Soon, Lucas emerged from the house, handing her another dress.
After a brief hesitation, she snatched it from his grasp and angrily pulled it on right in front of him, her face dark with resentment.
The car door swung open, and both of them stepped out with stormy expressions—especially Lucas, whose icy glare sent the household staff into a nervous hush, each one tiptoeing around, afraid to provoke him.
The dress's neckline plunged low, exposing every mark on her neck and collarbones.
Though she was seething with humiliation, she had no choice but to endure it.
She suspected Lucas had done this on purpose, wanting to make her a laughingstock.
While the servants dared not offend him, their eyes lingered on the telltale marks on her skin, their gazes laced with unspoken judgment.
The shame burned so fiercely she nearly missed a step on the staircase, almost tumbling to her death.
Lucas, walking ahead, cast a cold glance over his shoulder.
