The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 324

Backstage, inside the dressing room.

Lyra sat paralyzed before the mirror, her hands still shaking uncontrollably. Her reflection remained flawlessly beautiful, but the sheer, unadulterated terror swimming in her eyes was impossible to hide.

The door swung open, and Julian hurried inside.

"Lyra!" He stepped up behind her, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders and meeting her gaze in the mirror. "That was spectacular. Truly breathtaking."

Lyra forced a trembling, unnatural smile. "Don't humor me, Julian. I botched several transitions. I know I did."

Julian let out a soft sigh, gently squeezing her shoulders.

"Given your current condition, pulling off a performance of that caliber is a massive triumph." He paused, his tone laced with genuine affection. "Lyra, you push yourself entirely too hard. Sometimes, showing yourself a little grace isn't a crime."

Lyra dropped her gaze, unable to form a response.

Julian watched her for a moment in silence before deliberately shifting to a much lighter tone.

"Your fiancé is sitting down in the third row. I had one of the ushers slip him in earlier. He looked completely mesmerized. Go ahead and get changed, and head out to see him. I'll have the understudies handle the remaining acts. You need to rest."

Lyra snapped her head up, utterly stunned. "Julian..."

"That's enough," Julian waved her off with a fond smile. "I practically raised you in this company. If I don't look out for you, who will? Go on."

A hot prickle of tears stung Lyra's eyes, and she gave him a fierce, deeply grateful nod.

——

Twenty minutes later.

Lyra had changed into an elegant, sweeping beige gown, a soft grey cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders. Her heels clicked softly as she slipped back into the main theater.

The lights were still low, the second act unfolding beautifully on stage. The elite crowd was completely captivated, the only sound the occasional, hushed murmur of approval.

Keeping her head down, she slipped silently down the aisle toward the third row.

Christian was right where Julian had said, his sharp profile illuminated by the faint glow of the stage lights. Dressed immaculately in a dark charcoal suit, his right hand was casually resting on the armrest, completely swallowed by a stark black leather glove.

Lyra sank into the seat beside him, lightly slipping her hand over his.

Christian turned his head, his dark eyes sweeping over her.

"Finished dancing?" he asked, his voice entirely devoid of emotion.

Lyra nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I'm exhausted," she whispered. "I let the others take over the rest of the show."

Christian let out a noncommittal hum, offering nothing else.

Resting against him, Lyra felt the paralyzing knot of anxiety in her chest finally begin to loosen.

But she was entirely unaware that Christian's gaze had already left her, cutting straight across the massive theater to zero in on a specific VIP box on the second floor.

A woman was sitting there.

He couldn't see her clearly, but he felt the undeniable pull of her presence. It was her.

——

Clustered around them were various members of their respective dynasties.

Louis slouched lazily in a chair beside his grandmother, entirely engrossed in his phone. Catching sight of Evelyn and Madeline entering, he flashed them a blindingly bright grin.

Catherine Astor sat elegantly on Lady Elara's other side, the picture of serene, aristocratic perfection.

Leon sat slightly apart in a plush armchair, casually swirling a glass of dark red wine. Beside him sat Chloe Fontane, wrapped in a garish champagne-colored gown. A colossal ruby necklace hung heavily around her neck, and she looked as though she had tried to wear the entire contents of a bank vault all at once.

The Fontane Family was purely new money. A decade ago, they were entirely irrelevant. Chloe's father, Pierre Fontane, had miraculously secured a massively lucrative Middle Eastern oil contract five years prior, rocketing them into billionaire status practically overnight. But trapped in this room—surrounded by centuries of pure, unadulterated aristocratic blood—her desperate, jewel-encrusted display looked brutally tacky.

Chloe, however, remained blissfully unaware. She sat with her chin tilted up, surveying the room with the fragile, hyper-defensive arrogance typical of the newly rich.

Evelyn sat smoothly down next to Lady Elara, Madeline sticking close to her side.

Lady Elara immediately reached over, taking the Duchess's hand and murmuring something with a soft smile. The Duchess listened intently, offering the occasional nod while casting deeply appreciative glances Evelyn's way.

"Sister, this is the Iris I've been telling you about," Lady Elara said, gesturing to Evelyn with overwhelming pride. "If it weren't for her three years ago, I wouldn't be sitting here with you today."

The Duchess locked eyes with Evelyn, a warm, genuine smile gracing her sharp features.

"I've heard nothing but incredible things," she said smoothly. "I am deeply fond of your designs."

Evelyn inclined her head with effortless grace. "You're too kind, Your Grace."

The Duchess nodded in approval, her gaze drifting toward the heavy mahogany doors with a flicker of eager anticipation.

"Speaking of brilliant artists, I invited a very special guest tonight," she said, turning back to her sister with a smile. "That breathtaking dancer who performed *Giselle* tonight—Lyra Langford. Did you know she's known in the Parisian ballet circuit as 'The Sprite of the Stage'? I've followed her career for years. Tonight, I finally get to meet her face-to-face."