The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 463

Miles swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Our operatives had just infiltrated the archives. The second they were about to extract the files, the entire medical database was wiped. The servers were infected with a military-grade virus, the hard drives were scrubbed clean, and the offshore backups were corrupted. They left absolutely zero trace."

Christian walked slowly back to the sofa and sat down. He ground his cigarette out in the heavy crystal ashtray, the motion precise and utterly devoid of emotion. "What a fascinating coincidence."

Miles stood rigid, his eyes trained on the floor. "Yes, sir. Whoever orchestrated this moved with terrifying precision. They knew exactly when we were striking."

Christian leaned back against the leather cushions, a slow, icy smile spreading across his face. It was the kind of smile that promised absolute ruin. "It seems Lyra's guardian angel is incredibly well-connected. That level of digital annihilation requires serious power."

The suite fell into a suffocating silence. Miles shifted uncomfortably, completely unsure of how to navigate his boss's terrifying calm.

"Keep digging," Christian ordered, his tone frighteningly mild, as if they were discussing the weather. "If the blood samples are gone, find another angle. Tear Lyra Langford's entire existence apart. I want her life stripped down to the bone. Dig until you find the rotting core."

"Understood, sir."

Miles turned on his heel to leave.

"Wait," Christian's voice cracked through the room like a whip.

Miles froze.

Christian stared out the window, letting the silence stretch out. "What is Sebastian Thorne's status today?"

Miles quickly recalled the intel. "He accompanied Dr. Sullivan to Café de Flore. They met with Lyra Langford."

Christian's hand slowly curled into a fist. "Lyra?"

"Yes, sir. Dr. Sullivan left shortly after, while Lyra remained at the café alone. We don't have audio on what was discussed."

Christian didn't respond. He stood up, walked to the window, and yanked the heavy curtains completely open. The Parisian sun flooded the room, forcing him to squint against the blinding glare. The sky was a brilliant, mocking blue—far too beautiful for the storm that was brewing. His knuckles turned completely white as he gripped the velvet drapes.

"Dismissed," he finally said.

Miles quietly slipped out, letting the heavy door click shut.

Christian stood entirely alone in the massive suite, staring blankly at the sprawling city. A final wisp of smoke drifted up from the crushed cigarette in the ashtray, twisting lazily before vanishing into the shadows of the ceiling. The sun beat down on his shoulders, but his hands remained icy cold.

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Château Rothschild, the estate kitchen.

The burner was set to a low simmer, a pot of savory soup bubbling gently with a rich, comforting aroma. Sebastian stood at the cutting board, a pristine apron tied around his waist, expertly julienning potatoes. The knife blurred in a rhythmic, professional chop. His technique had drastically improved from his early attempts; the potato strips soaking in the cold water bowl were perfectly uniform, looking like they had been sliced by a machine.