Chapter 70
Fiancé.
Reginald's ears twitched. The smile tugging at his lips refused to be suppressed.
Lucinda had acknowledged him as her fiancé.
Dahlia stood frozen in place. Her expression was beyond description.
Her gaze shifted from the necklace around Lucinda's neck to the unstoppable smile on Reginald's face. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the glass.
That bitch…
She wanted to argue back, but when she met Reginald's face, the words lodged in her throat and sank back down.
She forced a stiff smile, slowly turned, and headed upstairs.
Reginald wanted to say more, but Lucinda ultimately pushed him out the door.
The next morning, before dawn had fully broken, the car was already parked outside the Douglas Estate.
When Lucinda stepped out, Reginald was leaning against the car door, holding an Americano and a bag of freshly baked butter croissants.
When he saw her, his eyes lit up. He straightened and handed her the coffee.
The temperature was perfect—neither too hot nor too cold.
"I'm heading to the research facility today. Don't follow me. Outsiders aren't allowed in."
Reginald's hand, which had been reaching for the car door, froze.
He turned to look at her. The light in his eyes visibly dimmed.
"You're still mad at me." His voice was sullen.
Lucinda looked at him, a slow question mark forming in her mind.
When had she been angry yesterday?
How did she not know about it?
"What happened in the garden yesterday—I really didn't touch her. When she fell toward me, I dodged. When she grabbed my sleeve, I pushed her hand away." His words came faster than usual. Then he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. "I'll keep my distance from her from now on. At least ten feet. I won't let her touch me. Don't be mad anymore, okay?"
Lucinda's face pressed against his chest. She could smell the familiar scent of pine on his coat and feel his heartbeat, slightly faster than usual.
She sighed inwardly. How did this man become the richest person in the world?
She pushed lightly against his chest. "I'm not mad."
"You won't let me drive you anymore. You used to let me drive you. Now suddenly you won't. That means you're mad."
Lucinda lifted her head from his embrace and looked at his face, which was practically screaming "I'm so wronged". She suddenly felt that reasoning with a three-year-old was indeed impossible.
"…Fine. You can drive me."
Reginald's eyes lit up instantly. He let her go, opened the passenger door with a flourish, his movements smooth and effortless.
The car crossed half the city and stopped in front of the research facility's gate.
Gray-white walls stretched out on either side. Armed guards stood at the entrance.
But surprisingly, when Reginald's car approached, the guards didn't stop him. Instead, they saluted him and let him through.
Lucinda glanced at him curiously. Reginald raised an eyebrow, his face practically screaming "Bet you didn't see that coming".
"I donated three high-speed low-temperature centrifuges to this facility last year. My information's stored in the access system." Before Lucinda could ask, Reginald volunteered the explanation.
Hearing his proud tone, like a child waiting for praise, Lucinda shook her head helplessly.
They passed through a long corridor. Researchers in sterile suits moved in and out of labs on either side.
Reginald walked beside Lucinda, watching her navigate the place like it was her own backyard. Layer after layer of shock built in his eyes.
Lucinda caught his expression from the corner of her eye. She figured he was probably mentally adding more "she's not simple" labels to her profile.
But she really wasn't simple. And there was no point hiding it.
At the entrance to the equipment room, Lucinda stopped and turned. "You can't come in here. There are a lot of machines to service today. I won't be fast."
Reginald opened his mouth, then finally nodded. "I'll pick you up after work."
The equipment room door slowly closed in front of him. Lucinda changed into a sterile suit and walked over to stand in front of the main console.
Before her was a low-temperature centrifuge that took up half the wall. There were only three in the world. This one had been running the longest and had the highest failure rate.
Last night, the director had called her. The machine had broken down. The staff had tried adjusting it for hours without success. In the end, they had no choice but to call her in personally.
Her fingers touched the control panel. Data lines appeared on the screen one by one, reflecting in her eyes.
Seven or eight researchers stood behind her. No one spoke.
"Ms. Wipere, Line 3 had two abnormal fluctuations last week. We suspect internal seal degradation."
Lucinda's fingers flew across the panel, pulling up historical data.
Waveform graphs scrolled from top to bottom. Her gaze swept quickly, but every abnormal spike paused in her eyes for a fraction of a second.
"It's not degradation. The temperature wasn't controlled properly. It deviated by zero-point-three degrees. The system's self-check can't detect it." As she spoke, she'd already entered a string of commands. A low hum emanated from inside the machine. A hidden diagnostic interface appeared on the screen, code cascading downward.
Her fingers didn't stop. She dismantled line by line, each command precise.
Just then, a young man in the corner stepped forward.
He looked under thirty, with an air of academic arrogance in his brow. His ID badge read "Senior Researcher."
Seeing how young Lucinda was, his tone carried a hint of skepticism. "I checked Line 3 last week too. Even if it's a temperature issue, zero-point-three degrees can't cause such frequent pressure fluctuations. Are you sure the problem's there?"
Lucinda didn't answer. She continued adjusting the machine calmly.
But from his skeptical words, she could hear the doubt in his voice.
That was normal, though.
Freshly recruited from a prestigious university. Real talent, but hadn't learned to keep his head down yet.
She'd seen this type plenty of times. Explaining was pointless. Better to just show him.
Her fingers kept typing. The hidden diagnostic interface on the screen was peeled back layer by layer.
By the fourth layer, an abnormal parameter floated to the surface.
Deviation: exactly zero-point-three degrees.
The young doctor's lips parted slightly. The arrogance in his eyes slowly evaporated.
He watched Lucinda pause on that parameter for a moment, then enter a line of correction code.
The instant the code was injected, the pressure curve on Line 3 smoothed out as if stroked by an invisible hand. The two previously trembling waveforms quieted down, becoming two stable, straight lines.
The entire equipment room fell silent for several seconds.
"Ms. Wipere." The young doctor's voice was hoarse. "I spent two full days troubleshooting and didn't even find the diagnostic interface. How did you know it was on the fourth layer?"
Lucinda glanced at him, her tone flat. "I wrote the underlying architecture for this machine."
The equipment room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The young doctor's mouth shut completely.
Lucinda looked away. That should stop anyone else from asking questions.
Just then, a soft laugh came from behind her.
A man in a sterile suit stepped out from the back of the group. Tall, broad-shouldered, he removed his mask to reveal a handsome face. His eyes bore a fifty or sixty percent resemblance to Lucinda's.
"Lucinda."
Lucinda turned her head. Her gaze paused briefly, then recognition dawned.
Her second brother, Milton Douglas.
So he worked at this facility.