Chapter 92
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
Allegra heard it too and stared at the two women in disbelief.
How could Lucinda—that nobody—know someone from the Boleyn family?
What right did she have?
Tamsin didn't spare them another glance. She turned and looped her arm through Lucinda's. "Lucinda, let's go. The air here is terrible—certain people are stinking up the place."
Lucinda set down her wine glass and stood.
She glanced at Griffin. He nodded slightly, a smile playing on his lips as he waved her off.
They walked through the crowd without looking back.
Behind them, the classmates stared at that cool, distant figure and began whispering among themselves.
"Her sister's so shameless, no wonder Allegra's so upset…"
"Right? Servicing so many men and still having the nerve to show up at a place like this…"
Allegra picked herself up off the floor, clutching her face, eyes red.
She bit her lip, staring in the direction Lucinda had disappeared, hatred churning thick and dark in her gaze.
Just wait.
She'd settle this score eventually.
So what if Lucinda knew someone from the Boleyn family?
Lucinda wasn't part of the Boleyn family. She was just a nobody. The Wipere family could crush her like an ant.
Marshall also stood up from the floor. His nosebleed had stopped, but his shirt was covered in blood—he looked utterly disheveled.
His face was ashen. Not wanting to give the gawkers any more satisfaction, he walked straight out.
Halfway there, the front desk attendant stopped him. "Sir, you haven't settled your bill yet!"
Marshall froze, his face darkening as he turned to her. "I just deposited five hundred thousand here. Isn't that enough? I still have to pay?"
The attendant paused, her expression slightly awkward. "Sir, your five hundred thousand did cover your private room's expenses. But a Mr. Turner came by just now, claiming he was with your party. He took two bottles of our finest wine and several cartons of cigarettes. Five hundred thousand… isn't quite enough."
At that, Marshall's face went completely black.
Luca.
He whipped around to look down the hallway. It was empty—not a soul in sight.
That bastard had humiliated him, stolen extra items, and stuck him with the bill!
But with so many people watching, if he just walked out now, wouldn't the Grayson family be labeled as cheap?
The thought made Marshall feel like he'd swallowed a fly. His expression grew even grimmer.
He took a deep breath and slammed his card onto the counter.
"Charge it."
After settling the bill, he turned and strode toward the exit without so much as a glance at Allegra.
Allegra hurried after him. "Marshall! Marshall, wait for me!"
She stumbled along in her heels, chasing him out to the parking lot. "Marshall, let me explain—Luca was lying! He and I were just ordinary friends—"
Marshall pulled open the driver's side door without looking at her. "Get in."
Allegra quickly circled around to the passenger side and climbed in.
The car started. They drove out of the resort gates in complete silence.
Halfway home, Marshall suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse. "How many men have you actually been with?"
Allegra's heart seized. "Marshall, what are you talking about? I've only been with you—"
"Really?" Marshall's tone was flat, colder than she'd ever heard it.
Allegra opened her mouth to respond, but when she met those emotionless eyes, all her words stuck in her throat.
She lowered her head, fingers gripping her skirt, not daring to say another word.
It's over.
He's already starting to doubt me.
Damn that Luca!
The car was suffocatingly quiet. Marshall kept his eyes on the road, his fingers slowly tightening around the steering wheel.
He thought of the photo on Luca's phone, the conversation between those two women in the hallway, the ugly expression on Allegra's face when she was exposed in the private room.
He suddenly realized—he'd never truly known the woman sitting beside him.
Meanwhile, Lucinda was also on her way home.
She'd just pushed open the door to the Douglas Estate and hadn't even finished changing her shoes when her phone buzzed.
The screen displayed "Gemma."
She glanced at it and didn't answer.
The phone buzzed again. Second call. Third call.
She frowned, picked up, and before she could say anything, the voice on the other end exploded.
"Lucinda! How dare you bully Allegra?! She called me crying so hard she could barely breathe! She said you had someone beat her up! Do you think just because you left the Wipere family, no one can control you anymore? Let me tell you—no matter how high you climb, you can't change the fact that you're rotten to the core—"
Lucinda's expression darkened. She pulled the phone away from her ear and hit the end call button.
Then she opened her contacts, found "Gemma," and paused for a moment before scrolling to the very bottom.
Block.
Peace at last.
She didn't need to guess—Allegra had definitely gone crying to Gemma, embellishing the story and pinning everything that happened at the resort on her.
Her mouth curved slightly as she reined in that flicker of coldness and bent down to change her shoes.
The living room was brightly lit. Valencia sat on the sofa flipping through a thick art book. Hearing the door, she immediately looked up, her eyes lighting up. "Cindy's back!"
She set the book down and hurried over, her gaze sweeping over her daughter to confirm she was fine before letting out a sigh of relief. "Have you eaten? I had Uma save you some soup."
"I ate already, Mom." Lucinda slipped on her house slippers and walked inside.
Wesley emerged from his study, still holding a document. Seeing his daughter, a gentle smile appeared on his face. "You're back? How was your day? Tired?"
"Not too bad."
Valencia took Lucinda's hand and led her toward the living room. "Cindy, I ordered you a batch of clothes. You're so busy every day—you don't have time to shop. I feel bad for you, so I had the store staff bring the clothes here for you to choose from."
She gestured toward one side of the room, where two neat rows of clothing hung—everything from coats to dresses, blouses to pants.
Two uniformed store attendants stood nearby, holding garment racks, smiling politely.
Lucinda followed her mother's gesture, her gaze landing on the logo on the clothing labels—
Her steps faltered.
CASA? Wasn't that her brand?
Her heart skipped a beat. She looked up and studied the two rows of clothing more carefully.
Sure enough—every single piece was something she'd designed herself. And each one was among the store's most exclusive styles.
Valencia had bought all of these?
She turned to look at her mother's face, which radiated pure concern, and her mouth twitched slightly.
Her own mother had bought clothes from her own store—clothes she herself had designed—and brought them home for her to wear.
She pressed a hand to her forehead, both amused and helpless, momentarily unsure what to say.