Chapter 113
After dinner, Lucinda returned to her room.
She closed the door, tossed her bag onto a chair, and flopped onto the bed. She pulled the blanket halfway over herself and closed her eyes.
Sleep was just beginning to creep in when her phone buzzed on the pillow.
Not a message.
A special alert tone.
Her eyes snapped open. Sleep vanished instantly.
It was the alarm she'd set for the company's internal network.
It only triggered when core encrypted files were accessed abnormally.
She sat up abruptly, pulled her laptop from under the pillow, powered it on, and her fingers flew across the keyboard.
She tapped twice. The screen switched to a monitoring interface.
A data transfer line was jumping wildly. The progress bar had already hit seventy percent.
File name: Ridgeway Tech Core Product Proposal
Recipient IP: Vyratek Tech Group
A foreign company. Based in Phoenixia.
Her fingers froze for a moment. Then she let out a cold laugh.
Vyratek Tech Group—Phoenixia's largest tech company. Ridgeway Tech's biggest competitor.
Three months ago, they'd stolen a major overseas contract from Ridgeway Tech. Their methods hadn't been clean.
And now, someone was handing Ridgeway Tech's latest product proposal directly to them.
Lucinda's gaze fell on the spinning progress bar.
The transfer channel was stuck. The connection speed fluctuated. The file hadn't fully transferred yet.
Her lips curved slightly. Then her fingers moved, typing a string of commands into the keyboard.
Three seconds later, a decoy file was swapped in.
Same file name. Same icon. Even the file size was calculated precisely—down to the byte.
But the contents? Wrong.
She hit enter and watched the progress bar jump again. Eighty percent. Ninety. One hundred.
Transfer complete.
The recipient had received a "perfect" proposal.
Her fingers tapped lightly on the desk. Her gaze lingered on the now-blank transfer log on the screen, her eyes cold and hard.
For someone to have access to the company's internal classified files—and to be sending them out at this hour—there was clearly a mole inside the company.
Not just a mole. A high-level executive mole.
At that thought, Lucinda's expression grew even icier.
If this file had actually leaked, Ridgeway Tech's three-year product line would be obliterated. Reputation destroyed. Stock price plummeting. Losses in the hundreds of millions.
Her fingers tightened around the mouse, knuckles turning white.
She needed to investigate this thoroughly.
The next morning, Lucinda changed and came downstairs. Valencia was already in the dining room. Seeing her, she smiled and waved her over. "Cindy, come have breakfast. Reginald's already waiting outside."
Lucinda's steps paused slightly. She glanced toward the floor-to-ceiling window.
Sure enough, that black Maybach was parked quietly at the estate entrance.
She shook her head helplessly. That man really was punctual.
She finished the last bite of breakfast, picked up her phone and bag from the table, said goodbye to Valencia and Wesley, and walked out.
The morning breeze hit her face, carrying the crisp coolness unique to early autumn.
The Maybach's rear door was open. Reginald sat inside, one arm draped casually over the window frame, his posture lazy yet noble.
The driver stood beside the car, respectfully holding open the other rear door for her.
Lucinda bent down and slid in, glancing sideways at him.
Today, Reginald wore a deep navy suit jacket over a white shirt. No tie. The collar slightly open.
It should have been the picture of aristocratic elegance—except the way he looked at her carried a hint of something decidedly off. Aggrieved.
"Morning," she said.
"Morning, nothing." He turned his face toward the window, his tone a bit sulky. "You're four minutes late."
Lucinda raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"And..." He paused, his voice suddenly dropping. "I waited four minutes."
The driver silently started the car, eyes forward, mind blank.
Lucinda couldn't help the slight curve of her lips, though she quickly suppressed it. "You could've come inside and waited."
"No way." Reginald turned back to her, completely serious. "What if I went in and you snuck out the back?"
Lucinda looked at him and asked sincerely, "You think I'm that kind of person?"
"You're not." He said earnestly. "But I've had dreams where you did."
The driver's hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel.
Was this really the same boss who ruled the business world with an iron fist?
Lucinda was at a loss. After a long moment, she realized she had no idea how to respond.
In this world, probably only Reginald could leave her speechless.
Finally, she took a deep breath, leaned back into her seat, and simply stopped responding.
After three seconds of silence, Reginald spoke again, his tone casual. "You didn't reply to my message last night."
"I did."
"You replied 'Got it.'"
He counted on his fingers. "That short. And you ended it with a period. Do you know what a period means? It means 'I don't want to talk anymore. End of conversation. Don't bother me.'"
Lucinda turned her head to look at him. "Sounds like you understand it perfectly."
Reginald choked for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, he leaned in, one hand braced against the backrest beside her seat. He was very close. His voice dropped. "Lucinda, are you doing this on purpose?"
Lucinda didn't pull away. She looked up at him, calmly asking, "Doing what on purpose?"
He stared at her for two seconds, then suddenly deflated. He leaned back, his voice carrying a hint of gritted-teeth helplessness. "...Nothing. I just can't do anything with you."
The driver in front quietly adjusted the rearview mirror upward.
Lucinda lowered her eyes. The corner of her lips curved ever so slightly.
The car smoothly exited the estate. Reginald glanced at her, his tone suddenly turning serious. "Did you finish handling things at the research institute?"
"All done."
"Are you tired?"
"I'm fine."
He nodded and didn't press further.
A few seconds later, he reached beside his seat and pulled out an insulated bag, handing it to her. "Drink this."
Lucinda took it and opened it. Hot cocoa. The temperature was just right.
She glanced at him.
He wasn't looking at her. He was scrolling through his phone, his profile sharp and cold—every bit the serious CEO handling a thousand matters a day.
But she noticed—the tips of his ears had turned a faint shade of red.
Lucinda held the cup, took a sip, and said softly, "Thank you."
He didn't look up. His finger kept swiping across the screen, though who knew what he was actually looking at.
The driver peeked through a gap in the rearview mirror. Mr. Lancaster's phone screen was lit—home screen. No apps open.
He silently withdrew his gaze and focused on driving.
In the shadows of the entrance, Dahlia stood gripping her phone, eyes locked on the retreating Maybach.
Lucinda sat in the passenger seat, casual and comfortable—like she belonged there.
Dahlia's chest felt like something was lodged inside it. She couldn't breathe.
The Lancaster family engagement—it was supposed to be hers.
Reginald—he was supposed to be hers too.
Lucinda was nothing but a bastard thrown out by the Wipere family. She just got lucky being born into the Douglas family. What right did she have to take everything that should have been hers?
She took a deep breath, swallowing down the hatred rising in her throat, and turned back toward the house.
The engagement. Reginald. Her parents' affection.
She would take it all back. One piece at a time.