again.

He continued. “For conspiracy to commit murder and knowledge of the initial crime, the defendants Mr. and Mrs. Thorne—Cedric’s parents—are hereby found guilty. Thirty years in prison, without parole.”

A strangled sound came from Jonathan Thorne. Marianne let out a sharp cry of pain, already sobbing, pleading for mercy.

“And for knowledge of both murders and orchestrating multiple attempts thereafter, along with fraud and financial crimes, the defendant, Cedric Thorne, is found guilty.”

A pause. “Multiple sentences are involved here. But…” another significant pause. “Life imprisonment, with parole eligibility… should there be a significant improvement…”

The courtroom erupted, breaking the remaining train of the Judge’s words.

Cheers. Gasps. Triumph. The sound was loud, rolling, almost thunderous.

Athena felt Ewan’s hand tighten around her waist, pulling her subtly into him. He didn’t say anything at first—just held her through the wave of noise rising around them.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, warm, a private thread meant only for her.

“You did it.”

And though she kept her gaze forward, Athena allowed herself the smallest, proudest smile.

Justice, finally, had come home.