Chapter 3: Where Did Big Brother Coax You to Sleep?

Elliot’s light and airy tone carried dark, heavy words that echoed through the circular hallway, sending a shiver through the air.

Quentin paused, his footsteps coming to a halt.

In a moment of heavy silence, he turned to look at Elliot.

On the other side of the wall, Clara was focused on her dinner, completely unaware of the confrontation happening just outside.

After a wordless standoff, Quentin issued a warning from across the hall. "Mind your words and actions. She is your sister."

"She isn't anymore," Elliot replied, stepping forward. He spoke these words within the main Harrison residence without hesitation, seemingly unafraid of being overheard. "You and I both know we stopped being siblings with her a long time ago."

The truth about the swap.

They had known it since eight years ago, when she was sixteen.

When Clara went to the capital for university after turning eighteen, her residency was transferred there as well, formally detaching her from their household. For various reasons during that period, she had even changed her name.

But this secret was kept strictly between Harrison and his three sons.

To an ordinary person, a baby swap was just entertainment gossip. But for a family like the Harrisons, any news—positive or negative—affected stock prices, market value, and future prospects. A slip-up could mean losses of hundreds of millions a day.

In particular, when Clara was born, the Harbor Bay media reported on it incessantly, causing the group’s stock to hit its daily limit for several days.

If they were to deny it now, market volatility aside, the Harrison family’s credibility and reliability among their partners would be severely tarnished.

Harrison’s original intention was to keep it quiet until the biological daughter was found. Even after finding her, they had to consider carefully whether or how to switch them back.

After raising a child for so many years, it was impossible not to have feelings. Furthermore, Clara had been pampered and indulged by them; they worried she wouldn't be able to handle the truth or adapt to a different life.

Harrison didn't trust outsiders, so he tasked his biological sons with the search.

But finding Winona was no easy feat.

The circumstances of Penelope’s delivery were chaotic. She had gone into premature labor following an accident while visiting her grandfather’s home in Europe. At the time, the hospital hallways were overflowing with casualties. There were seven or eight other injured pregnant women. Penelope wasn't the only one who gave birth early in the panic.

Everyone was in a frenzy. Harrison’s Gulfstream jet was held in a holding pattern by air traffic control for over ten hours after taking off from Harbor Bay. He had to make an emergency landing in a neighboring city and drive to the hospital.

By the time he arrived, several premature babies had already been placed in incubators for survival. The hospital’s list of victims from that accident was lost years later.

It was only in the last two years that Winona was finally located.

However, Winona’s stance was that things could stay as they were forever. She had no desire to switch back.

As for when their relationship with Clara began to change, Elliot wasn't entirely sure.

But he realized something was wrong with the other two when Quentin suddenly decided to send Clara to the States for her master’s degree.

The three of them had a massive argument. Each had sensed the other's abnormality.

Quentin had forced them all to cool down, using Clara’s time abroad as a chance for them to clear their heads. They reached a silent consensus: as long as Clara was the public daughter of the Harrison family, they would remain her "good brothers" and keep their secrets buried.

They hadn't expected the news to leak so abruptly this time.

The media had somehow obtained Winona’s DNA report from two years ago. As for who leaked it or who was behind the scheme, that required an investigation.

The role of the "good brother" was over. At the very least, Elliot felt he had endured the restraint for far too long.

"No blood relation, not on the family registry, and now not even a sister on the surface. What 'boundaries' do you want me to observe?" Elliot looked at him. "I haven't seen Big Brother observing much in the way of boundaries, either."

Elliot asked, "Should a good brother enter his sister’s bedroom without even saying hello?"

"Just do your job," Quentin cut him off. "I've sent you the trail on the capital backing those media outlets. You know what to do."

"And clear out the reporters lurking outside today."

Elliot called out to him in a slow, melodic drawl, "Big Brother, you haven't answered my question."

Quentin ignored him, his tall, upright, and dignified figure disappearing into the hallway.

Elliot brooded for a moment, then turned an unreadable gaze toward Clara’s closed door.

By the time Quentin returned from the study, the hallway outside Clara’s room was empty.

It was as if everything that had veered off track had returned to normal.

Quentin took a deep breath and opened his own door.

As the door closed, half of his body was cast into the shadows of the foyer. His breathing and his thoughts grew heavy.

After taking a moment to calm himself, he walked past the foyer and noticed his suit jacket draped over a nearby rack.

It was the one he had draped over Clara.

So she wasn't wearing it anymore...

Quentin inhaled sharply, his throat tightening as a headache throbbed.

Clara had finished her dinner by now. From the home theater, the flickering light of a screen could be seen from a distance.

Quentin walked over and saw her curled up on the daybed in the theater, a velvet blanket tossed haphazardly over her, failing to cover her completely.

Her legs were tucked up, snow-white skin contrasting with the deep red fabric. She leaned against the headboard, a documentary about cultural relics playing on the large screen.

The lights were off, and the dim, shifting shadows of the film played over her.

Her long hair was loose, tracing the elegant line of her collarbone before winding down, rising and falling with her breathing. The thin strap of her nightgown had slid off one shoulder as she leaned back, revealing a wide expanse of cool skin as she nestled into his space.

She was even nestled in his bed.

If this were the past, Quentin would have sternly told her to dress properly, but today, he couldn't bring himself to say a harsh word.

Quentin couldn't understand—why couldn't she remember to dress appropriately in a man’s room? Did things have to be torn apart before she would learn?

The defenseless Clara heard his footsteps and looked over absentmindedly.

For a split second as their eyes met, Clara caught a glimpse of something dark and troubled in his gaze, but it vanished when she looked again.

Clara didn't think there was anything wrong with wearing just a slip gown. After all, when she was abroad, everyone dressed like this in the summer.

She was wondering if he was here to kick her out.

Usually, if it got too late, it was time for her eldest brother to send her back to her own room.

Sure enough, Quentin asked, "You don't plan on going back?"

Clara said gloomily, "I don't want to be alone."

She hesitated before making a request that even she felt was a bit inappropriate. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Living in her own room, she often felt as though everything outside those walls no longer had anything to do with her. Consequently, she constantly sought places where she could still feel a connection to this home.

In this house, the person she felt most connected to was her eldest brother.

Quentin frowned, his expression serious. Just as Clara thought he was going to refuse, she heard his somewhat helpless sigh. "I’ll be outside. Call me if you need anything."

With that, he closed the theater door for her.

Clara tucked herself into the velvet blanket. Outside the room, she could hear the man’s steady, powerful footsteps.

Her mind grew more complex. Although she had deliberately avoided those topics when speaking to him today, they both knew exactly why he had returned.

Clara also knew that they weren't truly brothers and she wasn't truly their sister.

The more indulgent Quentin was toward her now, the sadder she felt. Because she knew that in the past, he wouldn't have been this lenient.

It was strange and contradictory. She couldn't tell what she really wanted.

She still couldn't figure it out. How could she not be biological?

Clara tossed and turned for a long time, but the answer eluded her.

The footsteps outside had ceased for a while; it sounded as if Quentin had gone to sleep.

Clara climbed out of bed and sighed.

She sluggishly emerged from the theater. The hallway light in the suite was on, but otherwise, the room was pitch black.

She saw that Quentin’s bedroom door was slightly ajar, likely so he could hear her if she called.

Clara stood there for a moment, then walked toward his bedroom.

His bedroom was dark by design, and with the lights out, she could barely see anything.

Clara walked to the side of the bed and crouched down.

She carefully studied the man’s profile, whispering in a soft breath, "You are a good brother."

Unfortunately, it seems you aren't my brother anymore.

Clara stood up and returned to her own room through the hidden passage.

On the bed, the man opened his eyes.

The words "You are a good brother" echoed in his mind.

And Quentin knew clearly—he was not.

Clara fumbled her way back.

She reached out and flicked on the light in her room.

The instant the room flooded with light, she was shocked to see Elliot sitting on the sofa nearby.

He was swirling the half-glass of lemon soda she had left behind, watching her with great interest.

Clara let out a small, startled scream.

Once she regained her composure, she immediately grabbed a throw pillow and went to settle the score with him. "You nearly scared me to death!"

Clara marched up to Elliot, naturally kneeling one leg onto the sofa to gain a better angle to hit him.

Before the pillow could land, she was met with the scent of rose and cocoa.

Elliot didn't move. After taking a few hits, his beautiful almond-shaped eyes narrowed slightly. A moment later, he caught her wrist and asked casually, "Where are you coming back from?"

Clara’s movements faltered, and she stopped hitting him.

She asked indignantly, "How did you even get in here?"

Elliot smiled. "Big Brother said he coaxed you to sleep. I wasn't at ease, so I came to check."

He stared intensely into her eyes. "But why weren't you in your room, babe?"

Clara was at a loss for words, her mind racing for an excuse.

Suddenly, Elliot pulled her a little closer.

Clara stumbled slightly, the words she was about to say catching in her throat as the man’s refined, handsome face filled her vision.

"Tell me," Elliot’s low, warm voice wrapped around her like silk. "Where exactly did Big Brother coax you to sleep?"

"In his bed?"