The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 354

The Rothschild estate, indoor training facility.

The lights blazed brightly overhead.

It was a professional-grade gym spanning tens of thousands of square feet, the walls lined with various tactical weapons and training gear. Professional mats covered the floor, and the air was thick with the distinct metallic scent of iron and sweat.

Albert LeClerc stood in the center of the mat, his bare upper body gleaming like polished bronze under the harsh lights. Scars crawled across his chest and arms like jagged centipedes. He rolled his shoulders, the joints popping with sharp, cracking sounds.

Sebastian stood opposite him. He had ditched his suit jacket and was down to a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows to reveal his lean, defined forearms.

Lance stood on the sidelines, looking completely pale.

"Boss..." he called out nervously, his voice trembling. "Are you... sure you don't want to rethink this?"

Sebastian didn't even turn his head.

He simply kept his eyes locked on Albert, his expression perfectly calm.

Charles reclined in a lounge chair a short distance away, leisurely sipping a cup of black tea.

The butler stood directly behind him, his eyes equally fixed on the center of the room.

"Sir," the butler murmured softly. "It appears the young man has some training."

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

The butler narrowed his eyes, closely analyzing Sebastian's stance.

"Look at his form. Feet shoulder-width apart, center of gravity lowered, knees slightly bent. That isn't how a civilian prepares for a street brawl. He's formally trained."

Charles nodded, taking another sip of tea.

"Men from families like his can't rely entirely on bodyguards," he noted. "The business world is a battlefield. Sometimes, you need to know how to handle yourself."

The butler nodded in agreement. "Very true, sir."

In the ring, Albert had also noticed Sebastian's solid posture.

A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.

"Trained?" he asked.

Sebastian gave a curt nod.

"I studied mixed martial arts for a few years growing up. Later, while studying abroad, I trained in MMA for a while."

Albert chuckled.

The amusement faded, replaced by a glint of genuine focus.

"This just got a lot more interesting."

He dropped into a combat stance.

Sebastian mirrored him.

They stared each other down.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds—

Albert exploded forward!

He moved with the terrifying speed of a striking panther, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. A vicious right hook tore through the air, aimed directly at Sebastian's temple!

Sebastian slipped the punch, simultaneously driving a knee upward toward Albert's abdomen.

Albert twisted his torso, dodging the knee strike, and retaliated with a brutal spinning back elbow aimed right at Sebastian's spine!

Thud!

The impact sent Sebastian stumbling two steps forward, his back burning with agonizing pain.

But he didn't go down.

He spun back around, instantly resetting his guard.

A flash of approval appeared in Albert's eyes.

"Good reflexes," he praised. "Again!"

He charged back in.

This time, it was a relentless flurry of strikes—a left hook, a straight right, a wild left swing, and a devastating elbow!

Sebastian managed to slip the first three, but the fourth caught him.

Smash!

The elbow connected hard with his cheekbone. He was thrown violently to the side, rolling once across the mat before forcing himself back to his feet.

A thin trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.

Lance covered his eyes in horror from the sidelines.

Then, he peeked through his fingers.

"Boss..." he whimpered.

Sebastian wiped the blood from his lip, keeping his eyes on Albert.

"Again," he demanded.

—

She thought about her own recent symptoms—having zero appetite on the flight over, barely touching her inflight meal. Even just now at dinner, she had merely pushed the food around her plate.

She had convinced herself it was just fatigue from working too hard.

But what if...

She had gone back to her room, sat on the edge of the bed, and pressed three fingers to her own wrist.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three minutes.

Her pupils had dilated.

A rolling, pronounced pulse.

The undeniable rhythm of pregnancy.

Evelyn sat motionless in the dark.

The ambient light from outside cast scattered shadows across her face.

She looked down at her stomach. It was still perfectly flat, betraying no secrets.

But inside, a tiny life had already taken root.

Two months ago. That rainy night.

The unintended consequence of her night with Sebastian.

She had taken the morning-after pill.

But her cycle had always been irregular. Years of brutal night shifts and immense stress meant hormonal imbalances were the norm for her. She hadn't even considered the possibility.

But now...

She rested a hand gently over her womb.

That tiny life was right there.

A lump formed in her throat.

It wasn't fear, and it wasn't regret. It was an overwhelming tidal wave of complicated emotions.

She wasn't going to get rid of it.

She had the wealth and the resources to raise a child entirely on her own.

She could give this baby the best life, the best education, the absolute best of everything.

She recalled the words Charles had been repeating for years: "Sweetheart, I'm getting old. I'd love to hold a great-grandchild. When are you going to settle down? I'll even help you raise them."