The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 118

Click! Click! Click-click-click!

A blinding explosion of camera flashes erupted like a barrage of silent lightning strikes, instantly incinerating the shadows of the narrow hallway in a punishing, stark-white glare. A tsunami of chaotic noise crashed over him a second later—the frantic shouting of reporters, the aggressive clatter of photographers fighting for angles, and the violent shoving of a mob desperate for a scoop.

Caught entirely off guard, the blinding burst hit Christian directly in the face, wiping his vision out in an ocean of pure white. He instinctively threw his arm up to shield his eyes, stumbling backward until his spine slammed hard against the half-open door.

"Mr. Lancaster! Mr. Lancaster, look right here!"

"Can you confirm if you and Lyra Langford spent the night together in this apartment?"

"Does Penelope Lancaster's presence here this morning signify that the Lancaster family has officially accepted Ms. Langford?"

"We have sources claiming your divorce from Evelyn Sullivan was directly caused by Ms. Langford! Is this true?"

"Ms. Langford! Ms. Langford, please give us a statement!"

"Mrs. Lancaster, what is your stance on your son's relationship with Ms. Langford?"

Questions rained down on him like hailstones. Microphones were shoved so violently forward they practically grazed his skin. The press pool surged aggressively toward the doorway, desperate to breach his final line of defense and shove their camera lenses straight into the apartment.

Christian lowered his arm, squinting through the burning glare, his pupils constricting with absolute fury. The scene finally snapped into focus. The hallway was completely barricaded by reporters from dozens of different outlets. A terrifying array of cameras were trained directly on him, and worse, aimed over his shoulder, hungrily trying to devour whatever scandalous secrets lay inside his home.

An icy, lethal rage exploded from the depths of his chest. This was absolutely not a coincidence! The security at The Pinnacle Apartments was impenetrable. How the hell did a mob of journalists perfectly orchestrate an ambush at this exact moment? The very morning his mother showed up, right when Lyra was standing there half-naked?!

He was being set up!

"Who told you I was here?!" Christian snarled, his voice dropping to a terrifying, suppressed growl. His lethal gaze slashed across the swarm of rabid faces. "Where did you get your information?"

The reporters exchanged rapid glances, completely ignoring his lethal interrogation. A female journalist in a baseball cap shoved her mic forward. "Mr. Lancaster, please answer the question! What is the nature of your current relationship with Lyra Langford? Are you two officially dating?"

Another reporter immediately piggybacked off her. "Rumor has it you and Ms. Langford are getting serious! Are there wedding bells in the near future? Will little Leo finally take the Lancaster surname?"

The barrage of questions escalated, each one more intrusive than the last. They ruthlessly zeroed in on "relationships," "marriage," and "children," deliberately burying his demand for answers. It was terrifyingly obvious the entire press pool had arrived with a premeditated narrative—they were here to finalize his "romance" and broadcast an impending "wedding" with Lyra.

Christian's expression darkened into something murderous. He shoved the microphones away from his face. "No comment. Get the hell out of my building right now, or I will have security and the police drag you out."

But to a horde of journalists starved for a front-page scandal, his threats meant absolutely nothing. Instead of backing off, his evasion only convinced them they had struck gold, making their ambush even more vicious.

"Ms. Langford, please confirm the nature of your relationship with Mr. Lancaster!"

The camera lenses aggressively swarmed the entryway, hungry for more.

The second the strobes went off, Lyra let out a terrified whimper. She curled up on the sofa, burying her face in her hands and shaking violently. The oversized shirt hiked up just enough to flash the bruising on her legs to the cameras, practically serving as a smoking gun. But beneath her trembling hands, her heart was racing with triumph. It was happening! The media guillotine had finally dropped! The Architect had executed the plan flawlessly!

Through the gaps in her fingers, she secretly watched Christian getting swallowed alive by the press and Penelope vibrating with rage. Now, the whole world was a witness.

"Lyra, don't be afraid! Keep your head down!" Penelope hissed urgently, throwing herself in front of the cameras' line of sight. Her mind was spinning out of control. Who had tipped off the media? But right now, stopping the bleeding was the only thing that mattered! She couldn't let these jackals keep digging, or God only knew what grotesque headlines would dominate the news tomorrow!

She looked at her son, cornered and livid at the doorway. She looked back at the "petrified," half-naked Lyra—which, to the paparazzi, was as good as a signed confession. Then she looked at the mob in the hallway, swelling by the second and completely unbothered by threats. In a split second, Penelope made a brutal, executive decision. She had to control the narrative right now!

"Cyrus!" Penelope barked.

Cyrus, who had retreated slightly down the hall, answered immediately. "Ma'am, security and PR are already en route."

Penelope took a sharp breath, straightening her spine and smoothing out her blazer. She forced the iron composure of the Lancaster matriarch back onto her features, even if she couldn't entirely mask the panic in her eyes. She gently patted Lyra's shuddering shoulder, whispering, "Don't be afraid." Then, she marched directly toward the firing squad at the door.