Dexie fiddled with her bangs, her tone as careless as ever. "Do you really think my father would argue with me… over a servant like you?"
The maid's face turned pale. Everyone in this house had seen it—Mrs. Huxley Dawson had angered Mrs. Zellweger so much she collapsed, yet Mr. Zellweger couldn't even touch her. If Mrs. Huxley Dawson really wanted to pursue this, how could a maid like her survive it?
Her eyes filled with panic. Desperate to keep her well-paying, easy job, she quickly bowed her head. "I… I'm sorry, Mrs. Huxley Dawson. I didn't mean to offend you."
Dexie glanced at her but didn't bother to press the matter. She simply picked up her chopsticks and resumed eating, ignoring the stares around her, including Luke's.
No one understood how painful this meal was for her.
From the moment she discovered Regina was Roger's illegitimate daughter, the world she thought she knew shattered. The man who once adored her as his precious daughter… had been lying to her for years. Maybe, in his heart, it was Regina and Marcus—the Zellweger siblings—who were his real family.
The thought made her chest ache, but she kept her face cold, her movements composed. Everyone called her sour, petty, sharp-tongued… but they didn't know the bitterness hiding behind it.
As she forced herself to chew, unaware of her trembling fingers, Luke's eyes never left her.
For the first time, the woman who always seemed untouchable… looked fragile. Her calm mask couldn't hide the faint sorrow in her eyes, and that made his heart clench unexpectedly.
"Aren't you going to check upstairs?" Luke asked quietly, surprising even himself.
Dexie froze, her chopsticks pausing mid-air. Then she gave him a cold, mocking smile.
"Mr. Huxley Dawson," she replied evenly, "if you're worried, go ahead. No one will stop you." Her eyes gleamed with sarcasm. "In fact, I'm sure the Zellweger family would love that."
The meaning behind her words couldn't be clearer. Regina upstairs… the one they probably wished could replace her entirely.
Luke understood, and the sharpness in her eyes irritated him more than he cared to admit. He hated how easily she threw him into the same category as those people—as if he cared about Regina at all.
His jaw tightened. The words slipped out before he could stop them. "You can still eat… even after all this? Do you feel nothing? Or are you just… cold-blooded?"
He didn't care about Regina. She was irrelevant. But her attitude—the wall between them, the missing warmth in her eyes—it frustrated him more than it should.
Dexie's smile never wavered, but the pain behind her eyes deepened.
That realization made Luke's anger boil over, but beneath it simmered panic—the same unease that had haunted him these past few days.
Dexie was right in front of him, yet she felt miles away.
She heard him scolding her but only sneered. Her throat tightened as she chewed her rice slowly, forcing it down like the bitterness stuck in her chest.
Then, she set her chopsticks down and met his eyes. "My blood used to be warm," she said quietly. "But you drained every drop of it."
Luke's hand twitched beside his bowl, curling into a fist. He understood all too well what she meant. Her warmth—the smiles, the trust, the affection—had been his. And he'd trampled on them without a second thought.
His heart, always cold and guarded, clenched at her words. For the first time in years, something unfamiliar bloomed inside him. Regret… or maybe longing.
But before he could speak, Dexie looked away. She stood and left the dining room, her figure as calm and untouchable as ever.
Luke's gaze followed her, his jaw tightening. The warmth she'd brought him was gone. And when she shut down, it was like standing in the dead of winter.
Her voice drifted in from the living room, cool and clear. "Since you're here, no need for me to chase you down." She turned to him, her eyes emotionless. "When are you filing the divorce papers?"
The word "divorce" cracked like a whip in the air. Luke's expression darkened.
Without thinking, he strode toward her, his footsteps heavy, his eyes cold and sharp.
Dexie unconsciously stepped back—but misjudged her footing. The coffee table behind her caught her legs, sending her stumbling. Instinctively, her hand shot out, grabbing Luke's arm for balance.
Before she could steady herself, his mocking laugh cut through the tension.
"First, you can't wait to divorce me. Now you're throwing yourself at me?" His voice was low, laced with scorn. "Dexie… I really can't figure out what game you're playing."
Dexie's face remained cold, unreadable, and that bothered him more than he'd ever admit.
When he reached out, his fingers gently traced her chin—a feather-light touch that sent a jolt through her.
Dexie's body tensed, but her face never flinched.
And that… only made him want to shake her walls even more.