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?

less complicated though if she was single. But no. She

he get past that

see that he was the best

are you thinking

muttered, taking in the sight of the village at

Birds wheeled high above, their cries sharp

island breathed with unhurried life, and for a heartbeat, Ewan wished he could stay—be swallowed by the anonymity of this place, start again. But he knew himself

rim breached

more than a long stretch of leveled ground, the dirt compacted by years of use. A single, aging hangar stood at the far end, its corrugated roof rusting

waited there, its body battered, paint peeling in strips, rotors clinking idly in the

cap pulled low. He raised a

strap of his bag. "Thank you,"

had killed the lucky mood with his last news, Ewan knew he should be grateful

nodded, his eyes shadowed, then

calculating his safety,

with the spray against his skin, the salt sharp in his mouth. That had felt raw, fitting. But this—this flight in

the long, slow journey of the boat instead, more time to think, more

him. He

before climbing into the cockpit. Ewan ducked inside, finding his seat

She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, her dark hair tied loosely,

He wished for

she finally shifted closer, leaning in as though to

immediate, her body stiffening before she huffed and flounced

stared at the floor, 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 the machine to

tired old beast forced into service. When the mainland finally spread out beneath them, Ewan let

machine touched down with a rough thud. He grabbed his bag quickly, slipping out before

heat, and gasoline—rushed

down, climbed in, and sank against the worn seat, telling

Susan’s text.

—

out of his city’s airport. The air was dense, humming with life. Car horns blared in the distance. Hurry pedestrians walking

Ewan inhaled deeply. Home.

the comfort lasted

car slid to a stop in front of him,