Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 117: More Reveals

"Well, it seems Sabrina and her family weren’t alone on this..."

Spider’s words drifted across the Thorne’s vast living room, immediately drawing every shred of attention in the space.

Ewan was already moving before the sentence finished, crossing the room in long strides. He leaned over Spider’s shoulder, eyes narrowing as he peered into the laptop, its screen fractured into multiple live feeds.

"Are you seeing that?"

He lifted a finger, pointing sharply to one particular footage—the fourth split screen on the left of the monitor. "Sabrina is walking into the restaurant to meet someone..."

Gianna stepped closer then, pulled by a tightening coil in her chest.

The restaurant registered instantly. She knew it. Recognized it as the very place where the tomato saga had taken place.

Her breath slowed as she watched her cousin walk into the frame, posture casual, steps unhurried.

Spider tapped another miniature screen, directly beneath the first. The footage shifted—same moment, different angle. Inside the restaurant.

This one showed Gianna herself, seated at a table with...

Esme.

Gianna’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened, disbelief flashing hot through her chest. The workers of Whitman’s Jewelleries and the Becketts were rivals—just like their founders were.

So why would Esme meet Sabrina?

"Isn’t that Esme Beckett..." Ewan said aloud, voicing what Gianna couldn’t yet shape, his tone edged with confusion for the benefit of the others now crowding closer.

"Esme Beckett?" Athena echoed Gianna’s thought, brows knitting. "Why would she meet Sabrina?"

"Spider," Gianna said quietly, her voice hard, "can you access the sound?"

Spider’s lips tightened into a thin line as his fingers flew across the keyboard. He zeroed in on the restaurant camera, bypassing layers of encryption with practiced ease.

A second later, the room filled with recorded voices.

"What the hell, bitch?" "Do you think I’m as jobless as you are? I have work piled up!"

"I’m sorry," "My father decided we should go see Gianna. Make amends."

Esme scoffing... "Seriously?" "Your father is stupid." "Of course that didn’t work, did it?"

"Of course it didn’t..."

"So tell me, Sabrina Aldo," "why I shouldn’t drag you out of this café—for putting my brother’s life at risk?"

"I didn’t know he’d leave the convention with her," "I thought he’d gone back to his company."

Esme’s palm slamming against the table... "You should have checked properly before making the call!" "Maybe I should just hand you over to the police."

Sabrina laughing... "With what evidence?" "Our chats? That takes both of us down." "And as much as you think your brother loves you..." "...Gianna’s claws are far deeper in him than you think."

"Whatever!" "Don’t call me again," "Or you’ll have yourself to blame. Leech. Do you think I don’t know what you want?"

Esme picking up her handbag... "And I’m not a naïve elite, Sabrina." "Take care of your miserable self."

Then she marched out of the café angrily.

Gianna was stunned, to say the least.

Her eyes widened in absolute shock—then squeezed shut as rage and disbelief collided, wrestled, and tangled violently inside her chest.

Esme and Sabrina. Her cousin. Her rival. They had been behind the accident. They had almost killed her.

They had wanted her dead.

And if Noah hadn’t been proactive—if he hadn’t stepped in when he did—she would have cost him his life too.

All for what?

Because she was winning in her field?

How far could human cruelty stretch? How deep could hatred root itself? Were they truly that consumed by envy, that swallowed by malice?

Her thoughts spiraled. Did this mean they were also behind her kidnapping?

Did it mean the depraved "boss" the kidnappers had spoken of was Sabrina?

Did it mean her own cousin was overseeing an operation tied to Philemon’s gang?

Gianna’s brows furrowed sharply. No. That—despite how neatly the dots seemed to connect—felt far-fetched.

The boss was likely someone Sabrina had contacted, someone else entirely. But then... what affiliation did her cousin have with such people?

And did the witch truly have to go that far, to erase her from the face of the earth?

Her knees weakened. She lowered herself onto the armrest of the sofa Spider was sitting on, barely aware of anything else in the room.

She had told Athena she would handle this herself—but if Sabrina had links to people like that, then she had to admit something she didn’t want to.

She would need protection, as she was no longer safe.

Only the living could enact revenge.

"Isn’t that Esme Beckett’s voice?"

Gianna lifted her head slowly, her thoughts severed as Sandro’s voice cut in. Her eyes hardened immediately when she saw him step further into the living room—Zane beside him.

Zane looked anything but whole.

If anything, he looked utterly devastated—the most broken she had ever seen him.

Which made sense, considering the news that had aired that morning: his company collapsing, the subsidiaries under the Whitman name spiraling with it... and the revelation that he had lost his child.

She half-expected anger. Accusation. Maybe even blame for keeping the child’s existence from him—like so many daft men would. But when his eyes met hers, it wasn’t anger that stared back.

It was shame. Deep. Crushing. Endless.

He looked away before she could see more—before she could fully process the fracture she glimpsed in him.

Gianna’s lips tightened. Zane could go to hell.

And then Athena charged.

The slap rang through the room the moment her palm connected with his face.

"How dare you!"

Gianna flinched instinctively. She wanted to tell her friend that Sabrina was the bigger threat—that this wasn’t the priority—but she stayed silent.

Zane deserved the slap.

She watched his shoulders slump, his head bow. Noticed his bandaged fists.

Wait.

Her eyes narrowed. Why were his fists bandaged? And why were there flecks of blood on his clothes?

"Athena..." Sandro whispered urgently.

But Athena was beyond reason.

"Did you see it then?" she shouted, voice ricocheting violently off the walls. "How could you leave my best friend at the altar?!"

No one spoke. Not a cough. Not a breath. Not even Zane.

He didn’t explain. He didn’t defend himself. He simply stood there, absorbing the blows—waiting for Athena to empty every ounce of fury she’d carried.

"I told you, didn’t I?" she continued, jabbing a finger hard into his chest. "I fucking told you, didn’t I... because you thought she was a—"

Her laugh cracked, brittle and incredulous.

"Athena..." Sandro tried again, his voice low, pleading.

"He was sent a video. Documents. He didn’t believe it at first."