Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife The Twins Are Not Yours novel Chapter 381

Chapter 381: A Confession

"But how does Spider know of the specific situation of Lucas?" Athena asked after explaining what kind of tracker she had used on the watch, and on Kendra’s necklace, her voice low, carrying a strain she could not quite hide.

While talking on the specifics of the tracker to her audience, she had been thinking of how Spider had been precise about the state of Lucas. Had he been on the mission with the criminals? Was that part of his undercover duty?

If so, why hadn’t he informed us?

Her eyes narrowed slightly, searching Ewan’s face for the smallest flicker of uncertainty. Or was he aware?

She leaned forward in her chair, palms pressed tightly together, as though squeezing them might anchor her wavering composure. The others watched her—the way her jaw tensed, the way her lips trembled just slightly before she stilled them.

Ewan met her gaze steadily. His shoulders remained relaxed, while his hands rested casually on his knees. "Because the victims are at one of the gang locations. Luckily for us, Spider is there."

The words landed heavy, pulling the air taut between them, between the people in the room.

For a beat, silence swept the room, an invisible storm forming in its wake. Every glance darted to the other, suspicion flashing in their eyes. Even Athena’s pulse spiked, and her breath caught. She had asked out of desperation, yes, but his answer—so smooth, so certain—made unease stir.

Her eyes narrowed further. "So Spider... is with the gang?"

Ewan shook his head immediately, his expression calm, deliberate. "No. He wasn’t part of the mission. He only found out afterward. He was caught unawares, as we were... I think they didn’t deem it necessary to avoid him, because they hadn’t the need for his services."

Still, the tension didn’t ease. It hung there, sticky and stubborn. It seemed to be coming from different directions, diverse thoughts and suspicions.

Old Mr. Thorne leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand tightening on the armrest. His keen eyes studied Ewan’s face with an intensity that came only from age and the sharpened instincts of a man who had navigated too many storms. His brow furrowed, and in his voice came the slow, steady weight of suspicion.

"Do you," he asked carefully, "know this gang... personally?"

The question cracked the silence open.

It fell thick across the room, heavier than the words themselves. The air shifted—tenser, denser—as though the walls themselves pressed in to hear the answer.

Ewan’s jaw tightened. The casual calm drained from his features, leaving behind something grimmer, sharper. He didn’t move at first, didn’t blink. Just silence—unyielding and loud.

Then he met Athena’s gaze. She cocked a stiff brow in response, her nose twitching.

Florence, sitting near the edge of the long sofa, swallowed hard. Her eyes darted between faces—those her instincts believed knew the answer to the question. Her fingers trembled faintly where they rested on her lap. The quiet stretched until she could bear it no longer.

"Ewan..." she whispered, voice shaky, though her eyes tried to hold him. "Do you? Won’t you answer my husband?"

Still silence.

Then slowly, almost reluctantly, Ewan exhaled. "Yes."

Florence’s breath hitched. How was her Ewan affiliated to the most deadly gang in the country, maybe the continent?

"I was part of them once," he admitted, voice flat but not defensive. No excuses. Just the truth.

The ripple that went through the room was immediate. Florence’s mouth hung open to start with, a mirroring of the expression on her husband’s face. More stunned, the couple were, that they were the last to know of this information, considering the looks on the faces of the others.

But Ewan didn’t stop at his admission.

He told the story, just as he had told Athena, and the couple were left speechless.

Florence’s eyes, for one, remained widened, shimmering now as she pressed her lips together hard. Her throat bobbed as she tried to swallow it down, but tears slipped anyway, silently trailing her cheeks. She brought her hand to her mouth, stifling the sound, but her shoulders trembled with the effort.

Old Mr. Thorne’s lips parted, then closed. Shock carved lines deeper across his face. His hand, still gripping the armrest, whitened at the knuckles. He had lived long enough to suspect it, perhaps, but hearing it aloud—the raw confirmation—shattered something in him. He shouldn’t have let Alfonso take the child away.

Ewan only sighed under their stares. He leaned back, his eyes briefly closing before opening again with grim resolve. "It’s all in the past... And Zane, Sandro—"

"We were with him," Zane said suddenly, his voice cutting the silence. His jaw was set, his eyes hard. "And we decided it stays buried. A secret we’d take to the grave. I hope it doesn’t leave this room either."

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