The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 584

Victoria Sutton hung up, but she didn't set her phone down.

The living room was dead silent. The curtains were drawn, and a single floor lamp cast a dim, amber glow over the coffee table, illuminating the half-smoked cigarette resting on the edge of the ashtray. She sat on the sofa, staring at the screen. The top of her call log showed an encrypted message that had already self-destructed, leaving only one line: Message Read.

But she remembered the contents perfectly—Pierre has been imprisoned by the Duke.

Victoria leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes.

She knew enough about the Duke to know how this would end. He was cold-blooded, ruthless, and entirely devoid of loyalty. Having spent twenty years in France, she had heard countless rumors about the Astor family. That old man looked refined and elegant, smiling like a benevolent patriarch, but anyone who truly knew him understood the truth. His heart was made of stone.

Victoria picked up her cigarette and took a drag. The smoke drifted up into the amber light, the wispy tendrils blurring her vision.

It wasn't surprising that Pierre had tried to play games right under the Duke's nose. What son didn't want to seize power? The Duke was fully aware of their ambitions. Vying for control, setting minor traps, stealing projects, or throwing each other under the bus in front of the old man—all of that was acceptable. It was just competition. But there was one line that could never be crossed: fratricide. Fatal strikes were forbidden.

Leon was dead. Regardless of whether Pierre had actually done it, the Duke suspected him now. And anyone the Duke set his sights on never met a good end.

Victoria crushed her cigarette in the ashtray, stood up, and walked over to the window. She pulled the curtain back just a fraction. Outside lay the Paris nightscape, the streetlights glowing over empty sidewalks. Staring at that dim light, her mind was entirely consumed by thoughts of Lydia Langford.

She felt sorry for the girl. When she had bailed her out of prison, Lydia had been nothing but skin and bones, her eyes burning with a fierce, defensive hatred like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.

Now, she might be pregnant. Pregnant with that old monster's child.

Victoria grabbed her phone, slipped on her coat, and walked out the door.

—

Lydia's apartment was in the 16th District. When Victoria arrived, the door was already unlocked—Lydia had buzzed her up the moment she heard the bell. Victoria took the elevator up, found the door slightly ajar, and pushed her way inside.

Lydia stood in the living room wearing loose loungewear. Her hair was down, her face completely bare of makeup. A glass of water sat on the coffee table next to an unopened pregnancy test.

Victoria glanced at the box but didn't say a word.

"Sit," Lydia said, gesturing to the sofa.

Victoria sat down, and Lydia took the seat across from her.

The two women faced each other with the coffee table between them. The streetlights outside filtered through the window, washing over them. One sat in the light, the other in the shadows.

"What's wrong?" Lydia asked first. "You sounded off on the phone."

Victoria looked at her.

"Pierre has been imprisoned by the Duke."

Lydia's fingers instantly curled into tight fists.

"What?"