The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 187

They were real.

There was no denying them.

"Lyra," Vivian's voice suddenly grew distant and cold, "I've got things to deal with on my end, so I'm hanging up. You... just figure this out yourself."

The line went dead.

Lyra stared blankly at her phone screen before violently hurling it at the wall. With a sharp crash, the phone completely shattered into pieces.

She slumped onto the carpet, pulling her knees to her chest as her entire body trembled.

It was over.

It was all over.

Her so-called best friend Vivian was completely useless. The media couldn't be bought off. Christian had definitely seen the news, and tomorrow when they met... what would he ask? Would he even believe her?

No, he wouldn't.

The photos were too real, the timeline too flawless. A simple background check would reveal exactly the kind of life she had lived abroad.

What was she going to do... What could she do...

Suddenly, a person flashed into her mind.

The mysterious man who had helped her handle the fallout from the drugging incident and successfully pinned the blame on Evelyn.

Yes, she had to call him!

Like a drowning woman grasping at a lifeline, Lyra scrambled up from the floor, rushed to her desk, and yanked open a drawer to pull out a backup phone. With shaking fingers, she powered it on and dialed the unsaved number.

---

At a private tea house in the eastern part of the city.

Julian St. Claire sat across from a man dressed in traditional black Chinese attire. The two were quietly sipping tea, steam curling gracefully into the air.

The man's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. "It's Lyra."

Julian set down his teacup. "You saw the news?"

"Should I answer? Given her current situation... should we just drop her?"

"Drop her?" Julian chuckled softly. "Doesn't she still have a trump card in her belly?"

The Architect looked thoughtful.

"This woman is far from simple." Julian toyed with his teacup. "I recently found out that her life abroad wasn't just messy. The people she associated with... are quite fascinating."

"Care to elaborate?"

Julian didn't answer directly. "Take the call first. Coming to someone's rescue when they're truly desperate is the best way to ensure their loyalty."

The Architect nodded, pressed answer, and put the phone on speaker.

"Help me! The news just broke! Everything I did abroad is all over the internet!" Lyra's voice was frantic, trembling with tears.

The Architect's tone remained utterly calm. "Don't panic. Take a breath and explain. What news?"

Lyra hysterically recounted the entire situation.

"Calm down." The Architect's voice was steady and commanding. "Just because the photos are real doesn't mean the narrative is. In the court of public opinion, the truth doesn't matter. What matters is who can spin the most compelling story."

The tea house returned to a serene silence.

Julian picked up his teacup. "You arranged that flawlessly."

The Architect smiled. "She didn't have any other choice."

"This woman is much more useful than I anticipated." Julian's gaze deepened. "That bankrupt man she knew abroad... used to be an agent for an underground casino in Europe. Even though he's a nobody now, the network she tapped into through him... is incredibly interesting."

The Architect's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Make sure you take good care of her." Julian stood up. "As long as she remains by Christian's side, we'll have endless opportunities."

He walked over to the window, gazing out at the night skyline, an icy smirk curving on his lips.

On the other end of the line, after hanging up, Lyra sat at her vanity, staring at her pale reflection as she began touching up her makeup.

Foundation to cover the tear tracks, a subtle lipstick to bring back her color, eyeliner carefully drawn to make her look devastatingly pitiful.

She practiced her smile in the mirror—a perfectly crafted smile that screamed grievance yet feigned incredible strength.

She had to put on the performance of a lifetime when she saw Christian tomorrow.

For herself, and for... the unborn leverage she was carrying.

She caressed her stomach, her gaze hardening with sheer determination.

The truth didn't matter.

All that mattered was who had the last laugh.