Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife: The Twins Are Not Yours! - Chapter 211

Chapter 211: Ewan’s Apology
Fiona darted a sharp, angry glance at Ewan, her frustration bubbling just below the surface.

She was thoroughly pissed off at the moment, craving nothing more than to escape the confines of the boardroom, but Ewan just didn’t care.

“Sit down, Fiona,” He stated calmly, his tone measured as he returned his attention to the shareholders. “I think we have covered all the grounds there are. This meeting has been dismissed. Thank you all for coming.”

Echoes of “thank you” filled the air as the shareholders stood, collected their belongings, and sashayed out of the boardroom, their mingling voices fading into the distance.

“Ewan, can I talk to you for a minute…” Old Mr. Thorne’s voice cut through the remnants of the meeting as he approached the almost empty room, pausing before Ewan, who sat still in his chair, seemingly lost in thought, as if mentally sifting through the meeting minutes.

Hearing Old Mr. Thorne’s voice however, Ewan gestured for Sandro to take Fiona away and wait for him outside.

At the same time, Athena gave a curt nod to Old Mr. Thorne and left the boardroom alongside his wife, with Alfonso, who was strictly kept in check by Aiden.

“Is anything the matter, Mr. Thorne?” Ewan asked as Old Mr. Thorne settled himself into the chair right beside him. The weight of the old man’s presence was palpable.

“Do you want to hand over your shares to Athena too?” Ewan continued, noticing that Old Mr. Thorne had dropped a big brown file onto the table, the sound resonating like a prelude to an unexpected revelation.

Old Mr. Thorne, acutely aware of the gentleness that had seeped into Ewan’s voice, found himself reflecting on whether the younger man had fully regained his memories; if the latter remembered their favorite activity back in those days—they would often venture out fishing together with his father.

The nostalgia hung in the air like a sweet yet bitter fragrance.

“Mr. Thorne…” Ewan pressed gently when the old man remained silent, his gaze fixed on Ewan with an unreadable expression that suggested contemplation rather than judgment.

“No, not that,” Old Mr. Thorne finally replied, shaking his head. He pushed the file toward Ewan, who now regarded the old man with eyes full of suspicion and curiosity.

“What is this?” Ewan asked, hesitating to touch the envelope.

“Your rights in my company,” Old Mr. Thorne stated matter-of-factly, but Ewan’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Rights in the Thorne’s company? How could that be possible?

Slowly, he opened the envelope and pulled out the documents, feeling a chill run down his spine as his jaw slackened in disbelief at what lay before him.

How could he have been unaware of this? Why was the old man revealing it now? Had the man been waiting for him to discard Alfonso and Fiona? Or had Old Mr. Thorne been aware of Alfonso’s machinations even all those years ago?

Ewan thumbed through the pages, each turn quickening his heartbeat in an irregular rhythm, yet not painfully—a stark contrast to his previously tumultuous state. Whatever drug Athena had used to treat him had worked wonders, not only mending his heart but also clearing his mind.

The fuzzy cloud of confusion that once shrouded his thoughts had lifted, and now, he could see everything with startling clarity.

Memories resurfaced—of the man sitting beside him, of fishing trips that had once held joy and warmth. Looking at Old Mr. Thorne now, he couldn’t deny the wave of longing that crashed over him—the innocent laughter and the companionship he’d unknowingly lost. How could Alfonso have stolen all of that away? And all for what?

“When your parents died, I gave these documents to Alfonso to keep until your eighteenth birthday, after you chose him as your foster father, or whatever that was,” Old Mr. Thorne said, his voice tinged with the bitterness of past events.

“It was only during the court case that we discovered he hadn’t given them to you. I had Margeret bring it to me when I found out. It belongs to you.”

Another wicked act of Alfonso. Ewan thought, exhaling softly when he noted his parents signature on the last page. The weight of the investments and trust they had placed in Old Mr. Thorne struck him hard, generating a rush of emotion that was almost overwhelming—shame, sorrow, and emotions he couldn’t face.

He sighed again, and closed the file.

“I’m sorry…” He muttered, dropping the documents back onto the table.

Old Mr. Thorne furrowed his brow in confusion, not prepared for this reaction. “What are you sorry for?”

Ewan inhaled sharply, struggling to articulate the tumult within him. “For being a wimp, an easy target in the hands of the Adams family, for wrecking my marriage, for being a disappointment to my family and yours. I…” His voice faltered, cracking under the pressure of his emotions.

He threw his head back against the seat and gazed at the ceiling, wrestling to maintain control as a torrent of self-recrimination swirled in his mind, replaying all the decisions he had made since adulthood.

“Oh, my son…” Old Mr. Thorne sighed, concerned as he noticed the distress etched on Ewan’s face. His heart ached for him, and his eyes grew misty at the sight of such sorrow.

He moved to cover the distance between them, placing a comforting hand on Ewan’s shoulder, a gesture meant to soothe the tempest raging within.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself. You were just a child when it all started… there was no way you could have fought it. Alfonso was your father’s best friend, after all. You had no choice but to trust him…”

And that’s what had shattered Ewan the most. Even as a small boy, he had been drawn to Old Mr. Thorne more, but Alfonso’s ties to his father had forged an undeniable trust. It was the only reason why his mother had been accepting, when Margret had arrived one morning with a jar of medicine she claimed was expensive and known to be the best cure for his illness.

If only they had known…

Twin tears slipped from Ewan’s eyes, falling unbidden as he wrestled with thoughts of the past.

If only his parents hadn’t died…

If only he had listened to Sandro…

If only…

There were countless “if onlys” that could have rewritten the script of his life, yet they remained merely words, phantom echoes of what might have been. Now, he had to pay the price dearly for his choices.

“My children…” He muttered painfully, desperately, unable to stem the tide of sorrow cascading down his cheeks.

Old Mr. Thorne, battling tears of his own, placed his other hand on Ewan’s shoulder, trying to impart comfort. “Don’t worry, Ewan. Everything will be fine. Just take it a day at a time.”

“Do you think they will forgive me?” Ewan asked, retrieving a pocket handkerchief from his breast pocket, dabbing his eyes with trembling hands.

Old Mr. Thorne hesitated, hesitant to promise what he could not guarantee. His little boy had made monumental mistakes, the weight of which loomed over them like a storm cloud.

“I don’t know, Ewan. Let’s just take it one day at a time. Just try to live a good life from here on out. Try to make better choices.”

Ewan nodded, took a shaky breath, and inhaled deeply, grappling with the reality that he had broken down in the boardroom. But it was either this, or he would have turned the table into a punching bag in a fit of rage.

Rising to his feet, he met Old Mr. Thorne’s gaze after swallowing his sudden shyness. “Thanks for your aid,” He said, his voice steadying, though laced with remnants of strain.

Old Mr. Thorne nodded, his expression softening. “You are welcome…”

A brief pause hung between them before Old Mr. Thorne spoke again. “You mentioned taking Fiona to a psychiatric hospital. What hospital is that?”

Ewan smiled then, a cold smile that conveyed to Old Mr. Thorne that there was nothing reassuring about the hospital where Fiona would soon be taken. Oh well…

“Wait and see, old man. I will keep you updated.”

Old Mr. Thorne chuckled lightly, playfully hitting Ewan on the arm before they began to make their way toward the door, a quiet understanding passing between them.

He had gotten his son back, and that, for now, was enough.

Meanwhile, outside the boardroom, in the corridor, Athena was fuming.

Her anger was directed squarely at Herbert, who wore a resigned expression, one that suggested he was all too familiar with her ire.

Aiden had taken Alfonso away to the car to wait. From there, Alfonso would be transported to the airstrip, where Shawn and Eric would be waiting to transport him to the final destination. While Sandro was waiting with Zane and Fiona in another vehicle.

“What do you mean they would be working in the hospital with me? The hires you made available are doing their jobs perfectly fine! If not for the intervention of the gang, there would have been no trouble at all!” Athena spat, her frustration evident as she paced angrily.

Herbert sighed, folding his arms across his chest as if bracing himself for her onslaught. “That is correct, but with the rate at which people are being admitted to the hospital for the grey disease, I think their expertise will be greatly needed.”

“They won’t be doing anything that the other doctors haven’t been doing! You could hire a different batch of doctors. Why would you make such a decision in the first place without consulting me? Am I just a decorative presence in the office now?” She was nearly yelling by this point, her voice rising with indignation.

“Athena, calm down, please…” Herbert attempted to placate her, darting a glance at Ethan, whose back rested against the wall, observing the escalating conversation with an air of detached curiosity.

“I couldn’t inform you beforehand because you were battling with death then.”

“Still…”

“Athena, it was what they asked of me before treating you. I was desperate; there was no other choice…,” Herbert cut in sharply, frustration seeping into his tone, mirroring the tension crackling in the corridor.

“Damn this!” Athena cursed vehemently, punching the air in frustration. “I knew it!” She added, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I knew it.” She repeated again, leaning against the wall beside Ethan, her mind racing.

Those manipulative jerks! She clenched her fists, her thoughts racing with questions that spiraled over and over in her mind.

Why do they want to work with her now? What are they after? And what deal had they struck with Ewan?