Chapter 2: Don’t You Want to Bully Her?

The words sounded like they were directed at the cat, yet they didn't.

Clara remained silent.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door. A servant’s voice came from outside, calling to him, "Sir and Madam have brought the person home."

Clara’s eyelashes fluttered slightly as she turned her head toward the door.

Quentin didn't respond immediately. His large hand continued to stroke Cookie’s warm little body. "The pasta was expired. Wait for me to come back."

Clara’s expression shifted slightly. She watched as Quentin let go and walked out of the room.

As the door opened, she heard the servant cautiously asking him, "There’s still no movement from the young lady’s room. Madam is wondering if she should be called down to meet her."

Quentin shut the door, cutting off the voice from outside. "No rush."

Clara emerged from the kitchen holding Cookie and grabbed a bag of taro chips to curl up in a lounge chair.

She opened the packaging absentmindedly, her mind involuntarily picturing the scene of Winona entering the house—a picture-perfect, happy reunion.

Feeling stifled, Clara curled herself tighter into the sofa.

Two minutes later, she couldn't help but struggle to sit up.

She ran to the cabinet and dug out the pet companion robot used to watch over Cookie.

The little robot was a sphere about the size of a palm.

It had a black body with a white base, a camera inside, and small rollers that allowed it to chase after a cat all over the floor.

Quentin never used it, but she loved to harass Cookie with it when she wasn't home.

Clara flipped the switch, placed it outside the door, and closed it.

She crouched by the door, adjusting the robot's viewing angle, and commanded the little machine to roll away from the doorway to sneak downstairs and check the situation.

The little robot rolled smoothly down the hallway, peeking left and right to ensure no servants would bump into it before boldly rounding the corner toward the stairs.

Clara snuggled back into the lounge chair, watching the footage captured by the robot.

She admitted she felt like a total prowler right now.

But just because she didn't want to go down didn't mean she wasn't curious.

It was just one look; what harm could it do?

The robot couldn't take the elevator, but luckily the stairs were quiet and empty.

Clara was fully absorbed in her phone screen, tapping the controls to guide the robot downstairs.

At that moment, a tall figure was hidden in a corner near the stairs. Dressed in a khaki Cuban collar shirt, he possessed an air of leisurely elegance under the dim hallway lights.

Elliot leaned against the wall, watching the little robot stop on an upper step before suddenly hopping down to the next.

Then, it paused for two seconds, backed up to gain momentum, and jumped down another step with determination.

Once it got the hang of it, it began hopping down level by level.

Elliot let out a silent chuckle and followed slowly behind it.

Likely hearing the footsteps, the little thing paused and spun around to find the source, but unfortunately, it was too slow.

It was slow enough for Elliot to move into its blind spot and evade detection.

Elliot had initially worried whether Clara would be too distressed by the news, but now it seemed his eldest brother was right.

She knew how to eat, and she was in the mood to spy.

Her mental state was healthier than both of theirs.

Elliot watched as it struggled to jump down to the second floor and sneak along the hallway toward the living room terrace.

Whenever a servant approached, it immediately ducked into a corner or pretended to be a potted plant.

Finally, it hugged the wall to minimize its presence.

It only stopped when it reached the balcony railing of the second floor, peeked half a head out like a thief to observe the scene in the main hall below.

Winona had been back for a while.

But the living room wasn't nearly as lively as Clara had imagined. Harrison and Quentin were nowhere to be seen.

The atmosphere was somewhat subtle.

The house servants and nannies stood in a neat line. On the sofa, Penelope was introducing the family's situation to her.

Winona was wearing a hat and a mask, dressed in a black T-shirt and trousers.

She looked like a dark silhouette, as if shrouded by a storm cloud.

Clara was familiar with this gear—it was the outfit for dodging the media.

From this perspective, there must still be quite a few reporters lurking outside Cloud Bay.

In the video feed, she could faintly hear Penelope’s gentle tone: "Your eldest brother is discussing matters with your father. He’ll come over in a bit. Are you hungry? Let’s get you something to eat first."

Clara knew that Penelope didn't have a gentle temperament; she usually wasn't very soft with the brothers or Harrison.

She was only truly gentle with Clara.

Consequently, hearing her mother speak to someone else in that tone made Clara feel a pang of loss.

She was no longer her mother’s only darling.

Clara rolled over in frustration.

In the footage, Penelope seemed to sense something and looked up toward the balcony.

Clara held her breath, freezing in place.

Next, Penelope looked "behind" the camera and frowned slightly. "You brat, you gave me a fright."

"When did you get back? You didn't even say a word. Come down and say hello to your sister."

"???" The hair on the back of Clara’s neck stood up. Recalling those haunting footsteps, she immediately rotated the robot to look back!

But she forgot she was at the edge of the second-floor railing. During the robot’s frantic rotation, one wheel slipped off the edge, and it plummeted straight down to the first floor.

In the midst of the tumbling video feed, Clara saw Elliot leaning against the railing, enjoying the accident.

The sound of the robot crashing down echoed through her ears.

Clara covered her ears and let out a small, muffled scream. "Argh! Elliot, you jerk!"

No wonder she heard footsteps.

He had been following her the whole time and even got her caught!

How embarrassing.

The video screen flashed black and white until the little robot sphere rolled to the side of the sofa and stopped. Winona, wearing a black baseball cap, was staring directly in her direction.

Clara’s heart felt hollow amidst the shock, her lips pressed into a hard line.

The real Winona felt even colder than her photos. The black cap cast a dense shadow over her sharp, well-defined features. Having been hounded by the media all day, her face looked particularly irritable.

Only after seeing clearly what the object was did Winona’s eyebrows lift slightly.

Clara actually saw a hint of—interest—in those pale eyes.

Then, she watched helplessly as Winona leaned in and picked her up.

The next second, the screen went black.

At the same time, the outer door opened. Clara tensed her body, ears pricked with alertness.

After a moment of listening, she realized Quentin was back.

He called for the chef to bring dinner up.

Clara shrank back, hiding in the lounge chair while listening to the chef set the table in the dining area.

The dining area in Quentin’s room was some distance from the living area; no one could see her.

Clara waited for the chef to leave before sluggishly getting up and walking to the dining table.

The table was spread with her favorites: crab roe pomegranate dumplings, red wine braised brisket, white truffle and scallop risotto, and more.

Quentin stood by the counter with his back to her, and indeed, a bowl of cat food was placed by his hand.

He simply laid out the salmon and chicken breast. His shirt sleeves stretched tight against his muscular arms, emphasizing his broad shoulders and narrow waist—a perfectly proportioned silhouette.

Cookie ran over, jumping onto the counter to inspect the little cat bowl in Quentin’s hand.

Quentin turned around with the bowl.

From a distance, he saw Clara leaning against the dining room entryway, looking just as curious about the food in his hand as Cookie was.

Perhaps he hadn't noticed before, but this time Quentin saw that Clara was only wearing a slip nightgown.

The thin straps hung over her snow-white shoulders, looking so fragile they might snap with a single tug, barely containing her soft form. Her well-proportioned legs were also completely exposed.

Quentin instinctively frowned and looked away.

Clara, however, walked forward because he had looked over. Only now did she think to ask, "When did you get back?"

"Just landed a short while ago."

Clara took Cookie’s dinner from Quentin’s hand, seizing the chance to complain. "The second brother is back too. He started bullying people the moment he arrived."

As the words left her mouth, Clara felt a bit awkward.

They weren't biological siblings anymore. Complaining to the eldest brother about the second brother teasing her felt a bit pretentious.

An unusual silence filled the room.

Then, the man’s low voice came from behind her. "He bullied you?"

Clara thought about what had just happened and found it hard to say. She hummed vaguely and started talking nonsense. "Yeah, he’s always like that."

Quentin wasn't really listening to what she was saying. He was only focused on the fact that she was standing before him so defenselessly in that outfit, her voice still carrying that unchangeable, soft daintiness. The atmospheric pressure in the room dropped.

Clara didn't notice.

She had long been used to her eldest brother’s moods. After waiting for a response that didn't come, she tilted her head slightly.

Before she could look back, a suit jacket was suddenly draped over her shoulders.

"I see," Quentin’s voice was right behind her ear. As he leaned down slightly, the vibration made her ear bone feel numb. He said simply, "Put it on."

Clara paused for two seconds. In the silence, she felt the overwhelming pressure emanating from Quentin and instinctively put the jacket on properly.

After helping her into the clothes, Quentin felt another surge of strange sensation seeing her so obedient.

He let out a heavy sigh. "Eat your dinner first."

With that, he turned to leave.

"Then you..." Clara wanted to ask where he was going, but before she could, Quentin had already left the room.

He seemed to be in an even worse mood than before.

Clara thought to herself that he was probably going to lecture the second brother.

Quentin stood outside the door for a moment, tieing his brow as he yanked off his suffocating tie. He then went to Clara’s room next door.

The things he had ordered someone to bring up were placed at her doorstep.

Quentin gripped the door handle, quietly looking at the fingerprint lock on Clara’s door.

As a brother, he shouldn't have fingerprint access to his sister’s bedroom.

Yet in the next instant, the lock gave a few "beeps" and opened.

At the corner of the hallway, a figure appeared.

Elliot watched as Quentin, tie removed, entered Clara’s room and waited silently.

About half an hour later, the door opened again.

Quentin emerged and caught sight of the person waiting by the door.

As their gazes met, an unusual subtlety filled the air.

Elliot studied him and asked meaningfully, "How is she?"

"I recall telling you she’s fine."

"That won't do," Elliot stepped forward with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Since I haven't seen her, I’m still not at ease."

"Let me go in and take a look?" As Elliot spoke, he pressed his hand against the door that hadn't been closed yet, but he immediately felt the resistance as Quentin held the door back.

Quentin closed the door smoothly. "I've coaxed her to sleep. See her tomorrow."

Elliot observed his actions and gave a light click of his tongue. "What’s this?"

The smile at the corners of his eyes deepened. "Is Big Brother planning to keep her all to himself?"

The hallway fell silent for a moment.

One could hear a pin drop.

Those unsearchable thoughts were exposed under the lights for the first time.

Both of them maintained a facade of calm.

Quentin didn't answer the question directly. He walked away coldly. "She said you bullied her and doesn't want to see you."

"Oh." Elliot naturally dragged Quentin down with him. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Don't you want to bully her too?"