Chapter 20: What Could I Possibly Do to You?

Clara’s eyelashes fluttered, and she couldn't help but look away, trying to escape the sense of pressure radiating from him. "It’s not about whether I’ve thought about it... I just feel that with Second Brother here, it’s not appropriate for us to be in the same room..."

Quentin took in her avoidance completely.

Clara turned around, her words becoming a bit incoherent. "Forget it, stay if you want."

Having said that, she walked straight toward the bathroom. Halfway there, she heard Quentin’s voice from behind. "Are you afraid?"

Clara’s heart sank. Her hidden anxieties from the entire day had been exposed just like that.

Quentin asked again, "What did you see today?"

The jewelry exhibition flashed through Clara’s mind once more. Those designs—shackled by taboo, unable to unfold, suppressed to the point of morbid obsession. The ruby wedding ring in the main display case, bitten by two serpents with entwined tails. Their sharp fangs looked as if they were injecting venom into the ruby.

It was a poisonous forbidden fruit.

And there were the net-like woven gems, and the vine bracelet that had coiled around her arm. That damp, eerie, pervasive yet seamless intrusion and occupation made one's skin crawl.

It was like being bitten by a venomous snake.

Quentin took a step closer. "What elements were in the works at that exhibition?"

Clara couldn't possibly bring herself to mention things like taboos, handcuffs, or chains. She muttered a defensive, "I’m not afraid," and ducked into the bathroom.

The moment she closed the door, she regretted it. She should have made up a more plausible excuse so as not to arouse his suspicion.

Clara sighed and walked to the mirror. Looking up, she noticed the toothbrush and cup already set out on the vanity. The cup was filled with warm water, and the toothbrush had toothpaste squeezed onto it, waiting for her.

Clara dazed for a moment. She remembered that before she was nine years old, when she used to linger in his room, Quentin was like this. During the thirty minutes she spent lazing in bed, he would prepare all of this for her to shorten her morning routine and let her sleep a little longer.

Later, while she was at university and he was in the capital accompanying her, he was the same. It served as a reminder that Big Brother hadn't changed much from before.

Clara’s heart was pulled back and forth by Quentin’s two different states. Feeling a bit stifled, she took the toothbrush.

She couldn't be blamed. She felt that ever since he got the marriage certificate, he no longer acted like a brother in front of her. He acted like a man. This change was so drastically different from before that it was hard for Clara to adapt.

While brushing her teeth, she forced herself to find a harmless explanation for him: perhaps he was simply very serious about every role he held. It couldn't be because of anything else, right?

He was her brother. The brother she had grown up with for over twenty years. And he was Quentin, after all. He was the most observant of etiquette and rules. After she turned nine, Quentin never let her spend the night in his room; he was very stern regarding matters of principle. He seemed like a man who would never make a mistake.

Such a deep-rooted impression made Clara feel that thinking any further was an insult or a desecration to him. It couldn't possibly be what those items in the display cases expressed...

Clara lingered in the bathroom for a long time. When she finally finished washing up and came out, she saw Quentin leaning against the headboard reading a book. He looked very domestic and natural.

Murmuring to herself, Clara walked to the other side of the bed, pulled back the covers, and lay down with her back to him. She was nervous. She stayed strictly on her half of the bed, sleeping primly.

Even so, the man’s presence beside her was too powerful to ignore. Every page he turned felt like it was grazing against her heart, bringing a slight itch.

Clara ignored the strange atmosphere, found a comfortable position, and was just about to fall asleep when she felt the person beside her move. Then, the mattress dipped, and a tall shadow loomed over her, instantly enveloping her.

Tense and defensive, Clara turned around and came face-to-face with the leaning Quentin. The distance between them vanished instantly. It was so close that the shadow blocked all the light from her eyes, and she seemed to be stained by his subtle, cold cedar scent.

Quentin’s eyes were deep, reflecting her uneasy shadow. Clara fidgeted with her fingers and quickly turned back around.

Soon, Quentin’s large hand grasped the corner of her blanket and tucked it in. Then everything returned to normal as he went back to his original position. He was just helping her tuck in the covers.

Neither of them spoke after that small incident, but the atmosphere grew even stranger. Quentin held his book, but for a long time, not a single page was turned.

By the time he focused his mind again, a long time had passed. Even breathing came from the person beside him. Before going to sleep, Quentin turned off the light. The sound likely disturbed the sleeper.

With a turn, Clara kicked away the corner of the blanket. In the darkness, Quentin looked at her exposed legs, stretched out to seek the cool air. Without the cover of the blanket, her silhouette became distinct—elegant curves, like a ripening peach. The hem of her nightgown barely covered the base of her thighs; they were so slender and ivory-white that they looked as though water could be squeezed from them.

They looked more suited for a bite. Or for being covered in marks.

Quentin felt a dull ache in his chest. Most of the time, he couldn't understand her. She was clearly afraid to sleep with him, yet she still wore such a camisole dress. Did she truly think he wouldn't have a reaction?

On deeper thought, he blamed himself. He blamed himself for not being stricter when she used to move about like this in front of him in the past. He had let her mistakenly believe that sleeping in front of a man dressed like this would be fine.

Quentin pulled the blanket she had kicked away. Grasping her calf, he tucked her back into the covers. His palm met a texture as smooth as silk. Her body temperature was on the cooler side, which was most comfortable in this season.

Quentin continued to tuck her in with professional detachment, only pausing for a second before letting go. The image of Clara’s recent uneasy expression flickered in his mind, as if she were worried he would do something to her.

Do what?

Quentin’s deep, steady voice echoed in the silent room. "What could I possibly do to you?"

Before the auction, Clara slept until two hours before the start, then hurriedly got up to get ready. She didn't see Quentin in the room and knew he must have left first.

After all, their strange way of getting along had persisted for several days. Quentin would appear in her room on time every night and return before she woke up the next morning. It really was just sleeping—nothing special had happened. Second Brother seemed to have noticed nothing unusual. Lunch was the same as always.

Meanwhile, a new guest arrived before the "Forbidden Paradise" jewelry display.

Quentin stood alone before the case, without calling for a guide. He looked at the poisonous poppy crown for young girls, the bracelet coiled like a fine leather whip, and the chain-link belt. The man’s tall figure cast a long, magnifying shadow in the purple-toned exhibition hall. His formal suit made the items in the display look entirely out of place with his temperament.

From time to time, Quentin thought of Clara’s uneasy state after she had seen this exhibition. His eyes reflected a chain design; the metallic silver light bloomed with a strange color in his mixed-heritage pupils.

So, it was these things that had made her afraid.

Quentin walked slowly through the hall, the exhibits in the glass cases passing before his eyes one by one. It caused him to continuously map these accessories onto a person. He thought about what she would look like wearing them. Or how these elements would look on her body.

Were these things scary? Quentin realized that he liked them.

Before the auction began, Cherry delivered Clara to the auction house’s underground parking lot on time. Clara didn't get out of the car immediately; instead, she sat inside flipping through the auction manual, checking the line at the end regarding invited media over and over again.

However, auctions usually had media present, and she couldn't just stop attending them. There was no avoiding it. But Western media should be okay—at least not many people were focused on her.

Even so, Clara pulled out her hat and sunglasses. She was dressed very low-key today in a black-and-white long dress, simple and clean. As Clara pinned up her hair, she asked Cherry, "Is Chloe here yet?"

"She’s here. I see their car over there." Cherry pointed in a direction. Then she let out a small "oh." "The Master has arrived too."

Following Cherry's gesture, Clara saw a Cullinan driving in. Luxury cars and socialites were gathering in the parking lot. Every car’s arrival was marked by a specific notification tone, followed by staff members stepping forward to guide and receive them.

She saw Quentin get out of the car first and enter the auction house. Clara withdrew her gaze and continued adjusting her hair and hat.

Not far from them, a Bugatti also parked. Inside the car, Bastien, the second son of Onyxaura, saw Quentin and was surprised. "Quentin is here too."

The girl beside him, who was still touching up her makeup, immediately pricked up her ears. "Who?"

Seeing her so excited, Bastien teased, "Sylvia, your dream man."

The girl sat up straight and saw Quentin through the window just as he got out. She hurriedly told her assistant to open the door; she wanted to get out. Bastien held her back. "A little decorum, sister."

Sylvia pushed him. "You go down first and introduce me."

"No problem."

The siblings stepped out one after the other. Bastien called out to Quentin first to exchange pleasantries. Quentin stopped and, seeing it was him, replied politely. Sylvia finished her makeup and stepped out with her bag.

Bastien introduced her naturally. "This is my sister, Sylvia."

Quentin gave a simple response. Sylvia’s eyes curved into a smile. "Mr. Huo, it’s a pleasure to meet you."

Bastien gave Sylvia a push toward Quentin. "Chairman Huo, I just remembered I have to pick up another guest. Why don't you take my sister inside? It’s her first time here; she might get lost."

Without giving Quentin a chance to refuse, Bastien walked away. Sylvia smiled and leaned toward Quentin. "Then I’ll have to trouble you."

"It’s no trouble," Quentin replied politely. He raised his hand and called over a nearby waiter. "Please escort this lady to the hall."

Sylvia’s smile froze as she watched Quentin. He showed no reaction; his movements and instructions were seamless, yet perfectly polite. The waiter arrived quickly at her side. "This way, please."

Sylvia took a deep breath to maintain her composure and could only follow the waiter. Quentin stood there until she was gone, then looked back toward another car.

Inside that car, Clara was putting on her large sunglasses and a baseball cap. Before leaving, she interrogated Cherry: "Look, can you recognize me like this?"

Cherry replied, "Not even your own mother could recognize you."

Clara was relieved. "I’m giving you a raise."

Cherry instantly felt she could act as a human shield for Clara against any photographers. But Clara didn't need one for now. She stepped out of the car and, shortly after finding her footing, felt a gaze fall upon her. Following the source, she saw Quentin not far away.

Their eyes met for a split second before parting. Clara looked elsewhere and headed toward Chloe. Only then did Quentin leave.

Clara saw Chloe waiting for her in the car and walked up happily. She knocked politely on the half-open window and used a disguised voice. "Hello ma'am, care to sign up for a membership card?"

The cold CEO Chloe didn't even look up; she simply rolled up the window.

Clara: "..."

Two seconds later, Chloe rolled the window back down. She looked again in a daze, reached out to pull off Clara’s sunglasses, and let out a sharp exclamation. "I’m so sorry, bb!"

Chloe got out and studied Clara carefully. "Why are you today..."

"There are people filming today, so I’m keeping it low-key." Clara adjusted her sunglasses. "Let’s go."

Clara asked her, "Which one are you eyeing today?"

"There’s a crystal glass piece that’s quite nice," Chloe said, flipping through the manual. "But the final finale piece hasn't been announced yet. Help me look later and tell me which one is worth bidding on."

Clara agreed. "Sure."

Inside the auction hall, staff led each guest to their seats. The crystal chandeliers hanging from all sides were magnificent, reflecting fragmented points of light across the entire venue.

Clara and Chloe took their seats. Once seated, they realized Quentin was sitting directly behind them. Clara intentionally avoided him, glancing twice but pretending she hadn't seen him.

Chloe let out a sound of inquiry. She didn't greet Quentin either, but whispered to Clara, "Your big brother is here too?"

Clara gave a vague response. Chloe nudged her. "You come out to play and the 'parent' still follows?"

"What parent?" Clara quickly told Chloe to be quiet.

But that didn't stop Quentin from hearing. Quentin didn't seem to mind; he simply toyed with a stray lock of Clara’s hair that had fallen back toward him. Hanging from the front row before his eyes, he rolled that single strand between his fingertips.

Clara didn't even feel much. Only when his fingers entwined around the ends of her hair did a slight itch pass by.

Sylvia took her seat in the same row as Quentin, not far away. She could see him at a glance. Bastien, having heard about what happened earlier, couldn't stop laughing. "That’s why I said, you’re better off looking at Elliot than Quentin."

"Quentin is not easy to talk to."

"You don't understand." Sylvia touched up her lipstick. "I’m not angry at all. A man with boundaries has no flaws other than being hard to chase. I like him even more now."

Bastien looked over at Quentin. He happened to see Quentin’s nonchalant movement with his fingertips. "Maybe he has boundaries because there’s someone in his heart?"

Sylvia looked at him. "Didn't you say he’s always been single?" She followed Bastien’s gaze and saw Quentin’s action, but didn't understand. "What does that represent?"

Bastien narrowed his eyes. "My lady, you still don't understand men."

Listening to Bastien, Sylvia looked in that direction intentionally or otherwise. She looked at the girl sitting in front of Quentin. In a setting like this, someone wearing a hat and sunglasses was rare indeed. She couldn't see her face.

The auction began on time. This auction coincided with Paris's busiest season, and the quality of the exhibits was high. The auction used an incremental bidding system with paddles. The hall was quiet, but a heavy sense of financial competition flowed through the air.

Every time the host introduced an exhibit, Chloe would look at Clara. If Clara nodded, she raised her paddle; if Clara shook her head, she just watched. After several rounds, Chloe successfully acquired the items she liked at a low cost.

In terms of value, most were antiques that had flowed out from the East. Soon, a piece of cloisonné enamel was brought up. Everyone present was somewhat excited; in recent years, cloisonné enamel had become a category of antiques with skyrocketing value. An authentic Ming Dynasty piece could be worth hundreds of millions. Most of what appeared on the market were Qing Dynasty replicas, but even so, the prices were high.

Chloe was about to raise her paddle when Clara stopped her. Clara spoke up, "This is a Qing Dynasty folk replica, not a palace replica. Forget it if it goes over three million."

In the time they spoke, the bidding had already reached five million. And there was no sign of it stopping. Clara felt a bit of heartache for them.

She looked down and played with her phone out of boredom, when she suddenly felt a touch at the ends of her hair. Clara didn't think much of it, assuming she had brushed against something. With a simple movement, she pulled her hair back. The soft strands brushed against the crook of Quentin’s finger as they escaped.

Quentin remained exactly as he was for a long time without moving. This scene was captured entirely by Sylvia nearby. It was a movement so small it could have been ignored, but once pointed out, it did indeed carry an indescribable sense of nuance.

Finally, the host announced, "Next, we will reveal our final item. A Song Dynasty masterpiece,

Northern Landscape of Snow

, with a starting price of 66 million."

Clara’s movement on her phone stopped. She suddenly looked up. A scroll slowly unfurled on the big screen, and a significant murmur of discussion and awe filled the hall. Clara sat up straight. Chloe narrowed her eyes; any regular at auctions could see the value of this treasure.

After the bidding started, there was a brief lull because the starting price was so high. Then, two paddles were raised simultaneously. One was Clara’s. The other was Sylvia’s.

The host called Sylvia’s first. "70 million once."

Sylvia looked toward Clara’s direction a couple of times. The young girl didn't seem willing to give up and raised her paddle again. Sylvia followed quickly, and the host called hers again: "72 million once."

A visible aura of coldness settled over Clara. Bastien asked her, "Do you like this?"

"I do." Sylvia wasn't lying; she had fallen in love with the painting at first sight. "If you like something, you have to fight for it. Whoever has the ability to get it, gets it. Winners and losers."

Bastien listened to her tone. "It doesn't sound like you're talking about the painting."

"It is the painting." Sylvia looked toward Quentin’s direction. The girl hadn't bid again. "And her bid wasn't high; both times the host called mine. It doesn't seem like she’s very sincere."

The bidding continued. Clara made a gesture to a nearby waiter. The surrounding waiters looked at each other, but no one dared to approach.

Sylvia had reached 90 million with another bidder. She caught the movement over there out of the corner of her eye. "What’s this? Can't get the item, so she’s angry?"

It wasn't until Quentin got up and left halfway through that Bastien sensed something was wrong. Seeing Quentin leave, Sylvia quieted down, but stubbornly raised her paddle again.

Only Chloe knew that when Clara had faced the host and organizers just now, what she had raised wasn't a bidding paddle—it was a suspension paddle. But no one present dared to answer her request.

Ultimately, the painting was won by Sylvia for 160 million. At such a high price, the hall erupted in thunderous applause. Sylvia tilted her chin up triumphantly. Hearing the congratulations and celebrations, she proudly turned to contact the staff to inspect the goods and sign the agreement.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded in the hall. Next, police officers with identification badges burst in from outside. They occupied the entire venue from front to back. The lead officer walked to the stage. The staff were startled, and the host hurriedly asked, "What is..."

In the audience, Clara stood up among the crowd. "Illegal auction of illicitly exported cultural relics, involving an amount exceeding 100 million. This is a criminal case. Everyone, please cooperate with the police investigation."

The auction house manager nearby couldn't help but step forward. "Miss, the source of our cultural relics is legal and compliant. You are spreading rumors..."

Before he could finish, Clara had already produced her international appraiser and cultural relic authenticator certifications. She repeated, "If it is legal and compliant, please cooperate with the investigation."