Dark Revenge Of An Unwanted Wife The Twins Are Not Yours novel Chapter 515

Chapter 515: Truth?

The courtyard outside the courthouse was a storm of flashes, microphones, and shouted questions. Security guards kept a strict perimeter, allowing only a controlled cluster of reporters to inch forward as Old Mr. Thorne and Florence stepped out first.

One reporter, braver—or more shameless—than the others raised her voice above the crowd.

"Mr. and Mrs. Thorne! How does it feel to finally see justice served for your daughter and her husband?"

Florence stopped walking. Tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes, trembling but refusing to fall. She held herself with the dignity of a woman who had learned long ago that grief could not be allowed to crush her.

"It feels..." Her voice broke, then steadied. "It feels like peace. Like rest. Emily’s death has weighed heavily on us for many years. Today, I feel as though some part of her can finally sleep."

Old Mr. Thorne cleared his throat, looking older than he had that morning but lighter, too. "We can’t bring our children back... but justice is a mercy in itself. We are grateful."

Another reporter pushed forward. "Athena! Athena Thorne! A word, please! How do you feel?"

Athena, standing beside Ewan, kept her posture straight, composed, even though the question hit a tender place within her.

"I never met my mother," she said quietly. "The people responsible for her death robbed me of that. But today..." She drew in a breath. "Today I stand here knowing I honored her memory. And that is enough."

A loaded pause, before a different reporter’s voice sliced through the noise.

"And what about your relationship with Mr. Ewan Giacometti? Are the rumors true?"

The crowd sharpened. The air itself leaned in.

Athena looked at Ewan. He looked at her. Their smiles matched—warm, helpless, and undeniably telling.

At the same second, they answered: "No comment."

That only fueled the media frenzy; their joined expression and answer was more than enough confirmation.

But security swept in immediately, preventing more questions, shepherding the family toward the line of waiting cars.

Sandro was already behind the wheel of one, Zane in the passenger seat, turning around with a grin as Athena and Ewan climbed into the back.

"You did well, boss," Sandro said, tapping the steering wheel. "Couldn’t be prouder."

Athena laughed, tension melting from her shoulders. Behind them, her grandparents were already seated in their own car.

She had barely settled into her seat when the door flung open again.

"Athena! Please tell me there’s space!"

"Aiden!" she shrieked.

Her friend slid into the last space on the seat, closing the door before the reporters could get a peek.

She threw her hand across his shoulder. "You have been scarce! Completely missing! Where have you been?"

Aiden shrugged, though there was a weight behind the gesture. "Spider and I have been working. A lot. The team we have been working with on the Grey case dropped something messy on our laps. We’ll talk when we get home."

Athena pulled back slightly, studying him.

His face—usually bright, mischievous—was tense. Melancholic. Something was wrong. Something he hadn’t said. And the moment she sensed it, worry crawled sharp and cold through her chest.

What could they have possibly found? The identity of the sponsor? Or maybe more machinations that would explain why the coldhearted monsters had gone silent?

Before she could push further, a sharp knock sounded on the window.

John stood outside, flanked by a guard.

Athena rolled the window down. "Mr. John? Aren’t you supposed to be resting?"

She thought the fellow lucky, he and Connor, as they hadn’t been sentenced by the judge because of the value of testimonies given and their rehabilitation efforts.

Well, Ewan did say that Connor was done with hire-for-murder/torture lifestyle, but really she would have to see to believe.

He shook his head. "No time. I’m heading to the airport. They’re flying me straight back to base."

Athena felt something tingle at the back of her mind. A name... a term... something she had studied—years ago, during her specialized banned modules; when she had come across government closed projects.

John nodded. "Yes. They called it Project Seraph-X."

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