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. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on NovᴇlFir(e).nᴇt
Her balance faltered at first, her legs unsure beneath her, but steadied after a few breaths.
The nausea, however, chose then to arrive—late but determined.
"What took you so long?" she muttered inwardly, quickening her pace toward the bathroom.
Each step jarred her skull, the pounding in her head like carpenters hammering from all directions. She bit down on her gasps, refusing to give them the satisfaction.
When it was over, she rinsed her mouth, stood under a brief stream 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 head were far from gone.
Back at the bed, she downed the tablets first, then reached for her phone lying beside the glass. Two messages from Ewan blinked up at her. A small twist of nerves pressed at her ribs.
The first, sent at midnight, was simply an acknowledgment of her text from yesterday.
She frowned faintly. What had kept him so long? Dinner with Victoria? The thought amused her, though only briefly.
The second message was different—an instruction to take the tablets and hangover medicine. Her frown deepened. Ewan had been in her room?
Her breath came slower, sharper. She tried to picture herself last night, but all she could recall were fragments—slurred speech, a scream, and...
Athena kicked one foot in the air in frustration.
The children must have brought him. Of course. Ewan had really won them over. And if he ever...
Her eyes closed as panic pooled in her chest.
If Ewan so much as chipped away at their trust or hurt them in any way— She clenched her teeth, letting the silent threat burn through her until the panic receded.
She opened the bottle and swallowed the required measure, her face contorting as the bitter taste spread across her tongue, down her throat, even up into her nose. Hoping Florence’s soup could wash it away, she uncovered the bowl, the steam rising in a fragrant curl. One spoonful, and she nearly sighed in relief.
Several more followed, each a small victory against the lingering taste of the medicine. Ewan deserved half her gratitude and half her irritation for that.
By the time the bowl 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 job.
First task of the day—clarity—accomplished. She gathered the bowl and cup, padding out toward the kitchen. Florence was there, standing over a pot, speaking to one of the servants.
"Good morning, Grandma," Athena greeted, kissing the older woman’s cheek.
Florence smiled, blushed—yet unused to this affection, to the loving presence of a grandchild—her eyes softening.
"You’re welcome, my dear," she said in answer to the thanks for the soup. "Did you take the medicine too? Ewan rushed out to get it when he heard what happened—after laughing his eyes out first."
A chuckle rippled through her words before she returned her attention to the pot.
Athena set the dishes in the sink with a wan smile with a playful snort. "Yes, I did. Is Susan awake?"
Florence shook her head. "Last I checked, she wasn’t. Whatever was in those cookies you two ate—it must be the drug of the century. They should have considered you’re new there though. I don’t understand these new neighbours of yours. Ewan gave us more details about each of them."
Of course he had. The man never left a stone unturned.
"Where is he?" Athena asked, picking an apple from the fruit basket.
Florence frowned slightly, as though measuring her answer. "At work, I believe. After getting you and Susan the medicine, he dropped the kids at school. Yes... he should be at work."
The repetition was pure habit, the kind born of worry.
If Alfonso hadn’t interfered, the Thornes would have adopted Ewan without hesitation, quite alright.
In the darker, more twisted corner of her mind, Athena was glad it hadn’t happened—how could she ever explain to her children that their father was her stepbrother?
She looked up to find her grandmother watching her. Somewhere in her fog, she had missed part of the conversation.
"Sorry," she murmured. "Head’s still a bit clogged."
Florence nodded. "So long as you’re not thinking that Ewan has something going on with Victoria, apart from work."
Nice move, Grandma, Athena thought dryly.
But the seed had been planted, and whether she wanted it to or not, it began to take shape in her mind.