Chapter 65
Meanwhile, on the other end of Starlight City, at the Royal Restaurant entrance.
When Dahlia stepped out of the car, it was as if all the sunlight on the street converged on her.
She wore a champagne-colored gown studded with tiny crystals. The neckline was subtly open, a diamond necklace glittering at her throat. On her wrist was a limited-edition diamond-encrusted watch. Her clutch was covered in meticulously polished studs, each one gleaming.
She'd spent an entire morning preparing this outfit.
The dress had been ordered three months in advance. The necklace had taken half a year of saved allowance. Her stylist had arrived at six a.m.
She had one goal today. This morning, she'd paid a hefty sum to confirm that Reginald would be dining at this restaurant.
Standing here now, Dahlia couldn't stop smiling. She was already imagining the stunned look on Reginald's face when he saw her.
The more she thought about it, the more pleased she felt. She lifted her heels and walked toward the entrance.
But before she could push the door open, the doorman blocked her path.
"Miss, the restaurant has been reserved for a private event today. No entry without a reservation."
Dahlia's smile froze for a beat, but she quickly smoothed it back into place.
She lifted her chin slightly, her voice carrying just the right note of poise. "I'm here to see Mr. Lancaster. Mr. Reginald Lancaster of the Lancaster Group. He's inside, isn't he?"
The doorman exchanged a glance with his colleague, his tone polite but firm. "Apologies, miss. No entry without a reservation."
She bit her lip and took half a step back, about to say more, when the low rumble of an engine sounded behind her.
A black Maybach pulled smoothly to a stop beneath the portico.
Reginald stepped out from the driver's side, walked around to the other side, and opened the door. He bent slightly, his hand resting on the upper edge of the doorframe.
Then a woman stepped out.
White blouse. Black trousers. Flat shoes. Hair loosely tied back.
Not a single piece of jewelry. Not even pierced ears.
Reginald looped his arm through hers, like a loyal dog at its owner's side.
Dahlia froze completely.
The man who famously never engaged in physical contact in business settings was now holding Lucinda's hand, walking toward the entrance at her pace, as if he were escorting something precious.
They passed right by Dahlia.
His gaze stayed on Lucinda's face. From start to finish, it didn't deviate even a fraction of a degree.
The doorman stepped aside and bowed slightly. "Mr. Lancaster, please."
Dahlia instinctively took a step forward.
The doorman's arm swung out again, blocking her path at the exact same angle as before. "Miss, you cannot enter."
Lucinda turned her head slightly just as she stepped inside.
Her gaze swept over Dahlia—
The champagne halter dress. The four-inch stilettos. The studded clutch. The diamond necklace flashing under the lights like a miniature chandelier.
Her gaze lingered for less than a second before moving on. The corner of her mouth curved almost imperceptibly.
Dressed like that to eat dinner—like a bird wearing an entire forest on its back, terrified no one would notice.
Dahlia saw that look.
That light, fleeting glance stung worse than any insult ever could.
She abruptly raised her hand, adjusting the diamond necklace at her throat. Then she turned her head toward the doorman and smiled, her voice pitched just loud enough to reach Lucinda's ears before she walked too far. "Forget it. This kind of place isn't for just anyone. Some people—even if they're escorted inside—can't hide how cheap they are. Did you see what she was wearing? Walking into a place like this without a single decent piece of jewelry."
The doorman looked at her expressionlessly. Then, right in front of her, he slowly closed the gilded door.
Just as the gap sealed shut, a respectful voice drifted from inside. "Mr. Lancaster, Mrs. Lancaster, this way, please."
Dahlia stood outside, stunned, eyes wide.
What did the doorman call her?
Mrs. Lancaster?
Why does Lucinda deserve that?
She bit down hard on her teeth, standing at the door for a long moment. Then she turned and descended the steps, one slow, deliberate click of her four-inch heels at a time.
'Just wait, Lucinda. You took what's mine today. One day, I'll take it all back.'
Inside the restaurant.
Reginald pulled a deep blue velvet box from his coat pocket and pushed it across the table toward Lucinda.
She opened it. Inside was a necklace—a pigeon-blood ruby surrounded by rose-cut white diamonds. Light fell across it, and the red seemed to radiate outward from the center like a drop of frozen sunset.
She closed the lid and pushed it back. "Too much."
He pushed it back again, his tone casual. "If you don't accept it, I'll send another one tomorrow. And the day after. I'll keep sending them until you do."
They stared at each other for a few seconds.
Lucinda thought of his expression at the mall last time. It was exactly the same now.
She stayed silent for a moment, then slipped the box into her bag.
Reginald's lips curved upward. He started peeling shrimp for her.
He rolled up his sleeves, revealing a lean forearm. His long fingers picked up a shrimp and began to peel it.
His movements were awkward at first. The shell cracked unevenly in his fingers. He frowned, slowed down, and studied it like a contract with loopholes, searching methodically for the weak point.
By the third shrimp, his technique had improved significantly. The shell came off cleanly. The shrimp meat was neatly arranged along the edge of the porcelain plate.
Lucinda wasn't paying attention. She was looking at her phone.
Messages from Kenna scrolled upward, line after line.
She read them intently, her brow furrowing slightly. Something in those usually calm eyes was slowly sinking.
Reginald said something. She didn't catch it. She just hummed vaguely in response.
Reginald stopped peeling and glanced at her.
Seeing she wasn't listening at all, he said nothing more and lowered his head to continue.
By the time Lucinda finished reading the last message, locked her screen, and looked up, the plate in front of her was piled high with shrimp meat.
Every single one peeled clean. She glanced at the plate, then at the small mountain of shells in front of Reginald, and realized he hadn't eaten a single one himself.
Her heart softened unexpectedly.
"Eat them while they're hot." He pushed the plate closer to her.
His fingertips were still slick with shrimp oil. A shallow red mark from a shell scratch ran across his index finger. He didn't even glance at it.
Lucinda picked up a shrimp and placed it in her mouth.
It was fresh, sweet, still faintly warm.
She lowered her eyes and took another.
After the meal, Reginald drove her back to the office.
The Maybach stopped in front of the Ridgeway Tech building. Lucinda unbuckled her seatbelt. Suddenly, he leaned toward her, one hand braced against the edge of her seat. His gaze rested on her face. "I saw you dealing with something during lunch. Is there trouble at the company?"
Lucinda's hand paused on the door handle.
"I'll come up with you." His tone left no room for negotiation. "I can help—"
"No need." She cut him off. "It's a small matter. I can handle it."
Seeing her insistence, he didn't press further. He could only watch as Lucinda pushed open the door and got out.
She walked into her office. Kenna was already standing inside, holding a manila envelope.
Lucinda took it, walked around to sit behind her desk, and untied the string.
She pulled out the documents and flipped open the first page.
Inside were numerous photographs—different faces, all young women, all wearing strained smiles.
The attached spreadsheet listed each name alongside their hire date, educational background, and home address. The level of detail looked like someone screening candidates for something.
The more Lucinda read, the colder her gaze became.