The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 341

***

Louis de Bourbon-Montpensier stood a short distance away, still holding his half-finished glass of champagne.

When he had seen Evelyn walk toward Charles, he had nearly dropped his drink.

"Evelyn..." he murmured. "What are you doing?"

He had heard all the frantic whispering.

The guards had guns.

Charles despised women.

Even royal princesses had been forced to kneel.

His heart was in his throat.

He wanted to rush over, but his legs felt like lead. He couldn't take a single step.

It wasn't that he didn't want to; he was paralyzed by sheer panic.

He watched Evelyn take step after step, watched the bodyguard raise an arm to block her, watched that formidable human wall stand before her like an immovable mountain—

And then, the mountain parted.

Louis's jaw dropped.

He watched Evelyn walk through, watched Charles extend his hand, watched the infamously ruthless old man offer Evelyn that incredibly warm smile.

"Holy shit..." he whispered.

***

Madeline Thorne stood in the corner, her grip on her champagne flute so tight she nearly shattered it.

From the second Evelyn started walking toward Charles, Madeline felt as though her heart was being squeezed in a vise.

She had heard the gossip, too.

The guards were armed.

Royal princesses had knelt before him.

And that throat-slitting gesture...

Her mind blanked out, consumed by a single frantic thought—

What do I do?

What do I do?

She desperately wanted to sprint over and drag Evelyn back, but her legs were rooted to the floor. She couldn't move an inch.

She wanted to scream, but her throat clamped shut, refusing to let out a sound.

All she could do was stand there and watch Evelyn walk forward, watch the bodyguard raise his hand to stop her—

And then, the bodyguard stepped aside.

Madeline was stunned.

"Yeah, she does," he said.

***

Charles was still holding Evelyn's hand, about to say something, when a booming voice echoed from the back of the crowd.

"Charles! You old bastard!"

Every head snapped toward the sound.

A white-haired gentleman strode out from the parted crowd. Dressed in a sharp, dark brown suit, he carried himself with an imposing, energetic swagger despite his age. A hearty laugh boomed from him, though his eyes were as sharp as a hawk's.

The crowd automatically cleared a path for him.

Someone whispered in awe, "It's Alain de Montebello!"

"The Patriarch of Montebello?"

"Yes, that's him. He and Mr. Charles have been friends for decades."

Alain marched right up to Charles, looked him up and down, and burst into another roaring laugh.

"You didn't even tell me you were coming, and the second you show up, you cause a massive scene?" He clapped Charles on the shoulder. "Look at this! You've terrified half the room!"

Charles looked at him, a rare hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Alain," he said. "You're as loud as ever."

"Loud?" Alain glared at him playfully. "This is passion! A cold block of ice like you wouldn't understand."