<h4>Chapter 238: Long Night II</h4>


    <i>What is he doing here?</i> That was the first thought that raced through Ewan’s mind as he watched Antonio rub slow circles on Athena’s hands.


    A wave of frustration washed over him, apanied by a slight tremor in his hands and a dull, painful thud of his heart that seemed to sync with his simmering anger and jealousy.


    Zane nudged him subtly, a familiar, silent reminder to keep his cool, to breathe, and to temper the emotions threatening to spill over.


    "Ewan, what a lovely sight!" Florence eximed, oblivious of the gathering tension in the room, her voice bright with enthusiasm as she sprang to her feet and hurried over to him.


    Her hands were warm andforting as she pinched his cheeks, just as she had done so many times during his childhood.


    Ewan couldn’t help but let out a muffledugh, which drew a soft giggle from Kathleen, who was watching—amused—at the spectacle, right before she felt Nathaniel’s palm on her thigh.


    Ewan’s expression was moreical as he tried to free his cheeks which were squeezed and drawn apart byFlorence’s strong grasp—making Old Mr. Thorneugh out loud, unable to suppress the emotion any longer.


    Gianna, who had determined, seconds ago, not to let Zane’s presence spoil her joyful mood, joined in theughter too. She was in high spirits after all. She had sessfully bagged a delightful new contract that had her bouncing with energy, eager to celebrate.


    "Good afternoon, ma’am..." Ewan greeted once he was finally freed from Florence’s grip, followed closely by his friends.


    The room then erupted into a flurry of greetings, hands shaking,ughter echoing as the awkwardness of the moment dissolved. Even Aiden, who had worn a foul mood since earlier in the day, seemed to set it aside as he anticipated the drama this evening might bring.


    Kathleen and Nathaniel, however, didn’t know to navigate this waters that was knowing their father. They hadn’t greeted him, neither had they acknowleged his greetings. Not really...except a barely seen curt nod would count as one.


    "So, Ewan, what do we have here?" Old Mr. Thorne called out when the atmosphere began to dip into awkward silence, a momentarypse after Florence excused herself to discuss dinner arrangements with the servants.


    Ewan swallowed hard, shooting furtive nces at his two friends, the weight of expectations pressing on him. Finally, he gestured to the bags before him, his heart racing just a little faster. "Gifts for the kids, their mother, you, and your wife..."


    "What about me?" Gianna interjected yfully, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.


    The intensity of her gaze nearly took Ewan’s breath away, but the smirk ying on her lips revealed she was merely teasing.


    Relief washed over him as he broke into a nervousugh, nervously rubbing his hands together. He inwardly chided himself for the level of anxiety he felt in front of this familiar group of people.


    "Well, I owe you one then, Gianna. Do you have anything in mind?" Ewan offered, trying to smooth over his nerves with a confident smile.


    Beside him, Zane’s sharp intake of breath sent a small jolt of rm through Ewan, but he was hopeful that his friend would manage to control his mouth and feelings in this moment. He had brought them along for support, not to create additional drama.


    "Well, an Areso gown would be nice," Gianna replied, an innocent yet mischievous twinkle dancing in her eyes.


    Ewan opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted when Zane scoffed bitterly, the tension in the room thickening once more. Ewan turned and shot a re at him, silently urging his friend to reel it in.


    "I will be outside. Need to make a call," Zane dered, avoiding Ewan’s gaze but knowing full well he had stepped in it. He quickly rose from his chair and excused himself, striding toward the door without another word.


    An ufortable silence settled over the room once Zane exited, punctuated only by the soft rustle of clothing and subtle nces exchanged. Gianna busied herself with her phone, feigning interest as the tension mounted.


    Athena sighed softly, her gaze drifting between Ewan and her children. She could see the beads of sweat forming on Ewan’s forehead, despite the air conditioning sting in the room. The twins, too, wore expressions that betrayed their difort, as if they were seated on hot coals.


    And there was Old Mr. Thorne, regarding her with a knowing look; a plea.


    Athena sighed again, sensing she would need to break the ice. Ewan had mmed up, tongue-tied and unable to find his footing.


    "Aren’t you going to check out your own gift, old man?" She began, her tone light, immediately Florence returned.


    Florence, who had re-joined them, wore a bright smile and her eyes sparkled with happiness. A bystander might have mistakenly thought she had found her lost son.


    "Ewan got you a gift? What about me?" She eximed, just as Athena had guessed.


    Ewan chuckled softly, feeling the tension in his shoulders rx just a little. "Yours is there..." He said, gesturing toward the gifts stacked nearby.


    Immediately, Florence ambled over to the gift he indicated, her excitement palpable as she picked it up. She also grabbed her husband’s gift, wisely leaving the other items in their original positions.


    "Oh my... I love this! So you do remember my love for vintage jewelry..." Florence eximed happily, her fingers gently caressing the exquisite Victorian pieces nestled within the antique box.


    Beside her, Old Mr. Thorne lit up with satisfaction as he received his own gift from Ewan. He couldn’t unveil it here; it was a shiny antique pistol, a rare Remington model!


    Old Mr. Thorne cradled the object lovingly, a glimmer of nostalgia in his eyes, increasing the curiosity among the audience who remained in suspense, unaware of what gift had prompted such joy.


    The twins, particrly intrigued, subtly leaned forward in their seats, eager to discover what had captivated their grandfather sopletely, yet they didn’t want to give Ewan the satisfaction of believing his gift had moved mountains.


    Hence, they remained nted in their seats, struggling with curiosity, mirroring their mother’s own apprehension.


    "Where is Athena’s gift?" Antonio asked next, impatience coloring his voice when he could no longer hold back.


    Ewan opened his mouth, ready to tell him that it was none of his concern; but before he could do so, Sandro, sensing the mounting frustration radiating from his friend, blurted out, "Right there." He even pointed directly at it, making things all the more awkward.


    Athena furrowed her eyebrows, ncing between Ewan and Sandro, confusion etched on her features. She hesitated in picking the gift, her expression questioning their motives.


    Gianna, fueled by a yful spirit, rose from her seat with a mischievous smile, shaking off any remaining bad moods. She strolled over to the gifts and retrieved Athena’s offering with dramatic ir.


    "What’s it?" Antonio drawled, a bored expression settling on his features as he leaned back in his chair.


    Ewan’s anticipation spiked as he watched Gianna peer into the bag. The seconds stretched on, each moment filled with mounting tension as he clutched mentally at his heart, praying that Athena’s response would not bring his earlier fears to fruition. <i>Please</i><i>let</i><i>it</i><i>be</i><i>well</i><i>received.</i>


    "Books," Gianna proimed, with a raised eyebrow.


    Antonio’sughter erupted then and echoed through the room, causing Ewan’s face to flush deep crimson with shame and embarrassment.


    "Books? Who gets a woman books?" Antonioughed the more, his incredulity ringing clear.


    Unconsciously, Ewan bowed his head, wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Hadn’t Zane warned him?


    Beside him, Sandro gritted his teeth, his growing annoyance palpable. "It’s the thought that counts, Antonio," He defended, his voice low but firm, trying to salvage the moment.


    "Still... books? Are you broke, Ewan?" Antonio teased, theughter still dancing in his voice, reviving the tension that hung in the air.