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

Chapter 411: Two Teams IV

Chapter 411: Two Teams IV

Ewan had always wondered if he would be in this position again—before an onslaught of bullets, heart hammering, adrenaline surging—after taking his place in his family’s company.

For years, he had convinced himself that boardroom negotiations, corporate deals, and endless paperwork had replaced the days of ducking fire and leading missions. But some things never left a man.

The thought had haunted him often during quiet nights, the question whispering: what if it happens again? What if you find yourself before the barrel of a gun, and your team isn’t there to cover you? What if you’re alone?

Now, with walls echoing with gunfire and shouts, with plaster chipping above his head from a spray of bullets, that question was no longer hypothetical.

And strangely—he smiled.

Because as soon as the trigger pulled, as soon as danger pressed in on all sides, his body remembered. His training came alive in him like muscle memory. His hands and legs moved as if they had been waiting, itching for this exact moment.

Everything synced: his breath, his eyes, the rhythm of his heart. He moved in one accord, in one flow, like a current of water rushing through cracks in stone.

The first man came from the left, bursting forward, gun raised. Ewan didn’t even blink. His pistol lifted, barked once, and the man crumpled, his weapon clattering against the tiles.

But Ewan didn’t stay in one place, not with the incoming angry men. He darted forward, boots striking hard against the floor, then vaulted onto the wall in a smooth arc. His legs found grip where no normal man should have found footing, and he kicked off, twisting his body midair.

Bullets sprayed beneath him, but his pistol spoke more than twice before he landed, each shot finding its mark in the men below. Four bodies hit the ground, their fighting objects limp by their sides, before he even touched down.

The moment his boots kissed the floor, he was already rolling, already firing backward at the enemies chasing him from behind. His movements were so fluid it almost looked choreographed, like he had rehearsed every step.

He crouched as bullets flew past, firing back, sparks flashing from metal scraping against concrete. He ducked beneath a swinging baton, drove his shoulder into the assailant’s chest, and fired point-blank before the man could even gasp. He didn’t linger, didn’t gloat. Every move was transition into the next, a dancer in a ballet of death.

He pushed deeper into the hallway, every step measured, every breath controlled. Door by door, he moved, shoulder against wood, gun raised. He kicked one open thereafter and froze for a fraction of a second.

Inside were things that made his stomach twist—obscene scenes, naked abused women forced into corners, eyes wide with terror, the criminals using them like shields.

His finger tensed on the trigger, instinct screaming at him to shoot, but discipline held him back. He couldn’t risk hitting innocents.

The nearest thug smirked, thinking Ewan was hesitating in fear. He didn’t realize Ewan was waiting for the perfect moment.

And when it came—when the criminals finally turned their focus away from him for a second, in order to leave the bed to accost him, thereby leaving the women unshielded—Ewan acted immediately. His pistol spat fire, clean and precise. Three shots. Three men down. He lowered his gun slowly, letting the ringing silence fill the room.

The women blinked at him, trembling. One of them whimpered. Ewan’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say a word. He turned, leaving the door wide open, a silent invitation for them to run. To escape.

But even if they didn’t, the state security service would soon invade the building. Aiden had dropped a tip to them, a late one, intentionally.

Ewan, meanwhile, repeated this through the rooms. Kick. Enter. Judge. Shoot. Leave. Always moving, always flowing. Some rooms stank of smoke and sweat. Others were dens of gambling or drugs. Each time, he found criminals, and each time, he cut them down with the merciless precision of a man trained for this exact nightmare.

Blood pooled on the floorboards, shadows stretched long under the flickering bulbs, and still he pressed forward, one door after another, one body after another.

By the time he reached the stairs to the last floor, his breathing was heavier, but his focus sharper. He climbed step by step, his pistol steady, eyes scanning every corner.

The second floor greeted him with silence—a silence he didn’t trust. He walked slowly, almost crouched, the muzzle of his pistol leading the way. And then...

A figure stood at the end of the corridor, just outside a heavy door. A girl. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, her hair tied back messily, a rifle steady in her hands.

She was pale under the hallway’s dim light, but her eyes were hard, defiant. She raised her gun, and Ewan froze.

Something about her stopped him cold. She reminded him of Heronica. The angle of her chin, the stubborn line of her mouth, even the way her hands shook but held steady anyway.

For a heartbeat, he hesitated.

And that hesitation cost him.

The crack of a gunshot ripped through the corridor, and searing pain tore into his thigh. He groaned, staggering back, hitting the wall with a grunt, settling behind it, just close to the stairs. His pistol nearly slipped from his hand, but he gritted his teeth and held on.

The girl kept shooting, each round tearing into the walls around him. From the sound and rhythm, he knew she was getting closer, step by step.

"Are you scared to fight, old man?" she shouted, voice shaking but loud. "Come out, sot!"

Him? A sot?

Despite the burning pain in his leg, Ewan almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because of the absurdity of it—here he was, bleeding, hunted, cornered, and still his pride found the insult ridiculous.

He touched the wound at his thigh, grimacing. The pad he’d worn had taken the worst of it, but blood still seeped through. A surface wound, maybe, but no less painful.

His eyes flicked to his pack. Only one cartridge left.

"One bullet," he muttered under his breath. "Better be worth it."

He inhaled slowly, counting seconds, mind calculating, heart steadying. He needed her to take position—somewhere predictable, somewhere he could end it with precision.

And then he saw it: the broken glass scattered on the floor, catching faint light, reflecting her shadow as she stepped closer. Her boots crunched against it, revealing her exact spot without her realizing.

Perfect.

He steadied his hand, lined up the shot, and fired—not at her chest, not at her head, but at her right leg; mercy prevailing.Chapter 412: Two Teams V

Chapter 412: Two Teams V

Ewan left the bleeding girl where she writhed on the floor, clutching at her wounded leg, her defiance still smoldering in her glare even through the pain. He ignored her spit, ignored her muttered curses, and pressed his ear to the heavy door she had been guarding.

Silence.

He tilted his head, listening harder. No shuffling. No voices. Nothing that betrayed what lay behind the barrier. His jaw tightened. The silence could mean one of two things: the room was empty, or someone inside was waiting—poised, breath held, gun raised.

"Not even going to say anything when your life’s already hanging by a thread?" he muttered, half to the girl.

He turned his head slightly, his voice carrying the sharp edge of a threat. "One word could save you from bleeding out. Say nothing, and maybe I will blow off your other leg."

She glared, lips pressed into a thin line. Not a sound. Not even a flinch.

Loyalty.

Ewan breathed out slowly. Sometimes he hated the word."

He reached up, fingers tugging on the strap of his helmet. It was still snug, but he adjusted anyway, tightening it until it pinched at his jaw. The last thing he needed was a stray bullet glancing off and knocking it loose.

He tested the chin-strap twice, ensuring it was secure, then rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension in his muscles.

With one last breath, he lifted his boot and drove it hard into the door.

The lock splintered, the door swinging open violently, banging against the wall. His pistol was already raised, finger curled on the trigger.

And then—he froze.

A man stood in the middle of the room, gun pressed firmly against the head of a boy no older than twelve—Ciara’s little brother.

The boy’s wide eyes were glassy with terror, tears streaking his cheeks, his small chest heaving with shallow breaths. Behind them, Ciara’s parents trembled, both bound, both crying, both whispering prayers that seemed to go unheard.

"Move," the criminal snarled, pressing the barrel tighter against the boy’s temple, "and a bullet goes into his head."

Ewan’s eyes narrowed. His gaze flicked quickly over the man. It-was-white singlet. Faded blue boxers. Feet bare. His hair was unkempt, sweat beading on his forehead.

Not a good shooter or thug. Not even ready. Ewan concluded.

The latter must have rushed here when the shooting started, too desperate to save his life. He had chosen to make a last stand with the nearest leverage available—innocents.

"You wouldn’t want to do that," Ewan said evenly.

"Oh?" The criminal grinned, though his lips trembled. "Trust me, it would be my utmost pleasure. But I want to know who you are first."

Ewan tilted his head, gun still trained. "So you think I’ll answer your questions if you keep them alive? Trading their lives for information?"

The man nodded, quick, eager. "Exactly. My boss would appreciate that more than their dead bodies. They’re not useful—just pawns to keep spies under control."

"Spies?" Ewan’s tone was cold. "You mean Ciara."

The fellow smirked at the recognition. "So you found her out, then. Stupid girl who can’t get anything right. She’ll pay for it, don’t worry..." He paused, a cruel light flashing in his eyes. "That’s if you haven’t punished her already for aiding and abetting a crime against the state."

Ewan’s lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t blink. Didn’t lower his weapon.

"I think that’s for us to decide," he replied quietly. "Now tell me, do you want to do this the easy way—or do you want to lose a leg like your comrade outside?"

For a moment, the criminal’s bravado cracked. His brow furrowed. "You cut off her leg?"

The man’s grip tightened on the gun. Ewan could see the tremor, the unstable pulse of his hand. The wrong word, the wrong twitch, and the little boy would be gone.

I have to put him away now. Ewan thought, jaw clenched.

His thumb brushed against the cool steel of his pistol, but an idea sparked in his mind. Slowly, deliberately, he loosened his grip on the gun.

"Wait," he said. His voice softened, dipped into something persuasive. "I’ll make you a trade. Information—for their lives."

The criminal’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Ewan tilted the pistol away, lowering it slightly. "You want to know who I am? Fine. But you’ll have to let them live. I’ll even throw my gun down."

The man’s lips curved into a shaky grin. "Now you’re talking. Drop it. Slowly."

Ewan nodded, keeping his movements smooth, deliberate. He crouched, lowering his pistol to the floor, inch by inch, making a show of compliance. His heart hammered, but his face betrayed nothing. The gun clinked softly as it touched the ground.

"Good," the criminal said, his grin widening. He shifted his gun from the boy’s head and pointed it squarely at Ewan. "Now stand up. Slowly. Hands where I can see them."

Ewan obeyed, rising to his feet, palms open, expression calm.

The criminal took steps forward, eager to claim the discarded weapon. His focus was split—on Ewan, on the gun he was bending to retrieve, on his own arrogance. And that was enough.

the strap at his thigh. A sharp, high-pitched chirp echoed in the room—the alarm for backup. The sound made the man flinch, head

all the distraction Ewan

hilt of the knife nestled there. His arm whipped forward, muscles

with a sickening thunk, before the latter could realise what had

hands clawing at his neck. Blood spilled over his

sobs of

had done this too many times before. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths,

the family. "Are you

wrists. The cords came loose, and he tossed them aside. Ciara’s mother clutched her son, tears wetting her face. The father rubbed his wrists, his lips parting as if

helping them to their feet. Their legs were shaky, their

shattered window. Sirens were wailing in the distance, faint but growing louder. The police were coming. And so, no doubt, was the backup for

hallway. Sandro stood there, backing them, gun raised, his head jerking here and there, eyes wide

a low rumble in

the sound of his voice, weapon

to shoot

gun to his side. Relief flashed across his face, though he tried to mask it with irritation. "Let’s go. The police

family to walk ahead, keeping himself

they hurried down the stairs, he asked, "Did we lose any of our

Sandro replied quickly, though his brow furrowed. "But we have a lot of injured. Good thing you insisted on the truck. You really do make plans like your ex-wife—first the helmets and army gear,

you don’t know

asked, seconds later.Chapter 413:

Chapter 413: Being Present

food. Is the food not to your liking?" Antonio’s voice was able to coax Athena from her thoughts about the mission

that had gone to the gang’s hideout. Were they

focus back to the present, and picked up her

if he got to find out that they had gone on a mission

pressing together as she glanced at the time on her wristwatch. They should be rounding up the mission by

at her watch passed the wrong message to

boring you? Do you want to

cutlery, which had been

do you mean, Antonio? I never said

like I am. I have been the only one talking, and even then, your

everything—because then he would understand. But the need not to burden him with problems, the

lower lip and scooped food into

occupied with solving the recent case ravaging the state, or will soon be. You should understand my place in the situation of things... I have to find the

out the location had upended their plans. You should think about the positives only. Or did you find something else to prove that they already have a working drug with them to

shook her head slowly, her eyes lowering to her plate.

hand with his warm, steady one. "Quit worrying too much, Athena. It’s not good for your

should be." Easier said than done. "Thanks,

but even as she did so, even as she tried to focus on Antonio talking about his day at work, even as she

be going into position in the next five minutes. She had wished him well before returning to her task. But now, she was wondering why she hadn’t called

did you do at

herself lucky that she had heard

subtracting chemicals

didn’t look like he believed her. His brows arched slightly, his lips pressing in a

decided to bite the bullet. "Okay, we invaded a certain hideout of the Demon Vipers

"What!"

attracted the attention of the other diners, seventy percent of whom had just been to the

few turned to look, whispers

"Antonio, calm down."

down? How can I calm down? My girlfriend went into a gang’s hideout without

lower now, his hand leaving hers to clench into a fist

said

raised a brow sharply. "Then what do you mean by ’we’?

"Members of the state security. They

reaction. The last thing she needed tonight was to feel the need to defend her actions, or try to

hear from Ewan, to know if everything had gone well, to know if he was okay. Her fingers itched to touch her phone, but she had kept from reaching for it because then Antonio would get curious if she turned away to make the

said we... I thought that meant you..." A pause. "So continue

drank water from a glass cup, taking deliberate, careful sips. She cleaned her mouth with a serviette, folding it

watched this series of actions with a frown, not pleased with the half-eaten food on her

would have ordered something else if

"Being in the lab had sucked out my appetite without my knowledge... you know, a lot of

slowly. "I see. So, continue your

"They reported scenting a certain chemical... I

414: Being

away so that she wouldn’t worry much, than in the question she had asked Antonio; however, she was mildly

he was canceling out the option of working with a hunch, what alternative did he have for her

her—she had been approached by a couple of her neighbors, a couple of frightened neighbors, who wanted her firsthand comment on the

everything was okay. That was apart from those who had approached her after the movies... and her

curious to know his reply, to even know what he was thinking, seeing as he looked to be in deep

two minutes had passed. Her tone was soft, but carried an edge of impatience. "What do you think I should do? Go to sleep and

than spending hours

chuckled, though the sound carried mild irritation. "Sleep? With the unrest plaguing the

staring at her with furrowed brows, like he couldn’t understand

when something is going wrong at your workplace, maybe when numbers aren’t adding up,

from the top of his head to the base behind, as if trying

not a

tilt to ’darling.’

muttered, letting the matter

worry over nothing? Business was different from medicine after all. Numbers were

what’s going on. As the business somehow depends on your intelligence, on your ability to spot the wrongs and right it, so do the lives of people depend on me. Don’t

murmured, though Athena wondered if he really

and checking the screen. About nine p.m. She had to

a message. She muttered an "excuse me" to Antonio when she saw it was from Gianna, and

with some visitors. It’s a

message. But knowing that her friend wouldn’t surprise her with a bad gift released

need to leave," she stated, looking up from

"Is there a problem?"

have visitors coming, according to Gianna... need to welcome

picking his phone from the table. "That’s interesting. I would love to see them too... maybe make an acquaintance... no one that knows

sort of displaced Athena mentally for a second. What did that mean? Was her boyfriend that shallow, to judge people by their pockets

she gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was misinterpreting it. Maybe the

you a name... you know, for the visitors?" Antonio asked as they walked

a surprise." She thanked Antonio when he opened the door for her to slide into

you think is

lap. "I don’t know really. I haven’t the mind to pick and cross out options," she answered when he

with another message, pulling her

are home." The message read, causing her heart to palpitate both with relief

could she have forgotten so soon about the recap that would take place

mind racing as Antonio started the car, prepping her tongue on how to break the news which she knew wouldn’t sit well with her

up from a junction, so that we can head

appearing faintly. "Oh, don’t worry. We

Chapter 415: More Guests

and gave greetings as

her steps hurried even though she wanted them slower—her curiosity wouldn’t pay heed to her mental instructions. Her heels clicked softly against the polished tiles, and she clutched her bag a little tighter,

so that her driver would find it

near the porch. He caught sight of her, his lips still moving in conversation, and beckoned her

leaned forward slightly when she arrived, mouthing, "Everyone is in there?" She exhaled in relief when

she

questions above his paygrade, wanting to know

scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. "Do you think that he is

normal one. I did another the president wasn’t aware of. He checked out too. Don’t worry, no

him by the side and resting her cheek briefly against his shoulder. "How did the

face then was enough to make Athena wince, her heart dropping to her stomach. She

go inside. There’s a lot to talk about,

Again with the visitors,

slowly. It would mean that when Gianna had called, she was already

under her breath; her friend must have thought she would check the info out, to find out the identity of the visitors,

curiosity piqued, she followed Aiden out of the porch and into the larger

short, a smile cracking across her lips when she saw the visitors, her attention snagged immediately by them because they were

called, her voice breaking with joy, hands opening wide, smiling with all teeth in display as her designer friend got up from her seat, mirroring the same expression. They met halfway, engulfing each other in a hug that lifted Athena briefly

whispered in her ears, both of them dissolving into bouts of laughter

was Areso’s mother, Jessica, who already had tears streaming down her eyes. The sight alone alerted Athena that the woman must have connected the dots, must have

hugged Athena tightly, not ready to let go even

muttering it over and over, even though Athena whispered back, telling her not to apologize, that it wasn’t her fault the first

cheeks, yet the crying episode was far from over. "Maybe if I had told your grandmother about the pregnancy, about my latter suspicions of

Jess. There was

Athena wiping them off her cheeks

I wanted to come, but I was scared

brushing a strand

happening tomorrow, and I thought to risk your wrath." Jessica sniffed, managing a weak smile through the

and hugged the mother of her good friend again, squeezing gently, seeing in her more than just a mother but a good elder figure

are comfortable..." She continued, turning aside to look for her grandmother, only to stop short, struggling to keep a blank face when her gaze landed on who was sitting with Nathaniel on a sofa

Antonio.

talk outside—it wouldn’t be a good tip

it was pretense or not, she didn’t know, but

Jessica answered beside her, unaware of the turmoil Athena was going through, Athena

friends and children. Antonio was the odd

but she had told him not to come here, to go home! Had she escaped from him only

her grandmother, who raised a brow knowingly. Of course the woman had detected

heard Jessica say again, and Athena returned her attention

knees to hug her children who peppered her face with kisses, their little arms wrapping around her neck. She laughed through the affection, willfully keeping her eyes from straying again in the direction of Antonio or

asked her little ones when they disengaged from the

More Guests

had

everyone’s attention, plunging the room into