The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven

Chapter 201: Ignoring Each Other

(Third Person).

Dinner was unusually quiet.

The long dining hall, always filled with soft clinks of silverware and low conversation, now carried a tension that pressed like fog against every wall.

The candle flames wavered slightly, their glow doing little to soften the invisible ice layering the atmosphere.

Draven sat at the head of the table, as always, regal and unreadable. Meredith was on his right, yet he didn’t spare her a single glance.

Not a word. Not even the simple courtesy of placing food on her plate, as he usually did since the new sitting arrangement.

His jaw was set, his eyes fixed on his meal, and the cold air between them was sharper than any blade.

Meredith sat rigid, her shoulders squared in false calm. But her knuckles, wrapped tightly around her utensils, betrayed her composure.

She hadn’t touched much of her food, and she didn’t need anyone to guess why. Draven’s silence was louder than shouting.

Everyone noticed.

Dennis drank from his water glass, casting uncertain glances between the pair. His lips twitched, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

Even Jeffery looked up from his plate more than once, his gaze flitting between them in quiet contemplation.

And Wanda? Wanda was having the time of her life.

She kept her head slightly bowed over her meal, lips pressed into a tight line of feigned politeness, but her eyes sparkled with satisfaction. Her inner joy bubbled just beneath the surface.

’What a glorious evening,’ she mused internally, stabbing her roasted meat with a little more enthusiasm than necessary.

Not only had she delivered bruises and humiliation to Meredith earlier that morning—legally and publicly—but now, she had succeeded in driving a wedge between her and Draven.

She didn’t even need to do anything more. The damage was unfolding like a well-written play.

And Wanda? She was simply the audience, admiring her own performance.

’Why didn’t I think of this earlier?’ she thought, lifting her wine glass to sip delicately.

If she had known that she could use this method to kill two birds, she would have employed more tactics earlier than this.

She had aimed just to teach Meredith a big lesson, but she had ended up doing something much more important than that.

Across the table, Dennis finally couldn’t bear the awkward silence any longer. He leaned subtly towards Meredith, his voice low enough for only her ears.

"Did you... fight with my brother?"

Meredith’s eyes didn’t leave her plate. "I’m a peacemaker," she said flatly, her tone clipped with restrained fury.

That was when Draven snorted, loud and sharp.

Obviously, he didn’t know when that reaction slipped from him, given the way his cutlery briefly paused the meat searing, before continuing.

Draven’s snort sound was like a stone dropped into still water—it sent ripples across the entire table.

Every eye turned to him. Servants paused in their steps. Jeffery’s brow rose slightly. And Dennis stiffened, his gaze shifting from Draven to Meredith with a sinking feeling in his chest.

Meredith slowly turned her head to glare at her husband, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Am I lying?"

Her question hung in the air, heavy with challenge.

The silence stretched. Dennis, eyes wide, reached beneath the table and gently touched Meredith’s hand—a quiet plea for her to let it go.

Draven didn’t even blink.

"Did I say anything?" he replied coolly, not looking at her. His voice was calm, almost bored. Which somehow made it worse.

Meredith inhaled sharply, chest rising and falling as she struggled to reel in her rage. Her jaw clenched. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.

Across the table, Wanda’s smirk deepened. Her eyes met Meredith’s briefly—only briefly—and in that moment, Meredith saw everything.

That smug, satisfied look. The glint of victorious cruelty.

Meredith’s mind flashed back to the training grounds that morning. The taunts. The bruises. The final punch to her nose.

Wanda flicked a glance at Draven, then sipped from her wine glass again, basking in the success of her calculated chaos.

Meredith straightened in her seat, heart pounding with a different kind of pain now, not physical, but emotional.

---

A few minutes passed, thick with awkward stillness and the occasional clink of cutlery on porcelain.

Meredith hadn’t touched her food again. Her fork lay idle on the edge of her plate, the roasted vegetables and slices of meat growing cold.

Her jaw was tight, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

Then, without a word, she rose to her feet.

Dennis looked up, startled. "You’re leaving already?" he asked gently.

She gave him a small, polite smile. "I don’t really have an appetite tonight."

Dennis frowned. "That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that in a long time. And it’s been weeks since you last left your food unfinished."

Her smile widened—pleasant, but thin. Calculated. "True. But I think I will be fine if you bring me that ice cream you promised yesterday."

Yesterday evening, Meredith had been too disturbed after her combat training with Draven to even think of having ice cream, so she had texted Dennis to hold onto it.

Draven’s fork paused halfway to his mouth.

Meredith wasn’t looking at him, but she didn’t need to. Every word had been designed to cut—to prove a point.

She’d rather have his brother’s kindness than his silence. Rather enjoy Dennis’s attention than endure his indifference. She wanted him to hear it. To know.

Dennis, blissfully unaware of the reason for her request, chuckled warmly. "You’re in luck. I still have a plate left. I will have it sent to your room."

Meredith inclined her head in gratitude. "Thanks." noveldrama

And with that, her smile vanished, replaced by the same cool indifference she had walked in with.

She turned sharply on her heel, her dress swaying slightly as she strode out of the hall with her back straight and her pace steady.

She never once looked at Draven.

Draven didn’t flinch. Didn’t call after her either. He didn’t even spare a glance at her retreating form.

Instead, he stabbed a large piece of meat with his fork and shoved it into his mouth, chewing in silence, though the tension in his jaw was telling.