The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 393

Dr. Katherine Hayes nodded. "The data is spectacular. Especially the complete remission rate—12.3% in solid tumors is practically unheard of."

Dr. Aaron Miller chimed in. "Immunotherapy combined with targeted drugs is undeniably the right path. But regarding the TK-7 patents..."

"Already handled," Evelyn replied smoothly. "We've reached an agreement with the major pharmaceutical companies. The patents will be shared globally, with profits divided proportionally."

A wave of relieved laughter echoed through the virtual meeting room.

What followed was an hour and a half of intense professional discourse.

They debated the mechanistic action of TK-7, the optimal timing for PD-1 inhibitor administration, the ideal dosage for the combination therapy, and the logistical roadmap for expanding the clinical trials.

Evelyn led the entire discussion with effortless authority, cutting straight to the heart of every issue and delivering precise, actionable solutions.

At eleven o'clock, the meeting adjourned.

The five windows winked out one by one.

Evelyn set the tablet down and stretched her arms wide. She rubbed her slightly aching lower back, stood up, and walked over to the window.

The sunlight was perfect, illuminating the sprawling gardens where the roses were in magnificent full bloom.

She stood there for a quiet moment before turning toward the en-suite bathroom.

—

The master bedroom was massive, spanning over five hundred square feet.

Beneath her feet lay a hand-woven Persian rug—a deep crimson base woven with intricate gold patterns that swallowed the sound of her footsteps. The walls were painted a soft beige, adorned with original Impressionist oil paintings, any single one of which could comfortably fund an average person's entire lifetime.

A minimalist yet impeccably crafted oak desk sat before the floor-to-ceiling windows. On it rested her laptop, a vintage brass lamp, and a crystal vase holding a few fresh white roses.

Beside the bed was a cavernous walk-in closet, the door slightly ajar to reveal rows of impeccably organized designer garments. Opposite the closet stood a floor-to-ceiling dressing mirror framed in ornate, gilded carvings.

Her vanity was neatly lined with bespoke skincare products—brands so discreet and exclusive that only the true elite would recognize their astronomical value.

The entire room was a masterclass in understated, unpretentious luxury.

Much like the master of the estate himself.

Evelyn walked into the bathroom, freshened up, and slipped into a comfortable beige knit dress before heading downstairs.