The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 115

Was it... Evelyn?

Had she drugged him?

Why?!

If she hadn't wanted the divorce, why had she signed the papers without a fight? If she hated him, why resort to this? Slipping him an aphrodisiac... was she really capable of something so dirty and underhanded?

A barrage of questions and sharp, agonizing pangs detonated in his chest. He gripped the photos so hard his knuckles turned white, his fingertips trembling uncontrollably. He refused to believe it, yet the "proof" was staring him right in the face. Had her quiet, indifferent demeanor over the past three years been nothing but a facade? Was everything after the divorce, including getting cozy with Sebastian Thorne, just a twisted act? Was her ultimate endgame to crawl back into his life using this vile method, or perhaps... to get pregnant?

At the thought of a "child," Christian's heart seized again. Through the absolute chaos in his mind sprouted an indescribable panic mixed with... a faint, utterly shameful thrill that he immediately despised himself for feeling. He desperately wanted to drag Evelyn in front of him and demand to know if she just couldn't bear to lose him. Because if that were the truth, he could forgive the drug. They could remarry...

"Do you see it now?" Penelope's icy voice dragged him out of his spiraling thoughts. Her manicured finger aggressively tapped the photo right over Evelyn's face. "This is the lovely wife you brought into our home! Vivian's perfectly raised daughter! Acting so pure and utterly above it all, but deep down, she's exactly like her mother, harboring nothing but cheap, filthy schemes! Refusing to let go even after the divorce, stooping to these vile tricks! What is her goal? To use her womb as a ticket back into the Lancaster family? Let me tell you something, Christian. Over my dead body!"

Cyrus stood silently to the side. Watching Christian staring blankly at the photos with a rapidly shifting expression, and listening to Penelope's escalating curses, the old butler's frown deepened. He had served the Lancaster family for decades; he prided himself on reading people. Mrs. Lancaster—Evelyn—had always struck him as a remarkably calm and detached woman. Her eyes were always clear and resolute. She didn't seem the type to harbor such venomous malice. Besides, if she truly wanted to drug the man, why wait until after the divorce? Why execute it in a bustling restaurant, leaving such glaring evidence behind? The timing and the angle of these photographs were entirely too convenient.

But he was merely a butler. Penelope was in a blind rage, and Christian was clearly spiraling. Voicing baseless suspicions right now was out of the question. Cyrus simply lowered his head, masking the deep reservations in his eyes.

The master bedroom door had opened a crack. Lyra stood in the doorway, drowning in a man's oversized white button-down shirt. The hem barely covered her thighs, leaving her smooth legs bare save for a few glaring, reddish bruises. Her long hair hung in a chaotic mess around a face as pale as a ghost. Her eyes were swollen and red, her lips quivering faintly. She clutched the collar of the shirt tightly to her chest with one hand, gripping the doorframe with the other so hard her knuckles were bone-white. She looked entirely unsteady on her feet, the living embodiment of a woman who had suffered profound trauma and indignity.

Every insult, every ounce of apocalyptic fury Penelope had stockpiled for "Evelyn" died on her tongue the second she laid eyes on Lyra and heard her voice. Her eyes widened comically, the image of Lyra's disheveled, pitiful, devastatingly wronged figure reflecting in her pupils. She was struck completely dumb by sheer, blinding shock.

Her mouth fell open, her finger still pointing accusingly at the bedroom door. But she couldn't form a single word, managing only a short, breathless gasp of absolute disbelief:

"Lyra...?! Why is it you?!"