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

Chapter 442: Waylaid

The morning broke soft and pale, with streaks of gold brushing the horizon, when Ewan found himself standing in John’s modest living room again, ready to leave. His bag was slung over his shoulder, heavy not the sack, but with the weight of confessions he had been saddled with yesterday.

Ella fussed around him briefly, smoothing the collar of his shirt like a mother would a child. "Safe journey, Ewan," she said, her voice light but her eyes troubled.

He nodded, murmured a thank you, though his chest felt constricted.

John stood a little away, arms folded, his frame backlit by the soft light seeping through the open window. His silence wasn’t awkward—it was something deeper, heavier.

For a moment, Ewan wondered if words would even reach between them.

He lingered a second longer, their eyes catching. Something unspoken passed in that silence, something only two men burdened with truth could understand. Regret, acknowledgement, perhaps a faint thread of reluctant respect.

Ella broke it. "John, why don’t you see him off to the strip?"

Ewan raised a hand quickly. "That’s not necessary. Really, I’ll be fine."

But John didn’t answer. He simply picked up his weathered cap from the chair and moved toward the door. His silence said enough.

Ella gave a small wave, shooing Ewan along as though sending a son off to school.

Outside, the air was crisp, damp with dew. They started the walk together, not speaking at first. The ground crunched softly under their steps.

"Morning, John!" a fisherman called as they passed the common junction, nets already slung across his back. A group of young men followed, waving briefly before heading to the path which Ewan believed led to the rivers.

Others greeted them on the path—women balancing baskets on their heads, children chasing after goats, a pair of men heading into the forest with cutlasses for the day’s work.

"Farmers," John explained, voice low. "Fields are inland. The soil here is kind if you know how to read it."

Ewan glanced around at the lush greenery, the slow rhythm of island life. The contrast to his own city existence pressed against him like a foreign skin. "And you... after everything... you can live here? Just like this?"

John shrugged. "Peace is good, lad. You learn to value it when you’ve had nothing but noise and blood. Out here, no one cares who I was. They only care if I mend my nets, if I bring in the catch. That’s enough for me."

Ewan’s lips pressed into a line. Peace. Could he ever find that, he wondered, with Athena? Or would she burn him alive with the weight of betrayal once she knew?

Could forgiveness grow in such scorched ground? He doubted it. But he still hoped, foolishly. Didn’t John tell him to keep playing?

though if she was single. But

he get past

Athena to see that he was the best

you

Ewan muttered, taking in the sight of the

morning was beautiful in its simplicity. Mist curled lazily across the water. Birds wheeled high

a heartbeat, Ewan wished he could stay—be swallowed by the anonymity of this place, start again. But he knew himself too well.

reached the small airstrip just as the sun’s rim breached the horizon, painting the

of use. A single, aging hangar stood at the far end, its

in strips, rotors clinking idly in the morning breeze. It had clearly seen

pulled low. He raised a hand

strap of his bag.

last news, Ewan knew he should be grateful still. Things could have

only nodded, his eyes shadowed, then turned back down the

each step weighted with reluctance, calculating his

in his mouth.

the city quickly, but a part of him wished for the long, slow journey of the boat instead, more time to

urgency gnawed at him.

into the cockpit. Ewan ducked inside, finding his seat

leaning back, trying to ignore the persistent gaze of the young woman sitting a row ahead. She couldn’t have been more than

a half-smile, her gaze shameless. Ewan sighed inwardly. He wished for his earpods, anything to drown out the weight of her

though to speak, he

was immediate, her body stiffening before she huffed and

his patience frayed. The hum of the rotors began, filling the small cabin with vibration. He closed his eyes briefly, imagining Athena’s face instead, and willed

flight was noisy, uncomfortable. Every creak of the helicopter seemed like a complaint from a tired old beast forced into service. When the

rough thud. He grabbed his bag quickly, slipping out

mainland—of dust, heat, and

waved it down, climbed in, and sank against the worn

Susan’s text. Everything’s okay.

—

the moment he stepped out of his city’s airport. The air was dense, humming with life. Car horns blared in the distance.

Ewan inhaled deeply. Home.

comfort lasted

stop in front of him, too smooth,