The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 154

Sebastian watched that figure stand up.

His world suddenly shrank, his retinas permanently burned with the image of that khaki-clad silhouette walking toward the elevated stage—Evelyn.

She didn't walk fast; her pace was steady, even carrying a kind of deliberate grace.

Sebastian felt his breathing become unusually difficult. The heart in his chest, so accustomed to precise calculations and cold control, was now hammering against his ribs with an unfamiliar, chaotic force. Thump, thump, thump... each beat was so heavy it made his eardrums throb.

She stepped onto the stage. The old chief's deeply wrinkled face broke into a smile of pure, almost childlike joy. With trembling hands, he reverently placed the massive floral tribute of lilies, acacia, and unknown herbs upon her head. The vibrant, fresh flowers and lush greenery framed her bare face, which seemed to radiate its own luminous glow. To Sebastian, the scene was bizarrely surreal, yet imbued with a soul-shaking sense of the divine.

Then, she took the rustic wooden microphone.

First, she spoke two clear words in Swahili. Her voice, echoing through the speakers, wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally steady and clear, carrying a power that could soothe any restlessness.

The translator beside Sebastian almost instinctively whispered the synchronization: "...Thank you very much."

Next, she switched to English. Her gaze leveled straight ahead, not deliberately seeking out any focal point, just looking out at the land and the people. "I am just a doctor."

After that sentence, the entire venue descended into an even deeper silence. There was only the sound of the wind and the distant cries of wildlife.

Sebastian's heart lurched violently at the words, "I am just a doctor," followed by an even more furious pounding. He saw her take a shallow breath before speaking again. This time, she reverted to Swahili. Her pace was even, yet it carried a firm, declarative rhythm.

Sebastian was completely deaf to the translation now. His world seemed to have been muted, blocking out all irrelevant noise—the admiring whispers of the executive beside him, the clicking shutters of the reporters behind him, even the persistent voice of the translator right next to his ear... it all faded into a distant blur.

The only thing that was clear was Evelyn's voice speaking Swahili from the high stage. The volume wasn't high, but it felt magical, piercing through all the background noise and drilling straight into his ears, right into his heart. For the first time, he realized that when spoken by a specific person, this language could be so... beautiful. No, more than beautiful. It carried a heavy, soul-piercing weight, like the richest vintage, like clear water pouring over thousand-year-old bronze.

"...Mr. Thorne? Mr. Thorne?" Lance Sterling's hushed voice came from beside him, carrying a hint of subtle urgency. Lance lightly nudged his arm.

Sebastian didn't react at all. His body leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the stage, his thin lips pressed tightly together, his jawline rigid. This posture didn't look like the Sebastian who always maintained a measured distance and total control no matter the situation. He looked more like a pilgrim whose entire soul had been seized by some grand vision or profound revelation.

Lance's heart sank. He had followed Sebastian for ten years and had never seen his boss lose his composure like this. Even in the most harrowing acquisition battles or the most critical moments, Sebastian's eyes were always clear, his mind always sharp. But now... he followed Sebastian's gaze to the "Dr. Rose" on stage receiving the tribe's highest honors, and understanding dawned on him, though his worry only deepened.