The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 352

Shangri-La Paris, 17th-floor corridor.

The elevator doors slid open, and Lyra stepped out, her arm looped through Christian's. A picture-perfect smile was still plastered on her face, but her eyes were as hollow as bottomless pits.

Christian said nothing, letting her hold onto him as he walked forward mechanically.

When they reached the door of room 1705, Lyra stopped.

She turned to face him.

"Christian," her voice was soft, laced with exhaustion, "are you... alright tonight?"

Christian stared at her, offering no response.

Lyra waited a few agonizing seconds. When he didn't answer, she bit her lip and pressed on.

"I know tonight was a shock for you. It was for me too. But Christian, we're a team. No matter what happens, I'll always stand by your side."

He remained completely silent.

He just looked at her, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

Lyra's heart began to plummet.

She took a deep breath, desperately forcing the smile to stay on her face.

"Get some rest, then. Tomorrow we have to... fly back home."

She stood on her tiptoes, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Christian turned his head away.

The kiss landed in empty space.

Lyra froze.

She stood there, her lips still slightly parted, looking like a shattered sculpture.

Christian didn't even look at her. He pulled out his keycard and unlocked the door to 1707.

"Goodnight," he said.

The door clicked shut.

Lyra stood rooted to the spot, staring at the heavy mahogany.

Her fingers slowly curled inward.

She clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white, a suffocating wave of despair washing over her.

She stood there for a very long time.

Finally, she turned, swiped her card for 1705, and walked in.

—

The lights in the room were blazing.

Lyra paused in confusion.

She specifically remembered turning them off before they left for the gala.

Before she could process it, a voice floated over from the direction of the sofa.

"Hello, Lyra. It's been a while."

The voice was light and melodious, yet it pierced Lyra's ears like an icy needle.

She whipped her head around.

Someone was sitting on the sofa.

A woman.

She wore a striking red dress, as vibrant as a blazing inferno. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, her makeup flawless, her lips painted the same dangerous shade of crimson.

She sat with her legs crossed, a glass of red wine in her hand, swirling it with agonizing slowness.

The ambient light cast dramatic shadows across her face.

And those eyes were staring directly at Lyra.

She was smiling.

But the smile was as cold as absolute zero.

Lyra's pupils dilated in sheer shock.

"Lydia?!"

She picked up her glass and took a delicate sip.

"Take a seat. You must be tired from standing."

Lyra didn't sit.

She just glared at her, her eyes burning with caution and fury.

"What are you doing here?"

Lydia raised an eyebrow.

"Just coming to visit," she said. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

She scanned Lyra from head to toe, an indecipherable smirk playing on her lips.

"And it looks like... you're not doing so great."

Lyra's face paled.

Lydia continued, "I was waiting downstairs a moment ago and happened to see you two come back. Christian didn't exactly seem warm towards you."

Christian.

The casual use of his name felt like a knife twisting in Lyra's chest.

She vividly remembered the way Lydia used to look at him.

She remembered her sister's calculated little moves, the subtle attempts to get close.

She thought sending Lydia out of the country had solved the problem for good.

But now—

Lydia caught her expression and laughed.

"Relax. I got over him a long time ago," she said casually. "I saw him at the gala tonight."

Lyra's eyes widened in alarm.

"How do you know about tonight?"

Lydia didn't answer the question. She simply went on: