Chapter 11
Dahlia turned to Wesley, hoping her father would say something fair.
Wesley flipped through the catalog, not lifting his head. "As long as your sister likes it."
Dahlia's smile completely crumbled.
She sat there, watching Everett's gaze drift toward Lucinda once again, watching Valencia reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind Lucinda's ear, watching Wesley push the teacup closer to Lucinda.
No one looked at her.
Dahlia's fingers clenched on her knees, nails digging into her palms.
Lucinda said nothing, did nothing, didn't even glance their way.
Yet everyone in this living room—as if pulled by invisible strings—had all their attention and thoughts revolving around her.
Dahlia bit her lip, that proper smile still fixed on her face, but it had frozen into a mask.
No one noticed her expression. Everett continued facing Lucinda and asked, "Regarding this project, do you have any preliminary ideas?"
His tone was extremely respectful.
Dahlia's eyes lit up.
Here was her chance.
Before Lucinda could speak, she jumped in with a sweet smile. "Mr. Lavien, don't put my sister on the spot. She just came back from... that place. She probably doesn't understand these things."
"Coming from a small town, how could she have been exposed to any of this?" Dahlia's tone carried considerate concern. "It's probably better if we help oversee the renovation for her. Otherwise, if it turns out poorly done, it'll be uncomfortable to live in."
The living room fell silent for a moment.
Valencia's smile dimmed. Wesley's hand paused on the catalog.
Everett turned to look at Dahlia.
His gaze was calm, yet somehow made Dahlia's spine run cold.
"Ms. Douglas." Everett's voice was neither warm nor cold. "My design practice doesn't appreciate interference from outsiders."
Outsiders.
That word struck like a needle, piercing straight into Dahlia's chest.
Her face flushed red. "Mr. Lavien, I'm not an outsider. I'm—"
"When I work, I only communicate with the client." Everett cut her off, tone indifferent. "If anyone else has nothing to contribute, could they excuse themselves?"
He looked toward Wesley and Valencia, nodding slightly, as if waiting for the hosts to make arrangements.
Dahlia's mouth opened and closed. Her expression turned ugly.
She looked to Valencia, hoping her mother would speak up for her.
Valencia only smiled faintly. "Dahlia, go upstairs. We'll handle things here."
Dahlia turned to Wesley.
Wesley didn't even look up, responding with a distracted hum while flipping the catalog.
Dahlia's nails dug deeper into her palms.
She stood, her smile finally crumbling, voice tight. "I'll head upstairs then."
She turned toward the stairs, walking quickly, her heels clicking sharply against the marble.
When she reached the landing, she heard Everett's voice from behind, his tone ten times gentler than before. "Miss, may we discuss your ideas now?"
Dahlia's steps faltered.
She gripped the banister tightly, chest feeling blocked by a stone.
Why?
She'd worked so hard in the Douglas family to earn Mom and Dad's attention, yet Lucinda had been back one day and stolen everything.
Now, even an outsider treated her like this.
Dahlia took a deep breath, resentment churning in her eyes.
In the living room, Everett had pulled out his notebook, gazing earnestly at Lucinda.
Lucinda leaned back on the sofa, tone casual. "Keep the style simple. Not too complicated."
Everett scribbled rapidly.
"For the functional layout, leave a studio on the first floor. Good lighting."
Valencia couldn't help interjecting. "Is the studio I prepared for you enough? If not, we can modify it."
Lucinda's lips curved slightly. "It's enough."
Everett's pen hovered above the paper, watching Lucinda eagerly, waiting for her to continue.
He looked exactly like a diligent student waiting for the teacher to assign homework.
Lucinda added a few more points—garden layout, material selection, and light temperature. Each point was simple and direct, not a wasted word.
Everett wrote furiously, pen scratching across paper, not daring to miss a single word.
Valencia sat beside them, watching her daughter speak with such ease, pride nearly overflowing from her eyes.
She leaned toward Wesley and whispered, "Look at Cindy. She knows everything. So capable."
Wesley didn't speak, but the curve of his mouth deepened considerably.
His hand stopped flipping the catalog. His gaze settled on his daughter, eyes holding gentle warmth.
When the discussion concluded, Everett closed his notebook and stood. "Miss, I've noted all your ideas. I'll prepare several design proposals when I return and submit them for your review."
His gaze lingered on Lucinda's face for another moment. His lips moved as if wanting to say something, but ultimately, he held back.
Lucinda nodded. "Thank you for your work."
"Not at all!" Everett waved his hands rapidly, voice rising several octaves. Realizing his overreaction, he quickly lowered it. "It's my responsibility."
Valencia stood to see him out. "Mr. Lavien, thank you for this."
"Mrs. Douglas, you're too kind." Everett picked up his briefcase and headed out, his steps noticeably lighter.
At the doorway, he glanced back.
Lucinda was lifting her teacup, her profile softened by the morning light.
Everett withdrew his gaze, took a deep breath. His smile couldn't be suppressed.
That evening, Francis pushed through the door.
He walked straight to the dining table, gaze settling first on Lucinda, eyes carrying warmth. "Cindy, your oldest and second brother can't get away from work. They asked me to apologize on their behalf. They both promised they'll be back before the weekend."
He sat down, tone intimate. "You don't know—when your oldest brother heard you were back, he went on for half an hour on the phone. He insisted I send him your picture. Your second brother was even more dramatic. Said he'd drop everything and fly back immediately. I had to stop him."
Valencia smiled as she ladled soup for him. "Alright, it's not like they're never coming back. Look how worked up you are."
"How can I not be?" Francis accepted the bowl and glanced at Lucinda. "A sister we've waited twenty years for—anyone would be anxious."
Lucinda kept her eyes lowered, lips curving slightly.
Dahlia sat across from them, gripping her utensils tightly.
She'd been in this family for twenty years. Though her three brothers had treated her well enough, she'd never heard them speak in this tone.
Dishes were brought to the table one after another.
Dahlia speared a piece of steak with her fork and placed it in Lucinda's bowl, smile tender and considerate. "Lucinda, eat more. You've probably never seen these dishes before. Over there... conditions weren't good. You probably never ate anything nice, right?"