Chapter 637

Peter recalled Drake’s orders and swallowed his rage. He turned to the maids and ordered, “Switch it.”

“Yes, sir.” The maids left, returning moments later with steak.

Debra poked at it halfheartedly with her knife and fork before wrinkling her nose in disinterest. “Too greasy. Where did you find this chef? How does Mr. Lowe stand such low-quality food? Change it.”

Peter clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his composure. He barked at the maids, “What are you waiting for? Change it.”

“This is premium tuna.”

“Fish is a trigger food. Are you trying to make me sicker?”

“These are French-baked snails.”

“I don’t eat bugs.”

“Sautéed greens.”

“Too plain.”

Finally, the maids placed a roasted lamb leg in front of Debra.

She raised an eyebrow. “Too rich. Plus, I don’t eat lamb!”

By now, Peter had reached his limit. “If you keep this up, I’ll have to report this to Mr. Lowe.”

“Go ahead. In the worst case, I skip a few meals. It’s not like I’ll starve to death. At most, my recovery might be delayed, but honestly, I don’t care.”

Her blasé attitude drove Peter mad. But Debra had already predicted this outcome. No matter how much she messed around, Peter wouldn’t dare do anything to her. After all, Drake was taking a nap. No one could risk interrupting that.

Trying to keep a polite smile, Peter asked, “What would you like to eat, then?”

Debra rested her chin on her hand, pretending to think. “I suppose I’ll have steak, filet mignon to be precise, along with toast, foie gras, and plum sauce. Oh, the filet should be two pounds and thickly cut.”

“Two pounds?” Peter was taken aback. What kind of girl, fresh out of a life-threatening fever, asked for two pounds of steak?

“What’s the hold-up? You heard me, didn’t you?”

Peter’s temper flared, but he restrained himself. He’d get back at her once Drake woke up.

Peter stormed off with the staff. Lara whispered to her, “Ms. Frazier, if you keep pushing like this, Peter will report you to Mr. Lowe.”

“That’s the point,” Debra said meaningfully.

A day had passed, and Drake hadn’t made any effort to see her.

Debra needed a way to contact the outside world. She was eager to let Marion know she was still alive. The only one who could authorize that was Drake.

Later that evening, Peter came to fetch her.

“Mr. Lowe has asked you to join him for dinner in the main hall.”

There was a smugness in his voice, like he had already anticipated her downfall.

Debra rose slowly, casting him a sidelong glance full of mockery. He was already being played and didn’t even know it. It seemed that Peter’s stupidity was the only reason he had managed to stay by Drake’s side for so long.

Peter led her into the dining room, where Drake sat at the head of the table, a lavish feast spread out before him. Everything Debra had rejected earlier was now laid out.

Debra calmly sat down across from him. “I didn’t know you had a taste for leftovers, Mr. Lowe.”