Chapter 94
The next day, Lucinda picked up the blazer, left her room, and walked down the hallway.
Dahlia's room was at the far end of the corridor. The door was ajar, warm yellow light spilling out.
Lucinda pushed it open and walked in.
Dahlia sat at her vanity holding a comb. When she heard the noise, she turned around. Seeing the blazer in Lucinda's hand, her smile froze for a moment.
"Lucinda?"
Lucinda placed the blazer on the bed, her tone flat. "Put it on."
Dahlia's smile crumbled completely.
She looked at the blazer, then at Lucinda. A flicker of guilt passed through her eyes, but she quickly suppressed it. "Lucinda, isn't that the one you picked? How could I dare take it from you—"
"Didn't you put itching powder in the clothes?" Lucinda cut her off, stating it directly.
Dahlia's face changed.
Her lips trembled. Her fingers tightened around the comb, and her words came out stammering. "Lucinda, what are you talking about? How could I possibly—"
"Put it on." Lucinda repeated herself, her tone still flat, but her eyes were ice-cold. "If you don't, I'll put it on you myself."
She took a step forward.
She was nearly half a head taller than Dahlia. Standing before her now, looking down, she radiated an oppressive presence that made it hard to breathe.
"If you didn't tamper with it, what's the harm in wearing it? If you put it on and nothing happens, that proves I wrongly accused you. But if you refuse—" She paused, her mouth curving slightly. "Then that means there really is something in the clothes."
Dahlia's lips trembled violently.
She wanted to argue, but all her words were stuck in her throat. She couldn't squeeze out a single syllable.
She looked into Lucinda's cold, clear eyes. There was no emotion in them—as if she'd already seen through everything and was just waiting for her to walk into the trap.
Dahlia's fingers shook. In the end, she slowly reached out and took the blazer.
She draped it over her shoulders and began fastening the buttons one by one, her movements slow, as if trying to buy time.
Lucinda stood by the door, hands in her pockets, watching her silently.
It was on.
Dahlia lifted her head, forcing a strained smile. "Lucinda, see? Nothing happened. You really did misunderstand me—"
Halfway through her sentence, her smile froze abruptly.
Her face began to flush. First her ears, then her cheeks, and finally even her neck took on an unnatural shade of red.
An unbearable itching sensation surged up from deep within her skin, like countless ants crawling through the gaps in her bones.
She couldn't help but reach up to scratch. Her nails scraped across her collarbone, leaving a red mark.
"What's wrong?" Lucinda's voice was detached.
"No… nothing…" Dahlia gritted her teeth, digging her nails into her palms, trying to use pain to suppress the itching.
But the itching only intensified, spreading from her neck to her back, from her back to her arms. Her entire face flushed crimson, and fine beads of sweat formed on her forehead.
"Since nothing's wrong, let's go down for dinner."
Lucinda turned and headed back to her own room without looking back.
Dahlia stood at the door, trembling all over.
Her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. The itching on her body had reached a maddening intensity.
She wanted to take the blazer off, but Lucinda's words were like a lock, holding her hands in place.
If she took it off, it would be admitting she'd tampered with it.
She bit her lip and stepped back into her room, shutting the door and leaning against it, gasping for air.
Itchy.
So itchy.
She rushed to the bathroom, turned on the cold tap, and splashed water over herself, trying to ease the piercing itch.
Cold water dripped from her chin, mixing with sweat, soaking a large patch of her nightgown.
She lifted her head and looked at her disheveled face in the mirror—eyes red, lips bitten raw.
Lucinda.
She repeated that name in her mind, hatred burning in her eyes, unstoppable.
At the dinner table.
The table was laden with dishes. Valencia sat at the head, Wesley beside her, Lucinda on her right.
Dahlia descended the stairs.
She wore the black blazer, every button fastened tightly. Her makeup was heavier than usual, trying to cover the unnatural flush.
But her hands were shaking. Her knuckles were pale. Her nails dug into her palms, as if she were desperately enduring something.
"Dahlia's here. Come sit." Valencia didn't look up, continuing to serve Lucinda. "Cindy, was work busy today?"
"Not too bad." Lucinda picked up her utensils and forked a piece of fish into her mouth.
Dahlia sat down at the table and picked up the glass of water in front of her.
Her hands trembled so badly that some water spilled onto the table. She quickly set the glass down and grabbed a napkin to wipe it up.
The itching surged again.
She bit her lip, nails digging into her palms, her body trembling slightly.
"Dahlia, what's wrong?" Valencia finally noticed something amiss. She looked up at her. "Why is your face so red?"
"No… nothing, maybe just a bit of an allergic reaction…" Dahlia's voice was tight, every word squeezed through clenched teeth.
She reached for her utensils. Her fingers shook so badly she could barely hold them. They clattered onto the table.
Her eyes reddened. She fought desperately not to scratch, but the itching was driving her insane.
Wesley set down his utensils, brow furrowing. "Allergic? To what?"
"I… I don't know…" Dahlia was on the verge of tears. The itching spread from her collar to her back, like countless ants crawling beneath her skin—no matter how she scratched, she couldn't reach them; no matter how she rubbed, she couldn't make it stop.
Her fingers raked across her neck repeatedly, leaving red streaks on her delicate skin.
Valencia's heart ached. She stood and walked over, grabbing her hand. "Stop scratching—you're tearing your skin! I'll have someone call a doctor—"
"No!" Dahlia's voice shot up several octaves, startling Valencia.
Realizing she'd lost her composure, she took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the surging itch, and softened her tone. "Mommy, there's no need to call a doctor. I probably just ate something that triggered an allergy. I'll go rest in my room—I'll be fine."
She stood to leave.
"Wait." Lucinda's voice came from beside her, unhurried.
Dahlia's body froze.
Lucinda set down her utensils, picked up a napkin, and wiped the corner of her mouth. Then she lifted her eyes to look at Dahlia. "Shooting yourself in the foot—does it hurt?"
Dahlia's face went pale instantly.
Her lips trembled. She wanted to say something, but when she met Lucinda's cool, clear gaze, all her words stuck in her throat.
"Don't do stupid things like this again." Lucinda said lightly. But Dahlia didn't respond. She only lowered her head, not daring to meet Lucinda's eyes or the confused gazes of Valencia and Wesley.
"I… I'll head upstairs now…"