CHAPTER 423: PARTY TIME II

Athena hadn’t expected the sight that greeted her when she stepped out of her room. Her breath caught as her gaze fell on Areso and her mother, Jessica, waiting patiently in the hall as though they had been standing guard for her.

Was something wrong?

Areso straightened instantly when she saw her, eyes widening, then softening in admiration. Her lips parted, and the words tumbled out unrestrained.

"You always make my clothes look... magnificent. Thank you."

Her sincerity painted Athena’s cheeks with color, and she found herself smiling, despite the nerves curling in her stomach. "You are always doing too much, Areso. Thank you for this."

Areso chuckled softly, shaking her head at the sight before her, like she hadn’t commandeered it.

Jessica, elegant as always in a deep blue gown, stepped forward with a graceful clasp of Athena’s hand.

"Darling, you’ve outshone every expectation," Jessica whispered warmly, leaning in close enough to plant a fleeting kiss on Athena’s cheek. Then, with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes, she winked. "Antonio is waiting for you. At the bottom of the staircase."

Heat rose unbidden to Athena’s cheeks, and she allowed herself a small laugh, shaking her head. The warmth of the compliment and Jessica’s teasing steadied her nerves in a way the mirror had failed to do moments before.

Together, the three women began moving down the long hallway, their steps cushioned by a velvet runner the color of wine. The corridor was adorned with delicate touches—fresh arrangements of lilies and orchids perched in silver vases on antique side tables, tall sconces lit with golden light, and paintings framed in dark oak, each a testament to the Thorne family’s history. The air itself seemed scented, a soft blend of roses and cedarwood that followed their progress.

As they neared the staircase, Athena’s pulse quickened. She caught sight of Antonio waiting below, his posture deceptively casual, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

The moment his gaze lifted, his jaw slackened, then tightened again as though to restrain his awe.

His eyes darkened with emotion, and his lips parted into a smile that was at once proud and tender. Relief washed over his features—relief that they had made peace, that she stood before him not as someone distant but as the woman who had let him back into her world.

When Athena reached him, Antonio extended his hand, his expression softening further. He didn’t wait for words; instead, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. The touch was reverent, lingering just long enough to send a tremor through her chest. She hadn’t expected it.

The sudden sound of cheers startled her, and she blinked in surprise as her friends and children spilled out from a side corridor. Their applause filled the air, playful whistles mingling with laughter. Her children rushed forward, faces lit with pride, hugging her before stepping back to admire her gown again.

"You look like a queen, Mom," Kathleen whispered, eyes wide with awe.

Her throat tightened, and she reached out, brushing a hand across the little one’s hair, her smile breaking wider

.

Antonio’s hand remained steady at the small of her back as they began walking together. The hallway they took curved away from the main living room, its polished marble floor gleaming beneath crystal chandeliers.

It was quieter here, a deliberate detour that built anticipation before the main reveal. At the end of the corridor, tall glass doors opened to the yard, where fairy lights draped from tree to tree, twinkling like captured stars.

Beyond that lay the hall, a vision that stole Athena’s breath when she stepped inside. It was as though the space had been plucked from a modern dream of grandeur. The ceiling soared, a sweeping dome illuminated by a chandelier of cascading crystals.

Round tables dressed in silk linens fanned across the floor, each crowned with elaborate centerpieces of roses, lilies, and flickering candles. Guests, their attire immaculate, mingled with glasses of champagne in hand. Waiters in crisp uniforms wove through the crowd, balancing silver trays with effortless grace—delicate hors d’oeuvres, wines of vintage age, platters of roasted delicacies.

The air buzzed with low laughter, the clink of glass, the swell of a string quartet in the corner, weaving classical strains into the atmosphere.

It was, unmistakably, a ball—but stripped of outdated formality, refreshed into something undeniably modern and alive.

Meanwhile, the moment Athena stepped inside, the moment she started moving, conversations hushed, and faces turned. Guests began to approach, each eager to greet her, to extend congratulations that blurred between her and Antonio. Compliments spilled as naturally as wine, their gazes alternating between admiration for her poise and approval of the man by her side.

Antonio accepted the attention with ease, a gracious nod here, a polite handshake there, his smile unwavering. Yet Athena couldn’t ignore the subtle shift in his stance—his hand tightening slightly around her waist, as though anchoring her to him, presenting her as his.

She forced her own smile, but doubt flickered beneath it. Was this what she wanted?

Her uncertainty deepened when familiar faces emerged from the crowd.

Her former boss from the CIA, stood tall in a striking green three piece suit, his sharp eyes softening with pride when they met hers. Flanking him were old colleagues and friends, their expressions alight with excitement.

Eric winked at her, and Athena’s composure cracked, warmth flooding her chest.

"I have to—" she began, gently prying Antonio’s hand from her waist. He frowned, the briefest shadow crossing his features, but she stepped forward before guilt could root her.

Her friends had already moved closer, voices overlapping as they embraced her, congratulating her, each one a reminder of who she had been before tonight’s titles and gowns.

And then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Herbert and Zane.

Zane’s frame still carried traces of strain, his smile stiff; and though he tried to mask it, she could see the pain etched in his movements. The wound at his abdomen still haunted him, however, the color in his face looked better than the last time she had seen him.

She remembered, vividly, her first impulse after waking up at noon today: going straight to the hospital, to see for herself that her people, her agents, had survived. Seeing Zane stronger now was a quiet victory.

Her gaze swept past him then and landed on Ewan. For a fleeting second, his gaze was gentle, almost tender. But the moment Antonio’s hand returned to her waist, possessive and steady, Ewan’s expression shuttered, fading into something cold and blank.

The tension prickled, unspoken yet palpable. Athena’s chest tightened, and she parted her lips to say something—but the sound of a microphone crackled through the hall, silencing her.

All heads turned toward the stage, where Old Mr. Thorne stepped into the spotlight.

His presence alone commanded attention, his silver hair gleaming under the lights, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room. The murmur of the crowd stilled into reverent silence immediately.