After Divorce: Remarried to a Tycoon with Twin Babies-Chapter 46: The Thorne Family’s Terms! News of Vivian’s Death!

Chapter 46: Chapter 46: The Thorne Family’s Terms! News of Vivian’s Death!

Vivian froze.

What... did he just say?

Julian Thorne picked up his teacup and took a light sip. After lowering his eyes for a moment, he looked up again, gaze burning as he stared into Vivian’s eyes and said with utmost sincerity, "The Thorne Family needs a favor from you."

"This is the offer I, Julian Thorne, and even the entire Thorne Family are extending to you."

Vivian felt her heart stir slightly.

The status of the Thorne Family in Ardis—everyone knew it!

The city’s wealthiest, a colossal business dynasty, with power that reached above all.

A single stomp from them could shake all of Ardis to its core.

Anyone who could gain the Thorne Family’s, or better yet the young Family Head’s protection and promise, would have their life completely transformed, as if they’d activated a cheat code!

Ever since Vivian left the Sinclair Family, she truly had no one left to rely on.

The only one she could count on was herself and her own talent—otherwise, she’d have become a stray, forced to sleep on the streets.

This offer was tempting indeed...but she’d have to be mad to tangle with him any deeper.

There was still a secret about him hidden in her belly.

And now, the only reason she sat here was because she owed him a favor.

Vivian had always been clear in her heart, and now her mind was sharper than ever.

So, faced with Julian’s olive branch, she merely smiled slightly.

Then she passed over the notepad she’d long since prepared, with the words already written out.

"Mr. Thorne, I am indeed W."

"Now can you finally tell me why it was so important for you to find me?"

She finally admitted it!

Even though Julian had already confirmed her identity in his heart, in that moment, he still felt a flood of relief.

His lips curved in a faint, irrepressible smile of joy.

"Miss Sinclair, do you know how hard it was for me to find you?"

"In all of Ardis, you’re the second person who’s made me go to such lengths, and I almost missed you entirely."

"You hid yourself extremely well."

"And truthfully, the real Miss Sinclair isn’t half as ruined as the rumors say."

"You’re... quite the surprise."

Vivian averted her gaze lightly, her cheeks flushing with awkward heat at such a direct compliment.

Julian didn’t notice her discomfort; instead, he began to tell her a story.

When Julian Thorne was eight and his five-year-old sister Stella was being driven home, they were ambushed and crashed—an orchestrated accident.

The driver was killed on the spot.

Julian and his sister were dragged from the overturned car by kidnappers, who then took them hostage.

The siblings were locked in a pitch-black tunnel for who knew how long, then moved to a warehouse with a dozen other children.

The kidnappers demanded a hundred million in ransom from the Thornes.

But even so, they were in no rush to return the siblings.

The kids even saw several of the others get brutally executed, right in front of their eyes.

Julian Thorne could never forget how, just yesterday, they’d all been boosting each other’s spirits, swearing to escape and to leave the nightmare behind—and in an instant, those companions were slaughtered in front of them, tortured mercilessly.

The kidnappers would even toss the bodies at their feet, making them watch as corpses rotted, maggots crawling, a stench you’d never forget for a lifetime.

Though, in the end, the Thorne Family and the police finally found them, only suffering superficial wounds.

But among all the children in that warehouse, only the two siblings survived.

Julian underwent six months of therapy to slowly climb out of that nightmare.

But his little sister, who was only five, never fully emerged from that devastation.

She developed PTSD.

And afterward, things only worsened—sometimes she could barely care for herself.

As she got older, her condition never improved, not even a little.

She started to grow depressed, started showing anxiety.

Later, her mind grew so unstable she’d set fire to rooms, nearly drown herself, or stand atop tall buildings ready to leap like a bird.

If Julian hadn’t used everything at his disposal to build her a villa and hire an elite medical team to remain on call, Stella would have long since perished.

But then, three years ago, she happened to see a painting by W.

And something changed in Stella she’d never seen before.

She could sit in front of W’s paintings for an entire day.

She was as calm as a normal person.

So docile it astounded everyone.

It wasn’t just the doctors who were ecstatic—even Julian himself was stunned.

Stella had never cared so passionately about anything else in her whole life.

Now, she’d cry gazing at W’s paintings, or even smile faintly, just like anyone else, when she was happy.

The entirety of her was absorbed, obsessed with W’s art.

A single painting could calm her symptoms for half a month at a time.

And other than W’s work, not a single painting brought out such a strong response in her.

It was a remarkable change—nothing short of miraculous.

Julian was deeply shaken.

He swore then and there to buy every single work of W’s—even, if possible, to find W in person, no matter what it took, and keep her by his sister’s side.

He’d have her paint every day—nonstop—make her Stella’s living medicine.

So he searched for Vivian for three years.

Just as he finally found traces of W, W had already retired from the art world.

But as luck would have it, W was now sitting in front of Julian, and at last, his heart felt a sliver of peace.

Vivian was equally stunned after hearing the story.

Not just that her paintings could have such an effect on the Thorne daughter, but that the illustrious, absurdly wealthy Thorne siblings had such a horrific childhood!

And after so many years in Ardis, Vivian had barely heard a whisper about Julian Thorne even having a sister.

It looked like he’d truly kept her well protected.

It was hard to fathom all he’d had to do to preserve the façade of peace over all these years.

Vivian quickly wrote in her notebook: "Back then didn’t you try hypnotic therapy for Miss Thorne, to make her forget?"

Julian hadn’t expected her very first question to be about Stella.

He couldn’t help but look up at Vivian, eyes deep and searching.

"It did help, for a while."

"But soon after, the trauma buried deeper inside her kept resurfacing."

"A few rounds of hypnosis actually made her worse, so we had to stop."

Vivian could only sigh in sympathy.

She nodded, showing her understanding.

But still, she flipped her notebook to the next page and handed over what she’d already prepared for Julian.

"No matter what thoughts you may have, Mr. Thorne—"

"But I must tell you the truth."

"A year ago, I lost a bet with an old rival of my mentor’s—since then, I can never paint again."

"That day in the sanatorium was an accident. If word gets out, it would ruin my entire teacher’s reputation."

"So I’m sorry—even if you break both my hands, I can’t paint for your sister again."

Julian’s brows knitted tight.

He’d never imagined the situation would end up like this.

"What kind of competition?"

"Was it fair?"

"Your work shouldn’t lose so easily to any contemporary. Is there some mistake?"

Vivian tilted her head in thought, then shook it.

She wrote: "It wasn’t against contemporaries."

"That person was truly skilled. At least for that contest, I admit my defeat."

Julian suddenly stood up, visibly agitated.

"But I won’t give up on this!"

"Miss Sinclair, you don’t want the world to know you’re W, do you?"

"Think about it. I don’t want to resort to other means to force your hand."

With that, Julian turned and strode out of the garden.

Vivian didn’t even turn around. Staring at the cooled tea on the table, her lips curved in self-mockery.

That night, Crestfall Villa.

Julian fired his bow ten times in a row, every shot ringing true—the bullseye was quickly left riddled and torn.

But because his movements were too fierce, the wounds on his back, barely healed, tore open again, oozing blood.

The medical team nearby hurried over to disinfect and treat the injury.

Jason, responsible for Julian’s injuries and recovery, mustered his courage and said, "Mr. Thorne, you can’t keep letting the wound tear."

"Otherwise it’ll keep festering, and never heal properly. You’ll end up with a chronic injury that’s prone to flare up."

The gloom on Julian’s face didn’t budge at Jason’s warning—if anything, he grew even colder.

He ignored Jason completely and immediately called Special Assistant Linden.

"Check on W’s mentor—what sworn enemies exist. And a year ago, exactly who did W compete with?"

"Also, I want to meet Miss Sinclair’s teacher, in person."

After hanging up, Julian gripped his phone almost hard enough to crush it. All he could think of was the sight he’d caught when leaving Vivian’s secluded villa—her still sitting motionless in the wicker chair.

And again, the memory of that night—she’d lain shivering in the back seat, face deathly pale, lips split and bleeding, clothes soaked to her skin, so ragged and vulnerable.

He’d been compelled to cover her with his coat.

That night, Vivian had clung to his hand, greedily absorbing its warmth—only letting go when she finally got out.

She seemed so lonely.

Even lonelier than himself.

The next morning, Vivian was up early and ready to leave.

After the night she’d been rescued, she’d been brought straight to this tranquil villa.

No one disturbed her; there was always a doctor on hand to care for her.

Julian had only shown up once, yesterday, so Vivian recovered quickly.

Lina Holloway had called Julian to ask for instructions, but didn’t insist on her staying, and even escorted her to the ground floor herself.

She handed Vivian a phone: "Miss Sinclair, I heard the Grant Family is looking everywhere for you lately."

"They probably think you’re dead."

"They even went to the morgue, searching for unclaimed bodies."

"And I hear trouble’s brewing at the Grant Family these days."

"Are you... really going back?"

Vivian could hear the regret in Lina’s voice.

She suspected Vivian would simply return to the Grant Family, pretending nothing had happened, going back to playing the meek Young Madam Grant.

Yet Vivian opened her mouth, her voice hoarse and strained: "No."

"I won’t rest until I’ve had my revenge."

After saying goodbye to Lina, Vivian didn’t head upstairs—but put on a mask and returned to the underground garage.

She drove herself straight back to the teahouse.

Seeing her suddenly return intact, Patrick Powell, who looked noticeably gaunt, instantly teared up.

Patrick scrambled to pull out his phone in excitement: "Boss, thank goodness you’re safe!"

"I’ll call Jasmine right now—"

Vivian raised her hand, stopping him, and passed over a note she’d prepared: "Business first."

The next day, Ardis’s tabloids exploded to the top of the trending charts—

The Grant Group chairman’s wife, Lillian Rivers, was spotted in an intimate rendezvous with the Pinnacle Bank president—the two suspiciously close!

This news barely stirred up any real waves.

The local elites just took it as a bit of gossip.

But then, another Grant Group scandal broke!

The Grant Group executive CEO and his first love were spotted entering a private villa—the two shared a passionate ten-minute kiss!

This one came with a secretly filmed video, a dozen seconds long.

Through the curtains, you could see clearly—the two locked in an intimate, lingering embrace.

Immediately after, the next headline rocked the trending charts—

The Grant Group CEO’s wife—the Sinclair Family’s fake heiress—vanished without a trace, dead or alive!

Rumor had it—she was already dead!