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

Chapter 422: Party Time

Athena stood before the wide vanity mirror in her room, her reflection framed in soft golden light.

For a long moment she simply stared, shoulders drawn back, chin lifted as if the glass itself were her first audience. Tonight wasn’t just another evening; it was her formal introduction to the world—not as the good doctor who blended into the shadows of labs and crises, but as Athena Cecilia Caddels Thorne, granddaughter of the infamous Edward Thorne, and heir to the sprawling empire that carried his name.

She let the weight of the name roll silently on her tongue, the decision she had made only hours before still echoing in her chest.

The family lawyer had asked, almost expecting, that she abandon "Athena Caddels," as if the person she had been until now was a discarded skin. But she had insisted, calm but unyielding, that her name remain intact—every part of it.

Athena Cecilia Caddels Thorne. A declaration of both past and present, of roots and reinvention.

A sigh escaped her lips as her gaze dropped to the gown flowing around her body. She turned slightly, admiring, but also critiquing, the garment that would carry her into this new Chapter.

It was a masterpiece of silk and shimmer, ivory in color with a whisper of silver that caught the light when she moved. The neckline plunged modestly in the front, drawing attention to the delicate embroidery of diamonds sewn like constellations.

The sleeves, long and sheer, ended in cuffs feathered with lace that brushed her wrists with every motion. But it was the back that made her pause—a daring cut, completely backless, exposing skin that goosebumped under the chill of the room. The gown clung where it should, flared where it must, the hem pooling like liquid light around her feet.

Areso had really outdone herself with this bespoke collection.

admitted, though her expression remained tight. She was the main character tonight,

her grandmother had insisted she wear. Somewhere deep down, she wondered if beauty was armor enough for the onslaught this new throne

drifted, unfocused, as her thoughts slipped into

had all felt overwhelming, like being caught in a tide that dragged her from one shore

every news channel, his image plastered in endless loops of humiliation—handcuffed, condemned to life imprisonment. Yet she knew better. The president had agreed to Aiden’s persuasion, granting Morgan a place in the black

every television, every headline, was a reminder that their fight was far from

hour of silence. Where were the doctors now? Which hideout sheltered them, what plan did they set in

against the polished wood. She inhaled sharply, forcing her lungs to expand. What if they failed?

conjuring other fragments of recent days. Bolin’s downfall—his capture and sentencing for abetting crimes, the scandal of his disinheritance plastered across tabloids. The other two, stripped of privilege and

nor moved. Their mother had spiraled further,

him. She had asked him merely to take care of things, but he had executed with precision

a few hours ago, despite her attempts to gift it, the building too. The man’s pride was next to

again, this time toward gentler ground. To her grandparents. To Rodney, who had settled quickly into his role, driving

whispers exchanged that she couldn’t decipher. For days, she had wondered if she had made a mistake in

been, but she had let it go, grateful for

proven himself not just competent, but considerate. Gentlemanly, even. This morning alone had been proof of it, his small act of thoughtfulness lingering

him, there was always