The faint glow of sunset bled through the tall windows as Athena stepped out of Madeline's car. For the first time that day, a genuine smile lingered on her lips. She hugged her bag to her chest and waved.
"Thanks to you and Stephan," she said softly, "I really had a nice day."
Madeline smiled back, eyes warm.
"I did too. Thanks to you."
"Goodnight. Bye."
"Bye."
The car disappeared down the quiet lane. Athena stood there for a second longer, letting the calm settle into her bones—then turned and walked into the mansion.
The air inside shifted instantly.
Heavy. Cold. Watchful.
Scott sat stiffly on the sofa, spine rigid, jaw tight, eyes sharp with restrained fury. Imelda sat beside him, worry etched deep into her face. Across the room, Natalie and her mother chatted in low voices, their laughter thin and misplaced—like whispers before a storm.
"Good evening," Athena said politely.
She turned toward the stairs.
"And what if the evening isn't good?" Scott thundered.
Her steps faltered. Athena turned slowly, brows lifting.
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Where have you been?"
"With my friends."
Scott's eyes narrowed.
"I heard you bullied someone."
The word hit her like a slap.
Athena blinked—then pointed to herself in disbelief.
"Me?"
"Don't play dumb," he snapped. "You did something bad and refuse to admit it."
He leaned forward, voice sharpening with every word.
"How dare you bully people because your surname is Williams? Do you think you can do whatever you like just because you belong to this family?"
A pause. Deadly. Deliberate.
"You may be Athena Williams," he said coldly, "but remember this—you are nothing without the Williams behind your name."
The room went silent.
Something in Athena went very still.
Her voice, when it came, was calm—but scorched.
"I don't know who fed you whatever story you're clinging to, but I didn't bully anyone."
She let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"And is it like I chose to have a surname like that hanging over my neck?"
She turned to leave.
Scott's next words cut deeper than a blade.
"You are just as uncouth, overbearing, and arrogant as your mother!"
Athena froze.
Slowly—too slowly—she turned back. Her eyes were dark now, shining with unshed grief and blazing anger.
"To you," she said quietly, "she may have been uncouth, overbearing, and arrogant."
She stepped closer, voice steady but trembling underneath.
"But to me, she is a legend."
A breath.
"And if you ever want to qualify my mother—or me—again," she added, eyes locked onto his,
"add one more word."
She leaned into it.
"Domineering."
Then she turned and stormed out.
The door slammed.
The sound echoed through the mansion like a verdict.
Imelda exhaled shakily, heart breaking.
"Scott… you took it too far. You didn't have to drag her mother into it."
He clenched his jaw.
"Anyhow."
Imelda stood.
"I'll go check on her."
Outside, the night was cool and heavy. Garden lamps cast dim golden pools across the compound. Athena sat alone on the swing, hands gripping the chains, eyes shut tight as she struggled to breathe through the storm raging inside her chest.
Imelda approached and sat beside her. The swing creaked softly.
"Athena."
Her eyes opened.
"Grandma."
"Whatever your grandfather said… he didn't mean it."
Athena exhaled slowly.
"I understand."
A lie—but a merciful one.
"We've decided to bury your father the day after tomorrow."
"No problem."
"And your mother and brother…" Imelda said softly. "I'll keep searching for them."
"Thank you, Grandma."
Imelda studied her.
"You're such a brave girl… at such a young age."
Athena's phone buzzed.
"Excuse me, Grandma."
"Of course."
Athena walked away, phone pressed to her ear—her back straight, her steps measured. Imelda watched her go, tears shimmering in her eyes, knowing something fragile had cracked tonight… and might never fully heal.
Not in this house.