From His Invisible Wife to the World's Icon novel Chapter 134

Several socialites in the lobby practically swooned at the sight of Xavier and immediately tried to swarm him.

A wall of bodyguards materialized out of nowhere, blocking the crowd and clearing a seamless path for him.

The man walked toward the exit, his posture rigid and commanding.

"Mr. Ford..."

Suddenly possessed by a reckless burst of audacity, Sierra called out to him. "Are you and my sister..."

In that split second, Lydia's heart stopped. She turned to look at Xavier, completely horrified by what Sierra was implying.

Xavier halted. He turned his head slowly, casting a freezing, lethal glare at Sierra.

That single look was so terrifying it made Sierra stumble back three steps.

Everyone in high society threw themselves at Xavier Ford, and Sierra had certainly entertained the fantasy herself.

But she could never even get close to him.

It wasn't like with Frederick.

"Are you suggesting I have an interest in a married woman?"

Xavier's voice was frigid, laced with a dark, mocking amusement, as if he had just been told the most ridiculous joke on earth.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the wealthy socialites in the lobby erupted into scoffs and sneers, thoroughly disgusted by Sierra's accusation.

He was the absolute pinnacle of the elite. Why on earth would he lower himself to sleep with a married woman?

"No, no, that's not what I meant..." Sierra stammered, shrinking back.

Xavier's gaze swept over the crowd with glacial indifference before finally pulling away from her.

Watching him stride away, Lydia felt a strange pang. His cold dismissal reminded her of the ruthless insults he had thrown at her the first few times she had accidentally crashed into his arms.

She felt deeply humiliated, yet somehow, oddly disappointed.

"Frederick, did they pull the security footage yet?" Sierra's voice snapped Lydia out of her trance.

Down the hall, Xavier and Frederick brushed past each other—one leaving, the other returning.

Frederick stopped right in front of her.

Remembering they had checked the cameras, Lydia quietly held her breath.

Sierra had been screaming about Harrison all night, but the man on the tape was going to be Xavier!

"Yes."

Frederick's voice was dark and icy. "Play it, Caleb."

Caleb pulled out a laptop and immediately hit play on the footage.

Lydia stared unblinkingly at the screen.

The video showed her walking into the restroom. Moments later, Sierra crept in with a group of her socialite friends, lugging heavy buckets of water. Audio picked up the splashing of water and Lydia's terrified scream.

The footage continued to roll.

The crowd erupted into murmurs of absolute disgust, glaring at Sierra and her little entourage.

But Lydia and Sierra kept their eyes glued to the screen.

Suddenly, the feed cut to static black.

"Mr. Foster, Ms. Sutton. The remainder of the footage failed to save due to the sudden power outage," Caleb stated.

Hearing that, the crushing weight on Lydia's chest finally lifted.

Without missing a beat, Lydia grabbed a glass of water off the nearest cocktail table and hurled the contents directly into Sierra's face.

Refusing to waste another second of her life on them, Lydia turned to leave.

"Lydia, you still haven't answered me! Where did you get the dress?!"

"And how did you vanish from that bathroom?!"

Ignoring her completely, Lydia marched toward the doors but was intercepted by Caleb.

"Mrs. Foster, please wait and leave with Mr. Foster."

"The Chairman called. He demanded Mr. Foster escort you to the hospital for your treatment."

Not wanting to give Charles Foster any leverage, she got into the car.

Frederick climbed in a few minutes later, having thoroughly comforted Sierra.

Soon, the black Rolls-Royce was cruising down the neon-lit highway.

The second he sat down, his phone buzzed. It was Sierra.

"Alright. I'll have the boutique send the entire new seasonal collection to your house," he said, his voice sickeningly gentle, as if soothing a child.

Lydia sat in total silence, enduring the nauseating display.

Only two more days. Then she would never have to deal with this again.

Frederick hung up. Noticing Lydia sitting stiffly in the corner, he demanded coldly, "Where did you get the clothes?"

A cynical, exhausted smile pulled at her lips. "I am Mrs. Foster. Luxury boutiques always send me their unreleased collections first."

He reached over, his fingers brutally gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

"If you know your place, then stay the hell away from Harrison. Focus on being a proper wife," he warned.