The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 498

London, Lancaster Group Headquarters, Top Floor Executive Office.

The curtains were drawn completely shut, leaving only a single floor lamp to cast a dim, amber glow that barely fought back the encroaching darkness. The office was sprawling, but the sheer size only made it feel hollow and freezing. Christian Lancaster stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a cigarette clamped between his fingers. The smoke drifted upwards into the gloom in thin, twisting wisps, much like his own tangled thoughts. He had just hung up on Julian. His phone was still gripped tightly in his hand, the screen lighting up and fading out intermittently.

That man was impossible to crack. Refused to be intimidated, refused to be bought. Christian had audited his taxes and investigated his cases, but there was absolutely nothing to find. Julian's books were spotless, meticulously documented down to the last decimal point.

He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a harsh drag, the ember flaring brightly before dimming again. He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke through his nose, letting it bloom against the cold glass. He wiped the condensation away, revealing his own reflection—pale, brooding, with dark circles under his eyes and a fading bruise still marring his cheekbone. He stared at himself for two seconds before looking away.

The door suddenly pushed open. No knock.

Christian turned around. Lawrence Lancaster stood in the doorway, clad in a dark gray overcoat with a few stray raindrops clinging to the collar—it must have started raining at some point. His hair was impeccably groomed, his face an emotionless mask, but the way his eyes swept the office carried the crushing weight of a man accustomed to absolute authority. He stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him, his leather shoes silent against the thick carpet. He walked over to the sofa and sat down, crossing his legs. His gaze landed on the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table. He stared at it for a second before looking away.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" Christian's voice was raspy. The cigarette was still wedged between his fingers, unextinguished.

Lawrence didn't answer immediately. He leaned back against the sofa, studying his son. His eyes dragged over the bruised cheek, the dark circles, the burning cigarette, and back to Christian's face. It wasn't a look of paternal concern. It was a cold, calculating appraisal, like a mechanic inspecting a defective machine to see if it was still worth repairing.

"I hear you're investigating Julian St. Claire?" Lawrence finally spoke, his voice perfectly level, yet every syllable carried weight.

Christian's fingers twitched. A clump of ash tumbled onto the carpet, but he made no move to brush it away. "How did you know?"