Chapter 89
"Then order away."
Griffin took the menu and sat down beside Tamsin. He picked up a pen and casually marked a few items, then looked up at Lucinda. "Lucinda, what do you like?"
"Whatever." Lucinda leaned back into the sofa, her tone indifferent.
Griffin glanced at her and smiled. "You were like this back in school too. Ask you what you want to eat, and you'd always say 'whatever.' But once the food came, if it wasn't good, you wouldn't touch a single bite."
Lucinda's mouth curved slightly. She didn't deny it.
Tamsin jumped up from the sofa and snatched the menu from Griffin's hand. "Alright, alright, stop being so polite, you two. I'll pick. I'll have the kitchen make it. Griffin, take me to see your seafood tanks—I want to check if they're fresh."
Griffin glanced at Lucinda. She gave him a small nod. He stood and followed Tamsin out.
"Lucinda, rest up. The changing room's on your right—swimsuits are all ready for you. We'll be back soon."
Their footsteps gradually faded. The lounge fell quiet.
Lucinda stood and walked into the changing room.
The swimsuit was neatly folded on the shelf—black, simple in design, exactly her style.
She changed and glanced at herself in the mirror, sweeping her hair to one side to reveal her slender neck and a glimpse of her elegant collarbone.
The fabric clung perfectly, tracing the graceful lines of her figure. Her waist tapered just right, and under the light, her shoulder blades looked sculpted with deliberate precision.
She pushed open the changing room door and walked barefoot across the warm wooden floor toward the pool.
At the corner of the hallway, Marshall was holding his phone, heading outside.
The private room had been too loud. The constant flattery made his temples throb.
He wanted some fresh air—and to reply to a work message.
Then he looked up.
And froze.
At the end of the hallway, a woman stepped out of the changing room.
Black swimsuit. Long hair swept to one side, exposing a stretch of slender neck.
Her waist impossibly slim, legs straight and long. Barefoot on the wooden floor, each step felt like it landed directly on his chest.
Marshall's breathing hitched.
He recognized that face.
Lucinda.
His pupils contracted slightly. His gaze slid from her collarbone to her waistline, then down to her ankles before snapping back up.
He remembered what Allegra had said at the entrance—
"Lucinda's with another new man."
A new man. Pool. Changing room.
The fragments pieced themselves together in his mind, stirring a surge of anger in his chest.
Without thinking, he strode forward and blocked Lucinda's path.
"Lucinda." His voice was low, carrying what he thought was concern.
Lucinda stopped and looked up at him.
"What are you doing here?" Marshall's gaze swept over her, his brow furrowing tightly. "Do you have any idea how messy places like this are? Wearing something like that by yourself—"
"Move." Lucinda's voice was flat.
Marshall didn't move. Instead, he stepped closer. "Lucinda, you can't keep doing this."
His voice took on a pained tone. "After you left the Wipere family, is this how you've been surviving? If you need money, you can tell me. I'll give it to you. You don't have to—"
His gaze flicked toward the pool again, his tone darkening. "You don't have to service those men."
Lucinda looked at him. The coldness in her eyes deepened, making Marshall's spine tingle instinctively.
She spoke slowly, her voice cold enough to send a shiver down his spine.
"If your brain's broken, go get it fixed."
Marshall's expression changed. His mouth opened, but before he could say anything, Lucinda had already walked past him toward the pool.
Her pace was unhurried, her back straight. From start to finish, she didn't look back at him once.
Marshall stood there, watching her figure disappear into the lights by the pool.
His chest heaved violently. His fingers clenched around his phone. The fire in his chest burned hotter.
After a long moment, he turned and headed back down the hallway.
He pushed open the door to the private room. Inside, the atmosphere was lively.
Classmates clinked glasses. Allegra sat beside the head seat, laughing and chatting with the woman next to her.
Marshall walked in without looking at anyone and went straight to the sofa in the corner.
He grabbed the bottle on the table, poured himself a drink, and tipped his head back to drain it.
Then poured another. Drained it again.
Allegra noticed his strange behavior. Her smile faltered. She excused herself and walked over.
"Marshall, what's wrong?"
Her voice carried just the right amount of concern. She reached out to touch his arm.
Marshall shook her off.
Not hard, but decisive.
Allegra's hand froze mid-air. The smile on her face completely crumbled.
The room fell silent for a moment. Every pair of eyes drifted in their direction.
"Marshall, you've had too much." Allegra's voice lowered as she reached out again to steady him.
Marshall downed another drink and slammed the glass onto the table with a heavy thud.
"Leave me alone." His voice was slightly slurred, but the irritation was crystal clear.
Allegra stood there, fingers gripping her skirt.
She bit her lip, her gaze sweeping the room at all those watching faces. The warmth drained from her expression bit by bit.
The atmosphere in the room turned awkward instantly.
Someone lowered their head and pretended to eat. Someone else raised a glass and made small talk with the person beside them.
But every set of eyes was on Marshall and Allegra.
This fiancé of hers? He didn't seem all that into her after all.
Allegra stood there, feeling the stares from all directions. Her expression barely held together.
She took a deep breath, adjusted her emotions, and forced her smile back.
"Marshall's had a bit too much. It's fine, everyone—carry on."
Her voice remained soft, but the light in her eyes was cold as ice.
She returned to her seat and picked up her wine glass.
Lucinda's shadow flashed through her mind.
It had to be Lucinda.
Marshall had only stepped out for a moment, and when he came back, he was like this.
Lucinda must have done something to make Marshall like this.
That bitch.
She took a large gulp of wine, her heart seething with hatred.
After a few more rounds of drinks, the atmosphere in the room gradually loosened up again.
Some started finger-guessing games. Others reminisced. Laughter and the clinking of glasses mingled together, smoothing over the earlier awkwardness.
Allegra sat beside Marshall, her smile still in place. Every so often, she refilled his glass or added food to his plate—the picture of a dutiful fiancée.
Marshall kept drinking, one glass after another. His eyes were starting to glaze over.
Just then, the door to the private room was pushed open from outside.
A man in a burgundy suit walked in, his hair slicked back and gleaming, a flashy Rolex on his wrist.
His gaze swept the room before landing on Allegra's face.
"Well, if it isn't Allegra."