The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 87

The taillights of the police cruiser disappeared down the road, the piercing wail of the sirens fading into dead silence. The bright afternoon sun still spilled over the exquisite courtyard of the Langford estate, the roses bloomed fiercely, and the fountain bubbled away. Everything looked exactly as it had minutes ago, yet the world felt entirely upended.

Lyra stood alone in the empty driveway, her fingertips cold and trembling slightly. Lydia's final, agonizing scream of 'Lyra!' seemed to hang in the air, mingling with the phantom sirens, slicing at her nerves like a dull blade. Fear, rage, the bitter disappointment in her sister, and a heavier, suffocating dread of losing complete control woven together into a stifling net.

She forced herself to take a deep breath in, then exhaled slowly, trying to suppress the wave of nausea and the urge to scream. She couldn't panic. Absolutely not. Every step from here on out was critical.

Her phone buzzed aggressively again, the screen flashing 'Mom.' Lyra stared at the name for two seconds but didn't answer. She could perfectly imagine the absolute chaos on the other end—her father's roaring, her mother's wailing, the endless barrage of frantic questions. Answering now would only drag her down into their panic.

She decisively declined the call and powered off her phone.

The world instantly became a lot quieter, but the crushing weight on her shoulders remained.

She turned on her heel and strode back toward the main house. Her heels clicked sharply and urgently against the marble floor, the sound echoing harshly in the grand, empty foyer. The butler was still frozen by the door, pale and visibly shaken.

"Thomas," Lyra's voice had returned to its usual smooth, steady cadence, though a careful listener could catch the slight underlying tension. "Regarding the police showing up today, if anyone asks, say it was just a routine inquiry over a misunderstanding and it's being handled. Especially if my parents return and ask, that's exactly what you tell them. Understand?" Her gaze locked onto the butler's face, calm but carrying an undeniable weight.

Thomas nodded hastily. "Yes, Ms. Lyra. I understand."

Lyra's eyes sharpened like a hawk's, rapidly scanning every corner of the room. She walked to the desk, pulled open drawers, and rummaged through them; she checked the nightstand; she even crouched to peer under the bed. She was searching for any trace related to last night—anything involving Caleb or The Protocol. Notes, contact logs, strange pill bottles, wire transfers... anything that could serve as evidence or leverage against them.

That idiot acted so recklessly; there was a high chance she left something damning behind!

However, after turning the room upside down, she found nothing but some trashy fashion magazines, expensive but tasteless jewelry, and a few scandalous photos with random men. Lydia apparently wasn't stupid enough to leave the actual drugs lying around out in the open—or perhaps, she never physically handled them at all?

Lyra straightened up, exhaling a soft breath. She felt a marginal sense of relief, but her suspicions grew darker. How much did Caleb actually tell the police? He threw Lydia under the bus, but did he mention her? And that glass of water... what would Evelyn tell the cops? What kind of evidence chain did the CID actually have right now?