The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 116

The air in the living room froze solid for a full ten seconds.

Lyra stood in the doorway, her frail frame trembling visibly beneath the oversized men's shirt. The collar was askew, baring a pale shoulder and collarbone littered with unmistakable, scarlet marks of passion that screamed out in the dim morning light. The hem of the shirt barely concealed her upper thighs, exposing her slender legs. Faint bruising marred the skin just above her knees, clear evidence of a punishing grip. She stood barefoot on the freezing hardwood, her toes curling inward with anxiety.

Her long hair was a wild mess, tumbling over her shoulders and framing her face. Several damp strands clung to her deathly pale cheeks, glued there by fresh tears. Her eyes were violently swollen, her nose flushed, and her bloodless lips quivered nonstop. Those eyes, usually warm and inviting, were now brimming with tears, her gaze unfocused and utterly terrified, like a wounded bird staring down the barrel of a gun. She gripped the front of the shirt so fiercely her knuckles were white, clinging to the fabric as if it were the only thing keeping her from collapsing entirely.

It was an image designed to elicit immediate horror. Anyone looking at her would instantly assume she had been subjected to the most brutal, unyielding force, leaving her drowning in shock and profound shame.

The pure rage and shock on Penelope's face receded like the tide the instant she processed Lyra's tragic state. In its place bloomed a complicated mix of suspicion, sudden realization, and... a very deeply buried flicker of profound relief.

"Lyra? Is it really you?" Penelope's tone softened involuntarily, though she still sounded rigid. She quickly stepped forward, completely ignoring her son, who stood rigidly with the photos crushed in his hand. She reached out, gently wrapping her hands around Lyra's freezing, trembling fingers. "What on earth... what happened? Why are you here? And why... why are you in this state?" Her eyes traced the dark bruises across Lyra's skin, her brow furrowing deeply in concern. The venomous hatred she had just been aiming at "Evelyn" magically failed to carry over to Lyra.

Hearing his mother's harsh demand, he rubbed his throbbing temples in sheer frustration. His voice was raw. "Mom, I drank too much last night. I can't remember anything. Lyra brought me back, and then..." He trailed off, glancing at Lyra as she wept into her hands. Those blurry, blistering flashes from the night before assaulted his mind again, making his throat constrict. "I have no idea what happened after that. But the photos..."

"Forget the photos for a minute!" Penelope snapped, refusing to brook any argument. In her mind, the logic was perfectly sound: the photos proved Evelyn slipped him the drug, resulting in both her son and Lyra becoming the tragic "victims." Evelyn obviously intended to ruin Christian or had some other devious plot in mind, but through a stroke of fate, Lyra ended up bearing the brunt of it. The details needed sorting out, but the core narrative was crystal clear to her. Evelyn was the malicious mastermind. Lyra was the innocent bystander. And her son... was the out-of-control "aggressor" (though completely justified, since he had been drugged).

Her brain whirred as a brilliant plan crystallized. She patted the back of Lyra's hand and turned to Christian, her tone turning to absolute steel. "Since the damage is done, and it was the result of such a foul scheme, there's no point in hiding from it! Christian, you and Evelyn are divorced. You've crossed this line with Lyra, and she has already given the Lancaster family a son. By every moral and logical standard, you owe Lyra an official commitment!"