The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 426

Shangri-La Paris, Room 1707.

The water in the bathroom shut off. Christian Lancaster stood shirtless in front of the mirror, droplets trailing down his broad back. Faint traces of rust clung stubbornly to his knuckles—not blood, but the grime of The Saint-Denis Slums. That rundown motel had been practically caked in it.

He stared down at his hands for a long time. Finally, he grabbed a towel, dried off, and changed into fresh clothes. A crisp white shirt, dark grey slacks; his hair was perfectly blown dry and styled. The man in the mirror was once again the impeccable, untouchable CEO of the Lancaster Group.

It was as if the feral man who had just beaten a thug half to death with a steel pipe had never existed.

He stepped out of the bathroom, grabbed his suit jacket from the bed, and walked out. He paused in front of Room 1705 next door and gently pushed it open.

Piper Brooks was fast asleep in bed, her breathing steady and her complexion far better than when he had first brought her back. The medication prescribed by the doctor sat on the nightstand next to a glass of water and a note. Christian stood by the bed for a moment, making sure she was safe, before turning around and heading back to his own suite.

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and lit a cigarette. The sparkling Parisian skyline stretched out below him, a sea of lights entirely ignorant to the night's chaos.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen—The K-Syndicate. He answered.

"Mr. Lancaster," Old K's raspy, heavily accented voice came through the line. "The mission was a failure."

Christian's grip tightened slightly, but his voice remained deadpan. "Talk."

Old K broke down the events. His men had ambushed Sebastian on the way back to the villa. They had the upper hand, and Sebastian was already wounded. But out of nowhere, a second team of hitmen showed up with the exact same target. The two rival squads clashed, turning the scene into a chaotic crossfire. Initially, Old K thought it was a stroke of luck—the perfect cover to finish the job.