The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 482

New York, JFK International Airport, First-Class Lounge.

Christian Lancaster leaned heavily against the expansive leather sofa, his eyes squeezed shut. During the agonizing, double-digit hour flight from Paris, he hadn't slept a wink. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind bombarded him with the damning photographs, the DNA test results, and Lyra's sickeningly sweet, deceitful face. The cabin lights had been dimmed, the other passengers dead to the world, leaving him entirely alone with the chaotic reel of his own failures playing on a loop. A flight attendant sauntered over, leaning down with a smile that dripped with practiced honey.

"Mr. Lancaster, could I offer you another glass of water?"

Christian didn't bother opening his eyes. "No."

But the attendant didn't retreat. She leaned in a fraction closer, the cloying, cheap sweetness of her perfume instantly irritating him. Her fingertips brushed lightly against his forearm, a blatant, testing touch.

"Mr. Lancaster, I'm actually a huge admirer of yours. I see you in the financial magazines all the time. I never imagined I'd have the privilege of serving you on my flight today. It really feels like fate." Her voice dropped into a hushed, intentionally seductive register. "Are you traveling alone? Do you have a driver waiting for you in New York? If you wouldn't mind—"

Christian snapped his eyes open. His gaze was absolutely glacial, slicing across the flight attendant's face like a physical blade. The rest of her sentence died in her throat, her flirtatious smile freezing into a mask of pure panic.

"Get out."

Two words, delivered with a flat, terrifying quietness. The color drained completely from the attendant's face. Her lips trembled as she tried to stammer an apology, but she couldn't formulate a sound. Spinning on her heel, she practically sprinted down the aisle, her heels clicking frantically against the floorboards. A passenger across the aisle peeked over, then immediately buried their face back into their blanket.

Sitting adjacent to him, Miles didn't dare draw a breath. He cast a covert glance at Christian—the boss's face was dark as a thundercloud, his jaw locked so tight the muscle ticked violently. His fingers drummed a slow, menacing rhythm against the armrest, like a judge counting down to an execution. Ever since the catastrophe in France, the boss had mutated into an entirely different beast. He had always been ruthless, sure, but he never aimed his wrath at irrelevant bystanders. Now? He was telling a flirting flight attendant to get the hell out. Miles quickly dropped his gaze, pretending to be deeply engrossed in his phone, though he wasn't processing a single word on the screen.

The plane finally landed. As Christian marched out of the terminal, the crisp, dry air of New York hit him, carrying the sharp chill of the city. Standing near the curb, he took a deep, grounding breath, as if trying to expel the suffocating humiliation he had swallowed in France. During his time in Paris, he had felt like a shark dragged onto dry land—choking, paralyzed, completely out of his element. He had been drowning in a world that wasn't his, entirely at the mercy of Charles's empire and the Astor family.

But he was back now. The air was different, the skyline was different, the very ground beneath his boots was different. This was his territory. He had clawed his way to the top of New York's elite hierarchy for a reason; they didn't call him the Lancaster Heir for nothing. Here, he had his own empire, his own arsenal of resources, his own brutal methods. He had been utterly impotent in France, unable to penetrate the fortress of old European money. But New York was Lancaster territory. He refused to believe Evelyn and Sebastian would hide in Europe forever. The second they set foot on American soil, he would strike. He was nowhere near finished.

He strode out of the arrivals hall. A sleek black sedan was already idling at the curb. The company driver, sharp in a pressed suit, stood at attention. Catching sight of Christian, he immediately pulled open the rear door and offered a respectful bow.

"Welcome back, Mr. Lancaster."

Christian slid into the backseat. Miles climbed in through the opposite side, clutching his briefcase.