Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife The Twins Are Not Yours novel Chapter 504

Chapter 504: Handover

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the top floor, its polished brass doors gliding open to reveal the long, glossy corridor leading to the executive meeting room.

The air smelled faintly of leather and coffee, the kind of mixture that always lingered in old, powerful companies where legacies were built and broken over decisions made around mahogany tables.

Athena stepped out first, her heels clicking lightly against the floor. Beside her, Herbert followed, holding a small folder tucked under his arm.

They had been mostly quiet since they left the car. He had tried to make small talk about business earlier, but she hadn’t been in the mood, with every approaching step toward the boardroom.

When they neared the corner where the boardroom stood, the muffled sound of voices floated through the heavy double doors.

Athena slowed her steps.

"Go on ahead," she said finally, stopping just a few feet from the door. Her tone was calm but distant, her eyes fixed on some invisible point beyond Herbert’s shoulder. "I want to powder my face first."

Herbert hesitated. It wasn’t like her to delay. He turned slightly to study her expression. Her face was smooth, but there was a tightness around her mouth that hadn’t been there earlier.

He opened his mouth, as if to ask if she was all right, then stopped himself. Instead, he nodded slowly, offering a small, encouraging smile. "Congratulations, Athena," he said quietly, sincerity deep in his tone. "You’ve earned this."

She returned a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Thank you, Herbert."

With that, he gave a respectful nod and walked toward the meeting room. As he did, Athena could hear the hum of conversation growing louder—the overlapping voices of men and women whose opinions had shaped her grandfather’s empire for decades.

Among them, she caught the low, commanding tone of a voice she would recognize anywhere.

Her grandfather. Old Mr. Thorne.

Even from outside, his voice carried that same surety, the same presence that had filled every room he ever walked into.

Athena turned away. Instead of following Herbert, she slipped into the curved corridor to the right, the one that led to the restrooms. The sound of her heels softened as the carpet replaced marble.

Inside the restroom, silence met her.

She approached the mirror slowly, her reflection coming into full view—the poised woman in fitted clothes, her hair sleek, her face composed. But when she looked closer, she saw the flicker of something else in her eyes. Uncertainty.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink. She drew in a long breath, then let it out shakily.

Why was she suddenly nervous?

She had handled meetings before—hundreds of them. She had faced investors, chaired boards, given speeches that stirred rooms full of hardened professionals. She was still handling them, still signing deals that others wouldn’t dare touch.

So why, now of all days, did her heart feel like it was racing against her ribs?

She stared harder at her reflection, at the tiny tremor of her lashes. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was the weight.

This meeting wasn’t just another business affair. It wasn’t like her other companies—the ones she had founded out of curiosity, or sheer ambition, or the thrill of creation. Those had been hers alone, ideas born from impulse and shaped into power.

This—this was legacy.

This was family.

Thorne Industries wasn’t something she could simply create or abandon. It was something passed down, blood-bound, and ancient in its reputation. It carried her grandfather’s name. Her mother’s. And now, it was about to carry hers.

Her chest tightened at the thought.

The burden of handling a generational company would soon rest squarely on her shoulders. The decisions she made wouldn’t only affect profit margins—they would define the future of a lineage, something that would one day be passed to her children.

Her gaze dropped to her hands. They were trembling slightly.

No, she thought. That wasn’t acceptable. This wasn’t her. She has grown past this fellow with trembling hands.

She flexed her fingers once, twice, then lifted her chin. "You won’t fail," she whispered to herself. "You can’t fail."

The mirror caught the small curve of her lips—a faint, steady smile of determination.

She straightened, smoothed her blazer, and dabbed a little powder across her face to regain composure. One last breath in, one last glance at herself. Then she turned and walked out.

The moment she stepped into the corridor again, the faint hum of voices grew sharper.

When she reached the double doors, she pushed them open gently. The instant she entered, the noise in the room stilled.

Every head turned.

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