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

Chapter 217: The ‘Psychatric Clinic’ IV

"Where are you going?"

Fiona balked at Sandro’s question and at her body's movements, which she hadn't even been aware of. She had

thought of escaping, and her body had unconsciously turned toward the exit door.

Reflexes. She cursed her fate mentally when all eyes turned to her.

Ewan, for one, looked amused.

"Fiona, you wanted to leave without saying goodbye?" He asked, stepping closer to her.

Fiona shivered and withdrew instantly, thinking for the first tthat Ewan was actually a psycho, with that

maniac smile on his lips and the joy he seemed to experience seeing her this miserable.

She was bleeding from her knees, and he was feeling exhilarated. If that didn’t scream psychotic, she didn’t

know what else did.

He had told her they were coming to a psychiatric clinic, and in a way, that was true: the owner, all of them,

were psychotic!

She shrank further, hissing before she could help it, when her body touched the dirty wall. Yet, there was no

place to burrow into as Ewan stepped closer.

"Are you going to answeror not?"

Fiona had enough sense to know that not answering the question would not bode well for her. "No. | wasn’t about

to leave. I'm sorry," She bit out calmly, her eyes darting from Ewan to the other males in the room, wondering if

there was a punishment in stock for attempting to escape.

Ewan, however, nodded slowly before turning to the Irish male again. "Is there anything else you want to show

me?" His tone thoroughly business-like, any trace of amusement gone.

The male shook his head. "That will be all. Do | ration her food as usual, or..." He left the question hanging,

expecting Ewan to get what he was talking about.

Ewan did. "Yes, the usual. And Connor..."

"Yes, master."

"Don’t inform the others about this. I'm not up to being haggled insistently. This is a one-tthing."

Connor smiled and nodded. "Of course, master. | won't inform the gang."

"Good," Ewan muttered and started toward the door. Zane and Sandro followed him quickly, needing to be in the

confines of civilization. It was getting late after all.

"Wait... where are my clothes?" Fiona asked, fearfully, breaking Ewan’s stride.

She was in the jaws of death, and she was worrying about her clothes? Ewan couldn't help but chuckle at the

foolishness. Still, he turned and spared her a mocking glance.

"You want to play dress-up here?"

Fiona pulled her lips in, in response.

Ewan frowned. "When | ask you a question, Fiona, | expect an answer. Or Connor will have to pry it away from

you." A pause. "So, | ask again, do you want to play dress-up?"

Fiona shook her head. "I'm just curious." She muttered, gesturing with a nod toward the small box of clothes.

"Oh that..." Ewan said with a thin smile. "Those are the clothes you will need during your stay here. Since you

won't be going anywhere, there's no need to bring those expensive dresses here. As a matter of fact, | have

given them all out. The head servant took care of that."

Fiona gritted her teeth, the first sign of anger she was showing since falling into Ewan’s trap.

The sight of her annoyance, though, was entertaining to Ewan. "Finally, your eyes flash with that hatred and

anger that is all yours. You should hold onto it. You will need it during your stay here to live."

He was just about to turn and leave when his eyes caught a certain item lying on top of the box. With furrowed

brows, he sauntered slowly across the room and picked up the item. It was the bangle that had brought both life

and chaos to him.

"I'll be taking this too," He muttered, twirling the bangle in his hand.

"No, you won't!" Fiona screamed, noting the implications. What if her secret was finally found out? "It doesn’t

belong to you!"

Ewan chuckled heartily. "It doesn’t belong to you either."

On a second thought, he turned to Connor. "lI want you to get sinformation from her."

"And what is that?" Connor asked, flexing his hands, as if readying himself for a boxing match.

"The identity of the owner of this bangle," Ewan answered, still looking at the bangle. His memories were

returning in pristine condition, but his savior’s identity was still blurry.

The only marker, apart from the bracelet, was a birthmark on a section of her back—a birthmark that seemed

familiar to him for sreason, but he couldn't pinpoint where he had seen it. Yet one thing was clear; it wasn’t

Fiona.

"Sure, | will do that."

"Don’t bother," Fiona replied, her words coated with contempt. "You won't be getting anything from me,

unless..." A light bulb danced in her mind. "Unless you are ready to letgo."

Ewan paused, raising an eyebrow, then laughed. "You are good, Fiona. But I'm not that desperate. And I'm sure

Connor has his ways."

Fiona gave up, settling on the floor, ignoring the flurry of cockroach movements she was hearing. "Is there

anything | can do to change this?"

"No." Ewan replied, right before he slipped the bangle onto his right wrist and left the room with Sandro and

Zane.

"You know, love, you are really stupid for angering the boss like that. Why? Because you had backing from the

scorpion gang? Girl, that gang is child's play compared to the gang Master Ewan operated and abandoned years

ago..."

Fiona finally turned and gave Connor her full attention. "A gang?"

Connor nodded. "Yeah, of course. Boss is mafia. Or rather was mafia. It was a normal occurrence back then to

survive, a second incstream to rebuild his father’s company. He gave it all up after a while, right before we

would have blown the world."

Connor exhaled as if tired. "Said he wasn’t cut out for that."

There was another pause while Connor covered the distance between him and a gaping Fiona, who was shocked

to her bones by this piece of information.

Ewan was mafia? Did it mean Sandro and Zane were too?

"This is confidential information, of course. But | can tell you all of it because you are not going anywhere, except

of course, to the grave." Connor smiled widely, exposing all his teeth, unsettling Fiona. "Just prepare for the

lonely painful days ahead."

"But... Please, can you—"

"Don’t bother, Fiona love. I'm allergic to requests. It's why the boss trustswith matters like this. And it's been

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