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

Chapter 235: Matters Arising IV

"Are you sure of what you're saying, Ewan? You wantto choose gifts for your children? What kind of father

does that? You haven't even started your daddy duties, and you're already failing..."

Ewan sighed wearily, rubbing slow circles on his forehead, uncertain whether Zane was joking with him or

bullshitting him truly. But his mind was too fogged by the present situation surrounding him, leaving no room for

Zane's antics.

"Zane, please. You know what I'm battling with at the moment, or haven't you seen or heard the news?"

A resigned sigh echoed from the other end of the phone. "I have seen it, Ewan. And as much as | understand the

terrible state you're in—the forlorn condition of your company—choosing gifts for your children feels quite

strange, considering they're expecting you. Isn't this something you've been craving?"

Ewan folded his lips, reclining deeper into his seat. Across the room, he spotted Sandro pacing back and forth, on

the phone with anyone who could manage the fallout from the disaster at his company.

"Zane, | just think it's more imperative forto deal with the dead people in my company first, their families

too, the losses and consequences, before getting gifts for the children. But tmay slip away before I'm done,

hence why I'm calling you. I... I'm sure they will understand. Athena too. Isn't she an astute businesswoman?

And after all, they don’t need to know. You just pick the gifts and wait forat our spot. I'll take it from there."

"Picking the gifts from the store isn’t the problem, Ewan. You wantto choose them. Don’t you want to do the

honors? Don’t you want to feel the excitement that comes with it? The thrill of watching your children open the

gifts and wondering if they'll like what they find?"

Ewan didn’t think so. On a normal day, yes; but not today, when a throng of grieving families wept downstairs,

crying for justice.

He pursed his lips, chastising himself for not being more careful, for not being sensitive about the consequences

of his dealings. If he had been more prudent, this bombing wouldn't have happened. Stupidity had clouded his

judgment when he thought everything had ended with Fiona’s confinement.

"You know what..." Zane continued, dragging Ewan from his thoughts. "You can just tellwhat to do over the

phone, and | can get it for you..."

Ewan clicked his tongue in frustration. "If | just wanted that, Zane, | would have sent Sandro to do it." A pause

and a deep sigh. "I'm asking you because you are the children’s godfather; you know them better than | do. I've

been absent for far too long; do you think | will know what to get for them? There's no point pretending—I won't

be winning any father’s award soon—that would be deceiving myself and wasting time. Just do what's best."

Another contemplative pause. "Although if I had to make a guess, I'd say my son loves puzzles a lot, and my

daughter adores princess castles and costumes."

"That might be right. But Kathleen can be unpredictable. Yet, there's no problem. I'll see what | can do.

Hopefully, they won't be able to tell you're not the one gifting them."

Ewan sighed in relief when the call ended, his gaze drifting back to Sandro, who was still pacing, who was still on

call.

Suddenly, a furrow marred Ewan'’s forehead as his phone began to ring. Looking away from his friend, he picked

up the mobile device and answered the call, his heart rate picking up a notch—this number was private.

"Hello..." He called hesitantly as static greeted him for a few seconds.

"Hello, Ewan..."

Ewan had never spoken to Morgan before, never even laid eyes on the latter, except during the court case and

the hospital scandal. But he instinctively knew he was speaking to the one who had vowed to disrupt Athena's

life and that of the twins—and his own as well.

"What can | do for you, Morgan Steeles?" Ewan asked with unyielding confidence, as if he were facing Morgan in

person.

A cackle burst through the line. "I see you already know who you're speaking to, though I'm not sure how. Given

that you're aware of my identity, I'm guessing you also know why I'm calling?"

"No, | don’t," Ewan replied coolly, taking note of Sandro, who had ended his own call abruptly and was now

sitting on the edge of the table, his hands folded across his chest; his face, a template of fury and curiosity

mixed together.

Ewan put the call on speaker, hoping to lessen his friend's misery and frustration.

"You're a fool, then, if you don’t know why I'm calling. A big fool. But that aside, | want my Lady Morgana... | miss

her a lot."

"I don’t know anyone by that name. Do you have a last name?" Ewan questioned, feeling his countenance relax

with each passing second.

There was no need to fear this rascal. Hadn't Athena dealt with him regularly?

Another cackle erupted from the other end, this tlouder.

"I don’t have tfor jokes, Ewan Giacometti. GetMorgana, or that service unit of your company won't be

the only target attacked. In case you've forgotten, | know the location of your children’s school. As a matter of

fact, | know that Kathleen—yes, that’s her name, right?—and Mrs. Thorne went to the beauty parlor today for

spampering while my Morgana is... God knows where you kept my love..."

A hiss was followed by silence for a few beats.

"GetMorgana, Ewan, or you will lose everything you've just recovered. Trust me, you don’t want to return to

square zero. There's nothing for a downtrodden man these days."

There was a crackle on the line, and Ewan leaned in closer, trying to catch something noteworthy.

But Morgan's voice rose again. "Whenever you are ready, just dial this number with your own phone number,

and you will have my attention."

A significant pause.

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