The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 114

Just as Christian rested his hand on the doorknob, the relentless thudding shook the frame again. Bang! Bang! Bang!

He yanked the apartment door open. Between the splitting hangover and his boiling, aimless frustration, his expression was lethal. "Who the hell is it?! Do you have any idea what time—"

The words died in his throat.

Standing on the threshold was his mother, Penelope, impeccably dressed in a pristine Chanel suit with flawless makeup. Yet, the eyes that usually sparkled with sophisticated grace were now hardened like ice, glaring at him with unrestrained fury and a chaotic blend of sheer disappointment and urgent panic. A half-step behind her stood Cyrus, the Lancaster family's seasoned butler, looking gravely serious in his pressed dark suit, his gaze lowered as he gripped a manila envelope.

Christian's rage vanished, replaced by profound shock. "Mom? What are you doing here?" He automatically shifted his stance to block her view of the disaster area that was his living room, warning bells ringing in his head. How did she even know he was here? He barely ever stayed at The Pinnacle Apartments; the list of people who knew about it could be counted on one hand.

Penelope completely ignored his question. She shoved past him with such force that Christian, already unsteady on his feet, stumbled backward. She marched straight into the living room, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floors like rapid gunfire.

The apartment still reeked of stale alcohol and the unmistakable, lingering scent of their passion. The curtains were drawn tight, casting the space in shadows. A woman's coat—Lyra's—was tossed carelessly over the sofa. Empty glasses and an overturned water bottle littered the coffee table. To Penelope, the scene practically screamed the very thing she had feared.

"Mom, please, let me explain..." Christian hurried after her, reaching for her arm.

Penelope slapped his hand away and spun around, her chest heaving with rage. Her gaze slashed across his haggard face and his wrinkled shirt like a switchblade, before sweeping over the chaotic room. Finally, her eyes locked onto the closed master bedroom door as if trying to burn a hole through the wood. When she spoke, her voice trembled from the effort of keeping her fury in check, but her words were absolute ice.

"Explain? What is there to explain, Christian?! Look at yourself! Look at this place! If I had arrived a second later, were you planning to drag the Lancaster name, along with everything your father and grandfather built, through the mud for that shameless harlot?!"

He tore open the seal and slid out a stack of glossy photographs.

One glance was all it took for his pupils to constrict violently.

The background of the photos was the second-floor corridor of The Zenith, time-stamped from last night. In the shots, Evelyn was dressed in a cream-colored dress, standing in profile as she leaned in to whisper to a waiter carrying a tray. The angle was tricky, but the resolution was razor-sharp. He could clearly see Evelyn's raised hand, her fingertips holding something minuscule right above a glass of water on the tray. The next photo showed the same waiter carrying that tray toward The Whispering Pines Suite. The final photo captured the waiter’s profile right as he was about to enter the private dining room.

Boom—!

It felt as if a rush of scalding blood had shot straight to Christian's brain, leaving a deafening ring in his ears, immediately followed by the icy plunge of utter terror. The time, the location, the people, the actions caught on film—the logical chain of events was terrifyingly solid. His unnatural, suffocating heat from last night, the dizziness, the blackout... Every lingering sensation and fragmented memory suddenly tied directly into these horrifying pictures.