Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 74: Nausea

Athena rubbed Gianna’s back as she vomited into the toilet sink, her palm moving in slow, practiced circles, steady enough to become something Gianna could lean into.

The sound was ugly—raw and wet and helpless—and it made something sharp coil in Athena’s chest. She bent closer, murmuring soft nonsense under her breath, words that didn’t matter so much as the tone of them.

"It’s okay," she said again. "I’ve got you. Just let it out. You’re safe."

Gianna’s shoulders shook as another wave tore through her.

Athena tightened her grip, feeling bone beneath skin, feeling how small her friend seemed right now. Her jaw clenched as images she didn’t want flashed through her mind, images of what the latter had faced hours ago.

Whoever had done this would burn for it. Athena promised viciously. Fire and brimstone would be merciful compared to what she wanted.

When the retching finally slowed, when the bathroom sank into a brittle quiet broken only by Gianna’s ragged breathing, Athena leaned closer. "Gia?" she asked softly. "Are you done?"

Gianna nodded, forehead still pressed to the sink, strands of damp hair clinging to her temple.

She tried to stand, pushing herself upright with trembling arms, but the motion was too much. Her body rebelled immediately, nausea surging back up like a tide that hadn’t finished with her yet.

She gagged, bent forward again, gripping the porcelain as if it were the only solid thing left in the world.

Athena didn’t flinch. She didn’t rush her. She simply resumed rubbing her back patiently, grounding her friend through the storm. "Easy," she murmured. "Slow breaths. I’m right here."

This time, when Gianna finally sagged back, spent, Athena handed her a cup of water.

Gianna rinsed her mouth carefully, swishing, spitting, as if afraid to swallow anything at all. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, staring at her own reflection in the mirror—pale, hollow-eyed, almost unrecognizable.

"I scrubbed," Gianna said hoarsely. "When we got back. I scrubbed until my skin burned." She hesitated, swallowing hard. "I still feel dirty. I think I want another bath."

Athena shook her head immediately. "No." The word, though firm, was edged with concern. "At this rate, you’ll scrub yourself raw. You don’t need to punish your body. It’s already been through enough."

She guided Gianna gently out of the bathroom, arm secure around her waist, adjusting her pace to match Gianna’s unsteady steps.

On the bedside table sat a tray of food—soup, bread, something sweet—half eaten. Athena paused, watching Gianna sink onto the edge of the bed like gravity had finally claimed her.

"Do you want to try eating again?" Athena asked carefully. "Even a little?"

Gianna shook her head, barely lifting it. Her eyes were glassy, distant, her energy completely spent.

"That’s fine," Athena said at once. No pressure. Never pressure.

She lifted the tray and set it aside, out of Gianna’s line of sight, then turned back and helped her lie down. She pulled the covers up, tucking them around her like a shield, smoothing the sheets with absentminded care.

Then, she sat beside her friend and took her hand. Gianna’s fingers were cold.

"I’m sorry," Athena said quietly, the words heavy with everything she couldn’t say. "I’m sorry you had to go through something like this."

Gianna swallowed, throat working. "It’s not your fault," she said, voice thin. "Thank you... for coming. For saving me." Her breath hitched, and a tear slipped down the side of her face, catching in the corner of her mouth.

Athena wiped it away instantly, thumb gentle against skin. "Hey," she murmured. "You don’t have to thank me. Ever. It’s what we do for family."

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Gianna’s forehead. "Try to sleep."

Gianna nodded faintly, eyelids fluttering. "Ewan?" she asked, the name barely audible.

"He’s with the others," Athena answered. "They’re figuring out who did this. They won’t stop."

Gianna nodded again. "Tell them... thank them."

"I will." Athena squeezed her hand once more, then stood—but she didn’t leave the room.

Instead, she crossed to the couch near the small library in the corner. She picked up a book, settling into the cushions, her body angled toward the bed. She read without really reading, eyes skimming words while her attention stayed fixed on the slow rise and fall of Gianna’s chest.

Gianna watched her through heavy lashes, something warm and grateful unfurling in her chest despite the fear. She was lucky. Lucky to have a friend like Athena. A dangerous one. A loyal one. Someone who stayed when things got ugly.

Sleep claimed her slowly, dragging her under with the promise of rest. As she drifted off, she hoped that whoever had done this would be found. When they were, she had words for them. And fists.

Athena noticed the moment Gianna fell asleep. Her breathing evened out, the tension draining from her face little by little. Relief loosened something tight in Athena’s chest.

She closed the book quietly and stood, walking back to the bed. She brushed a kiss against Gianna’s forehead, softer this time. "I’ll get answers," she whispered. "I promise."

A faint sound cut through the quiet.

Athena froze. It came from the window.

Her instincts snapped to attention instantly, every muscle alert. She moved silently, pushing aside the curtain just enough to peer outside.

The night stared back at her empty. Still. No movement. No shadows out of place.

She scanned left. Right. Down.

Nothing.

Her brows knit together as she pulled back inside. She shut the window firmly this time, latching it, then returned to the couch. She sat, facing the bed, eyes sharp now.

She didn’t sleep. Couldn’t sleep... not yet.

—-

The man slammed the door behind him and cursed, the word ripping out of his throat like it had claws. The lights stayed off as he strode deeper into the house, fury guiding him better than sight ever could.

"Idiots," he spat, pacing. "Useless, brainless idiots."

He raked a hand through his hair, breathing hard, cussing again, softer this time. Who had saved the bitch?

His stomach twisted. Had the men talked? He told himself they wouldn’t dare. He paid well. He paid for silence. But fear didn’t listen to reason.

He dropped heavily onto the sofa, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed. If a single word had slipped, if a single thread led back to him...

He swallowed hard. He couldn’t imagine what would happen next.