Chapter 152 A Cup of Humiliation
The cardboard pizza box felt warm in Veyra’s hands.
She had carried it all the way back from Clara’s shop, brought it up the grand staircase, and knocked on Dorian’s bedroom door. Now, she stood inside his room, watching him step out of the adjoining dressing room.
He was wearing a dark, relaxed shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his short dark hair still slightly damp.
She opened her mouth, trying to sound casual. "I brought back some beef pizza from Clara’s shop," she said, holding the box slightly higher. "And I brought a fresh cup of milk tea."
Dorian looked at her, his expression completely unreadable.
"I don’t eat late-night snacks," he said flatly.
"It isn’t just any regular pizza," Veyra pressed, taking a small step forward. "Clara makes the absolute best crust in the city. And this milk tea is actually a special mix."
He raised an eyebrow slightly, his voice cool. "Special how?"
"I mixed it myself using a unique sweet and sour compound," she explained, a small, hopeful smile touching her lips. "I named the flavor ’Hawthorn Banquet’."
Dorian didn’t react, his face remaining completely blank.
Veyra continued, her voice dropping a little softer. "I even used one of the characters from your name to title it. It was just a small way to thank you... for all the help you’ve given me with the capital."
Dorian stared at her in total silence.
The quiet stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Seconds crawled past, and Veyra felt her breath catch in her throat. She had expected him to offer a quiet acknowledgment, a polite nod, or maybe even a faint smile for her effort.
Instead, his jaw tightened noticeably, his dark eyes hardening into a cold, sharp glare.
"You’re boring," he said suddenly.
Veyra blinked, stunned. "What?"
"You heard me," he repeated, his tone entirely dry. "You are boring."
A sudden flush of heat rushed to her cheeks, her face burning with humiliation. "I’m just trying to offer a gesture of thanks—"
"I don’t want your thanks," he cut in coldly.
She stared at him, a sharp knot tightening in her chest as her fingers began to tremble around the drink cup.
"Just take the tea, Dorian," she urged, trying to hand it across.
"No."
"Please—"
Without a word, Dorian reached out and snatched the plastic cup straight out of her hand. Turning on his heel, he walked over to the tall trash bin near his desk and dropped it straight inside.
The heavy plastic cup hit the bottom with a muffled thud, the seal cracking open as the milky sweet liquid splattered against the plastic lining.
Veyra stared at the trash can, her mind going completely blank.
The custom tea blend she had carefully mixed. The Hawthorn Banquet. The quiet gesture of appreciation she had spent the afternoon thinking about.
He had thrown it straight into the garbage without a second thought.
Her hands shook violently at her sides, her throat feeling tight and raw as her eyes burned with hot, sudden tears.
She lifted her chin, looking him directly in the eye, her voice icy cold. "That was completely cruel, Dorian."
He said nothing, offering no apology and no defense.
"I was trying to do something nice," she said, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. "I was trying to show genuine gratitude for your help, and you just threw it in the trash like it was garbage."
His face remained a harsh, unreadable mask. "I told you, I don’t need your gratitude."
"Then what do you actually want from me?" she demanded.
He didn’t answer, turning his head away slightly.
Unable to stand looking at him for another second, Veyra grabbed the remaining bag of extra milk tea samples off the table, picked up the pizza box, and spun around toward the exit. A wild surge of anger washed over her, she wanted to hit something, she wanted to yell at him, she wanted to slam the heavy pizza box right against his chest.
She pulled the door open, stepped out into the hallway, and marched straight toward their connected suite quarters.
Entering her room, her blood was still boiling at the sheer nerve of his cold rejection.
Deciding to clear her head, she walked into her private walk-in closet with the food and drinks still in hand, setting them down on a small side bench. She yanked off her daytime clothes and pulled on a comfortable pair of silk pajamas, her movements jerky, sharp, and full of silent rage.
As she pulled her top on, her eyes landed on his heavy leather suitcase resting in the corner of the closet space, packed and completely ready for his early morning business trip.
A sudden spark of pure frustration snapped inside her mind.
Without thinking, she drew her leg back and kicked the heavy suitcase as hard as she could.
The bag skidded violently across the hardwood floor, colliding with the far wall with a loud, echoey thud.
Veyra froze instantly.
The noise had been ridiculously loud in the quiet room.
Pressing a hand over her chest, her heart hammered wildly against her ribs as she stood frozen in the dark closet. She heard heavy, familiar footsteps entering the main bedroom area, moving past her door toward his private dressing room and the adjoining bathroom.
She held her breath, realizing she had just made a massive mistake, and now she was trapped in her room with the pizza and milk tea, waiting to see if he was going to turn around and confront her.