The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 293

Maddy stared at her, completely stunned.

Suddenly, she felt a little childish.

All her sarcastic comebacks, the thrill of defending her best friend—it all felt so trivial compared to Evelyn's genuine, untouchable indifference.

"I'm sorry, Evie," she murmured, looking down. "Did I cause trouble for you?"

Evelyn turned back, saw Maddy's deflated expression, and reached out to affectionately ruffle her hair.

"No," she said softly. "As long as you had fun."

Maddy looked up, her eyes lighting up again. "Really?"

"Really." Evelyn nodded. "But you don't need to do that next time. They aren't worth wasting your breath on."

Maddy nodded vigorously. "Got it! Lesson learned!"

She leaned back into the sofa, thought for a moment, and couldn't help but laugh. "To be honest, though, Lyra's face was priceless. She looked completely sick! And Christian, he couldn't even say a word, just stood there staring at you. You should have seen his face, tsk tsk tsk..."

Evelyn let her ramble without interrupting.

Outside, the sun was shining brightly.

A plane taxied down the runway, preparing for takeoff.

—

France, on the outskirts of Paris.

A sprawling private estate lay hidden deep within a forest of sycamore trees. Wrought iron gates slowly opened, leading to a gravel driveway that wound through perfectly manicured French gardens. Fountains sparkled in the afternoon sun, and marble statues stood quietly among the flowers.

In the estate's sprawling backyard.

Two women were playing golf on the lush green lawn.

The woman in the front wore a cream-colored knit sweater and light brown slacks. Her hair was loosely gathered at the nape of her neck, exposing a sliver of pale skin. She gripped the golf club with flawless posture, her focus locked on the distant hole.

The woman behind her was dressed in a royal blue athletic top, black leggings, and white sneakers. She held a club as well but made no move to swing, merely watching the other woman's back.

"I heard Lyra is coming to France," the woman in blue remarked, her tone casual, like they were discussing the weather.

The woman in front paused.

It was only for a fraction of a second. Then, she swung.

The club traced a beautiful arc, sending the white ball soaring high over the green, landing with pinpoint accuracy right near the hole.

She straightened up, tracking the ball's trajectory, a slow, predatory smile curling on her lips.

"Is she?" she murmured. Her voice was soft, laced with a lazy drawl, yet it sent an inexplicable chill down the spine.

The woman in blue watched her in silence.

"Then I must prepare a proper welcome for Lyra," she said.

Her tone was light, airy, as if remarking on the beautiful weather.

But there was absolutely no warmth in her eyes.

The woman in blue looked at her and smiled in return.

"Do you need my help?"

Lydia shook her head, handing the glass back to the maid and picking up her club again.

"No," she replied. "I'll handle this myself."

She bent down, adjusted her stance, and locked her gaze on the distant hole.

She swung.

The ball launched into the air, tracing a flawless arc against the backdrop of blue skies and white clouds.

With a satisfying thud, it dropped straight into the hole.

Lydia straightened up, her smile deepening as she watched the green.

"It's been a long time," she whispered, her voice carrying off into the wind. "Lyra."