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

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?

opened the envelope and pulled out the documents, feeling a chill run down

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

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

his thoughts had lifted, and

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

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

them to you. I had Margeret bring it to me when I found out. It

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,

sighed again, and closed

dropping the documents back onto the

Mr. Thorne furrowed his brow in confusion, not prepared for this reaction. "What are

of the Adams family, for wrecking my marriage, for being a disappointment to my family and yours. I..." His voice faltered, cracking under the

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

on Ewan’s face. His heart

them, placing a comforting hand on Ewan’s

when it all started... there was no way you could have fought it. Alfonso was your

was the only reason why his mother had been accepting, when Margret had arrived one morning with a jar of medicine she claimed

they

tears slipped from Ewan’s eyes, falling unbidden

his parents hadn’t

only he had

If only...

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

He muttered painfully, desperately, unable to stem the tide of

shoulder, trying to impart comfort. "Don’t worry, Ewan. Everything will be fine. Just take

forgive me?" Ewan asked, retrieving a pocket handkerchief from his breast pocket, dabbing his eyes with trembling

to promise what he could not guarantee. His little boy had made monumental

day at a time. Just try to live

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