The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 200

The VIP floor of St. Jude's Medical Center was so dead silent in the dead of night that the dripping of an IV bag could be heard echoing down the hall.

Dr. Jaxon emerged from the nurses' station clutching a stack of files. Seeing Evelyn still standing by the glass window outside the room, he instinctively softened his footsteps.

"Dr. S, Arthur's vitals have stabilized significantly," he walked up to her, speaking in a hushed tone. "You should go get some rest. The on-call doctors are keeping a close eye on him."

Evelyn turned around. The exhaustion was written plainly across her features, but her eyes remained razor-sharp. "Thank you, Dr. Jaxon. I'll stay just a little longer."

Dr. Jaxon hesitated, his gaze drifting to the phone she had left sitting on the windowsill. The screen was lit up, proudly displaying a breaking news notification: "Lancaster Heir's Scandalous Lover Lyra Langford Hospitalized: Severe Morning Sickness Suspected."

His brow furrowed slightly.

As the Chief of Obstetrics at St. Jude's, Dr. Jaxon couldn't care less about celebrity gossip. His world consisted entirely of patient files, surgeries, and medical journals. But the name "Lyra Langford" had been echoing through the hospital halls all week. After all, a woman booked into the VIP suite, with a Lancaster car permanently parked downstairs, and Christian Lancaster himself making personal visits—it was impossible not to notice.

He carefully studied Evelyn's expression, carefully weighing his next words. "Dr. S, um... the patient in VIP Room 3. I checked the chart, and her last name is Langford."

Evelyn looked up at him, her face totally blank.

Dr. Jaxon felt a surge of awkwardness but pushed through anyway. "I've heard some rumors... about her relationship with the Lancasters. If you need me to, I can look into her exact situation. Check what department she's being treated under, what her specific diagnosis is—"

"There's no need."

Evelyn cut him off, her voice as flat and unreadable as deep water.

She picked up her phone from the windowsill, pressed the lock button to kill the screen, and slipped it seamlessly into the pocket of her white coat. The motion was so casual and fluid, it was as if she had merely dismissed a spam notification about the weather.

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