The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 264

"What is she doing in San Francisco?"

His voice wasn't loud. In fact, it was terrifyingly calm. But Miles had worked for him for eight years, and he knew exactly what that tone meant—the calmer Christian appeared, the more dangerous the storm brewing beneath the surface.

"The investigators said..." Miles swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. "The emergency patient Dr. Sullivan is treating is at The Bayview Retreat. The patient is Sebastian Thorne's mother."

Christian's grip on his phone tightened so hard his knuckles turned white.

Sebastian Thorne's mother.

Sebastian Thorne.

The man who had constantly hovered around Evelyn after their divorce. The man who had suddenly stepped up to defend her at his father's birthday banquet. The extravagant gala in Geneva. There were no coincidences in this world, only calculated moves.

His mother falls ill, and Evelyn flies all the way from New York to San Francisco, abandoning her own hospitalized grandfather just to play nursemaid to a complete stranger?

The corner of Christian's mouth slowly curled up.

It was a faint, shallow smile, but it sent a violent shiver down Miles's spine.

"Interesting," Christian murmured.

He didn't say another word. He simply raised his right hand, pressing his index and middle fingers together, and gave Miles a subtle, beckoning gesture.

Miles froze for a fraction of a second before scrambling to react.

He reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a pack of Christian's preferred cigarettes—an exclusive, private-reserve brand that money couldn't buy. He tapped one out and offered it with both hands.

Christian took the cigarette, pinching it between his fingers.

Miles produced a lighter. With a sharp click, a steady blue flame flared to life.

Christian tipped his head forward, leaning into the fire. The warm glow washed over his sharp features, softening the hard lines of his face, yet the light couldn't penetrate the pitch-black abyss of his eyes.

The tobacco caught, emitting a faint, crackling hiss.

He straightened up and took a long, slow drag.

The smoke flooded his lungs, bringing a harsh, burning ache. He held it for several seconds before slowly exhaling.

A thick plume of pale smoke drifted from his lips, rising and curling through the air, blurring his profile. His face was obscured behind the gray haze, flickering in and out of focus like a reflection in frosted glass.

The hospital lobby remained a chaotic blur of motion. Orderlies rushed past pushing wheelchairs, nurses jogged by clutching clipboards, and anxious family members shouted over the noise, waving billing statements as they asked for directions.

No one paid any attention to the two men standing in the corner.

And no one could possibly know just how much violent emotion was suppressed in that single exhale.

As the ash grew heavy, Miles hastily pulled out a pocket ashtray and held it out.

Christian didn't even look at him. His gaze pierced straight through the dissipating smoke, locking onto the dull, overcast sky outside the glass doors.

"Back to the office," he ordered.

His voice had returned to its usual icy equilibrium, as if that drag of the cigarette had never happened.

"Right away, sir," Miles responded instantly.

Christian turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. His dress shoes clicked sharply against the polished marble floors, every step commanding and rhythmic, driven by a tempo only he could hear.

His posture was rigidly straight, his shoulders broad and imposing, his tailored suit completely free of wrinkles.

But Miles saw it.

The fingers holding the cigarette were completely white from the force of his grip.

The ember was still burning, but Christian had completely forgotten to take a second drag.

"Mr. Lancaster," Miles jogged to keep pace. "Should I look into her relationship with Mr. Thorne..."

"Do it." Christian crushed the cigarette out in a trash receptacle near the doors, the motion sharp and ruthless. "Dig into everything. I want every single detail."

Christian leaned back against the headrest, but the deep furrow between his brows never smoothed out.

The car cruised down the avenue, passing the towering luxury apartment building he and Evelyn had called home for three years. He didn't turn his head, didn't even open his eyes, but his hand subconsciously gripped the armrest in a vice-like hold.

His phone buzzed.

It was Miles's notification chime.

A moment later, Miles spoke up. "Mr. Lancaster, Ms. Langford replied. She said she'll be waiting for you at the bridal boutique at three o'clock."

Christian let out a low hum.

Outside, the apartment building was already fading into the distance.

He never looked back.

—

At that exact moment, in room 1217 of St. Jude's Medical Center.

The door was slightly ajar, letting in a sliver of dim afternoon light.

When Stephen pushed the door open, Arthur Sullivan was resting against the pillows, holding a yellowed, worn-out book. He was wearing his reading glasses, squinting as he struggled to make out the words. Hearing the noise, he slowly looked up.

"You're back," Arthur said, his tone as casual as if he were noting the weather.

Stephen hovered in the doorway, too afraid to step inside.

He had just been mercilessly dismissed by Christian by the elevators, brushed off like a beggar looking for a handout. The humiliation was still lodged tightly in his throat, making him hunch his shoulders in defeat.

"Dad," he rasped.

Arthur didn't respond. He removed his reading glasses, carefully folded the corner of the page, and set the book down on the nightstand.

The cover was so frayed the title was entirely illegible. It was a collection of fairy tales Evelyn had loved as a little girl—the ones Vivian Everly used to read to her every night. After Vivian passed away, Arthur had packed the book away, keeping it safe for twenty years.