Just then, Bertha suddenly spoke up. “It’s getting late, and it’s not safe for Alexia to go back alone. Why don’t we let her spend the night here at the Quigley house?”
Lindsay’s brows knitted. A flash of annoyance flickered in her eyes as she leveled a cold stare at Bertha. Anyone with half a brain could see Lindsay had a problem with Alexia—so why was she suddenly inviting her to stay?
Bertha pretended not to notice Lindsay’s glare. She turned to Yves instead. “What do you think, Yves?”
Alexia looked at Yves, her eyes wide with hope, clearly waiting for his answer.
Lindsay gave a dry laugh, folding her arms and casting a sidelong glance at Yves.
Without so much as glancing at Alexia, Yves replied coolly, “I’ll have the driver take you home.”
Alexia’s face fell, her eyes suddenly dull with disappointment. “Alright. Thank you, Mr. Quigley.”
Bertha caught the look of dejection on Alexia’s face and quickly tried to speak up. “Yves—”
But Yves cut her off before she could finish. “Are you questioning my decision?”
“No, of course not…”
“Lindsay, let’s go upstairs.” Yves reached out a hand to Lindsay, but she ignored him and turned sharply, striding away.
Yves watched her retreating back and let out the faintest of sighs before following after her.
Upstairs in the bedroom, Lindsay was propped against the headboard, knees drawn up, fiddling with her phone.
The door swung open and Yves came in.
“Are you mad?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Lindsay didn’t respond, her attention fixed on her phone.
“Cheryl told you about Charles, didn’t she?” Yves pressed.


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