Chapter 21: I Can Let You Use Me for Free

The auction was cut short mid-way.

All items were sent back for origin tracing.

Soon, the Chinese Embassy in France initiated internal and external processing procedures, sending a consular specialist to follow up and coordinate with French authorities. Both sides agreed to provide an appraiser with national certification.

Since the embassy was temporarily without an appraiser on staff, Clara, who held the necessary credentials, was asked to step in as a temporary proxy.

Clara began her work in the appraisal room while waiting for the French appraiser to arrive. She was forced to shed her disguise and change into a different set of clothes. She pinned up her hair, donned gloves, and walked over to the

Landscape of Snow

.

Under the specialized appraisal lights, the rime-covered snow scene seemed to leap off the paper. The brushwork was unique, and the scroll was covered in red seals—marks left by generations of collectors.

It was authentic.

And it was indeed the same piece she had seen in a domestic museum three years ago. Clara let out a soft sigh.

Soon, the door opened again. Clara looked up and was surprised. "Professor Lina."

The woman let out an exclamation of her own. "Oh my god, Miss Jiang?"

Lina expressed her delight warmly, moving toward Clara with open arms. She realized she was about to touch Clara’s work clothes and pulled back with a series of "no, no, no."

"What happened?" Lina asked. "I heard the auction house is in quite a bit of trouble today."

Clara gestured to the painting. "This."

Lina was a professor Clara had met during a short-term exchange program while she was studying in the United States. Clara explained, "This painting originally belonged to the collection of the Su family in Shanghai. It was a treasure donated freely to the museum in the 1980s. It has been in the museum’s collection ever since. I saw it there three years ago. I never expected to see it again at an overseas auction instead of the museum."

Lina realized the severity of the situation. "This is an illicitly exported cultural relic."

"Yes."

Lina nodded. "I see." She went to change into her work clothes. "Don't worry, dear. I heard the embassy has already intervened. Since it’s a museum-held item, the chain of evidence is complete. If the appraisal confirms it is authentic, they will give you a proper resolution."

Clara smiled. "I just didn't expect it to be such a coincidence that it was you who came."

"It might not be a coincidence," Lina said as she finished putting on her gear. "A friend contacted me and asked for a favor."

Clara’s heart skipped a beat. "A friend?"

Lina smiled. She was deeply immersed in academia and knew nothing of outside gossip or Clara’s family matters. Thus, she didn't know their relationship. "Don't you two know each other? Quentin."

Hearing that name, Clara’s eyelashes trembled. "He is my..."

The word 'brother' reached her lips but she couldn't force it out. Yet she couldn't say anything else either. "Yes, we know each other."

When Clara emerged from the appraisal room, a crowd of police officers, embassy specialists, and lurking media members had gathered at the door. It was major news, after all.

The moment the door opened and the appraiser appeared, the media surged forward. They were so fast that even the police were caught off guard.

Clara was blinded by a sudden barrage of camera flashes. Lina quickly shut the appraisal room door to protect the artifacts from the light. Before Clara could open her eyes, someone grabbed her arm, and a tall figure shielded her.

Without a word or a response to the media’s questions, Quentin pushed her directly into the nearby service stairs. The police followed behind, blocking the media out.

Clara stumbled. As Quentin came to a stop—perhaps due to the crowding or her own momentum—she slammed right into him, pinning him against the stairwell railing.

She heard a faint grunt from the man’s chest as the air was squeezed out. That low, breathy sound exuded an indescribable masculine hormone. For a moment, the air turned stagnant. The only thing she felt clearly was the sensation of his rough, hot palms on her arms. That heat seemed to drill into every crevice of her body through her veins.

Quentin didn't make any further moves; he steadied her and told her, "Go down first. Someone is waiting in the underground parking lot."

But where he held her was her waist. The way he buckled her waist to pull her closer was practiced and natural—as if he had rehearsed it countless times in his mind without her knowing.

Clara agreed dizzily and headed downstairs. But the places he had touched soon began to burn with a heat she couldn't shake off.

Quentin went back to escort Professor Lina inside. The media crowded the old lady so much she cried out in alarm; she didn't catch her breath until she was safely in the stairwell, where she thanked Quentin.

When Clara reached the underground parking lot, the driver saw her and immediately flashed the car’s hazard lights. Cherry had also arrived early to meet her.

Halfway there, Clara heard a voice nearby. "Clara?"

She followed the sound and saw Sylvia walking toward her with a look of pleasant surprise. "Why are you here too? Who did you come with?"

Clara knew her, but she didn't have the energy for socializing right now. She just took Sylvia’s hand and gave her a brief greeting hug. "Sylvia, I’m too tired. Let’s talk another day."

"What happened?" Sylvia clearly had a lot to say. "Did you see it too? Someone at the auction called the police about some illegal cultural relics. It gave me quite a shock."

As she spoke, she realized something was wrong. The air went quiet. Sylvia looked at Clara’s dress and the hat and mask she had just removed for work. A strange sense of familiarity washed over her. "You..."

Then, Sylvia’s expression shifted from casual chatter to pure shock. "That person was you?!"

Clara had already been photographed by the media, so there was no point in hiding it. She nodded.

Sylvia felt absolutely ridiculous. "You have no idea—I didn't recognize you at first. My brother thought you were a little lover Quentin had brought along."

She even felt a strange, inexplicable sense of relief. So it was his sister. No wonder.

Hearing the words "little lover," Clara’s scalp went numb. She replied awkwardly, "How could that be?"

"It’s a good thing you stepped in," Sylvia said, linking her arm with Clara’s. "Otherwise, I would have foolishly spent a fortune on an illegal relic today and kept a heap of trouble in my hands. Do you have time later? I’ll treat you to dinner."

"Sure," Clara agreed. "But I have to head back today."

"Go back and rest then."

Sylvia saw Clara off to her car and immediately kicked her brother once she got back. "Look at the nonsense you spout. I felt like such an idiot today."

Bastien hissed in pain but grinned shamelessly. "Well, who could have guessed?"

Sitting in the car, Sylvia felt more and more uneasy. "I need to think of a way to apologize properly."

Bastien arched an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"Bidding on items from illegal sources is wrong," Sylvia sighed. "Even if I didn't know, it was still a very inappropriate move." She turned to her assistant. "Send a set from our new 'Starry Enchantment' collection to Miss Jiang."

The assistant agreed and called headquarters to arrange the delivery.

Clara sat in the car waiting for Quentin and eventually fell asleep. In her half-dreaming state, she felt someone carry her out of the car. Through a cold suit jacket, a heartbeat thumped gently against her. She wanted to pull away from the contact, but she was held tighter.

"Don't move."

The voice came from his chest—low, slow, and warm. Clara was already groggy and weak; the vibration of that voice made her bones feel soft. Instead of pulling away, she curled up a bit and asked muzzily, "Did you invite Professor Lina?"

Quentin gave a soft "mm."

Clara didn't speak again, her mind drifting off as she fell back to sleep.

After a long time, Quentin’s voice rose very softly. "Before she left, she asked what our relationship was."

Clara let out a couple of hums, not even forming words.

Quentin replied, "I didn't say much."

She felt relieved. Her breathing became even again. Quentin walked into the room, laid Clara down, and leaned over to look at her closed eyes.

"But what I say doesn't matter."

What mattered was that it proved Clara, at the very least, was no longer introducing him to others as her brother.

The next day, as soon as Clara woke up, she saw the news Sylvia had sent her about the current state of social media in Paris. It was all about the illegal cultural relics at the auction house. When she checked her messages from Chloe, she found that domestic social media had exploded as well. The Chinese Embassy in France had released an official notice regarding the auction house's violations.

She was trending again. Clara shut it off immediately. How annoying. She was actually becoming famous.

Clara curled up in her blankets for a long time until she was fully awake. There was no helping it; she had brought this on herself. But if she were asked to stand by and let that painting be auctioned off, she couldn't have done it. Given a hundred or a thousand chances, she would still do the same thing.

Clara made peace with it. Maybe this was just her lot in life. If the Hong Kong Museum didn't want her, fine. At worst, she would become a private relic restorer.

Clara scrambled out of bed, ordered room service, and went to the living room to wait for her brunch. When she left her room, she found that Quentin was gone, but Elliot was packing his luggage.

Clara walked over. "Are you going home?"

"Yeah," Elliot said lazily. "I’ve been out too long. I have to go back and keep an eye on the PR department."

Clara stood by him and crouched down to look at the suitcase he was organizing. "Is it because of me?"

The only thing requiring PR right now seemed to be the massive stir she had caused.

Elliot put down the clothes in his hand. "Didn't they already cut you off? Why would it be because of you?"

Clara thought about it; he was right. Back then, they had said that whether Clara brought positive or negative influence in the future, she would bear it herself. The group had completely distanced itself from her. Whatever the PR department did, the benefits or consequences wouldn't reach them.

Halfway through his packing, Elliot asked suddenly, "If it

were

because of you, Clara, have you thought about what kind of benefit you'd give me?"

Clara went to the fridge to look for food. "What can I give you right now? Though I do have two funds still running—

Bamboo Slips

and

Bronze Yuan

. If you like, pick one."

"You certainly are generous. Giving me one every time I do something for you... what happens when you run out?"

Clara took a tub of yogurt and sat on the sofa, her toes hooking her slippers as she swung them gently. "Then I’ll just have to use Brother for free."

The room went silent for a moment. Even Elliot stopped packing. Clara immediately realized something was wrong and added, "I mean use Brother’s labor for free."

The explanation only made it weirder. Elliot suddenly let out a low laugh. The sound made Clara’s skin crawl, but she didn't dare ask what he was laughing at. Fortunately, Elliot went back to packing and didn't follow up.

Just then, the room service bell rang. Clara hurried to open the door, escaping the awkward atmosphere she had accidentally created. She brought in the meal cart and asked, "Do you want some?"

"I’ve eaten." Elliot straightened his suitcase. "I’m heading out."

Clara saw him to the door. Elliot pushed his suitcase and paused outside the doorway, turning to look at her. Clara thought he had forgotten something. "Did you forget something? I'll get it for you."

Elliot spoke in a slow, melodic drawl. "I wanted to say... if Clara needs it..."

He paused and leaned in slightly, whispering in her ear, "I can let you use

me

for free."

Quentin returned and walked to the door just in time to see this scene.

Clara’s ears felt soft; she didn't dare think too deeply about what he meant. "Use what for free?"

"Whatever you were talking about is exactly what I'm talking about."

"I’m telling you to hurry up and leave, or you'll miss your flight." Clara pushed him out and slammed the door with a "thud."

Fortunately, this entire floor was their presidential suite, and there were no other strangers around. Elliot had been pushed out by force; he staggered a few steps and leaned against the hallway wall, looking decadent and roguish.

He turned back and knocked on the door. "I didn't get my jacket."

A few quick footsteps sounded from inside, and the door opened again. Elliot looked at her. "Just a moment ago you wanted me to stay for a meal, now you're kicking me out?"

Clara glared at him. From Quentin’s angle, he couldn't see Clara, only Elliot’s jacket being thrown directly into his face from inside the room. Then Clara slammed the door again.

Elliot hooked the jacket with one hand, draped it over his shoulder, and turned to walk toward Quentin. The two brushed past each other without a word. Quentin could clearly feel the provocative aura radiating from Elliot.

Elliot had stopped to talk to Clara precisely because he had seen him. How could they be talking so intimately? From a distance, they looked like a young married couple. A husband teasing his wife before work, and a wife driven to embarrassed anger.

They looked more like a couple than he and Clara did. The pressure around Quentin dropped to its limit. He walked to the door.

Clara had returned to the sofa and hugged a cushion, her mind wandering even as she tried to look composed. Before she could settle her thoughts, she heard another knock. She didn't want to deal with him, but the knock repeated quickly.

"Ugh!" Clara couldn't help but pick up the cushion next to her, open the door, and throw it at him. "What did you forget this time? Elliot, you can't even leave the house without making a mess for me—"

The cushion hit Quentin in the face. Before the impact registered, her scent—rose and cocoa—filled his lungs. Quentin stood still. After being struck like that, the light in his eyes grew even darker.

So, this was how his wife’s 'reward' had been given to his younger brother just now. And the way she spoke sounded even more like the private flirting of a young couple.

Clara’s words stopped mid-sentence as she stared blankly into Quentin’s eyes. "Oh, it’s you."

Clara vaguely sensed that the aura around Quentin was wrong. She lowered her hand and shrank back into the room while hugging her cushion. "I thought it was Second Brother."

Quentin looked at her without blinking. "So, what were you two talking about?"

As he spoke, he stepped into the room. Clara tried to move aside to let him in, but his advance was somewhat forceful. After entering, Quentin closed the door behind him with a "thud."

He had easily trapped her in a space with only the two of them. Standing in the foyer, Quentin thought about everything he had just seen. And the conversation he had heard.

The more he thought about it, the more his dark, hidden impulses began to sprout uncontrollably. She was already his, yet there were always death-seeking things trying to get close. Unfortunately, it was his brother, so he couldn't kill him. And Clara was far too oblivious.

Clara didn't understand, but the first thing Quentin did upon entering was take off his watch and his ring. The sound of the metal clasp releasing was sharp. As they clinked together, they created an eerie, grim sensation.

He walked toward her as he took them off. His handsome, chiseled mixed-heritage face, which usually looked natural, appeared obscure and unreadable now.

Clara certainly didn't dare tell him the truth. "We weren't talking about anything. Second Brother loves to talk nonsense, you know that."

"You don't even have to listen to him."

Quentin knew she wasn't telling the truth. He gripped the watch and ring in his palm. An ever-growing intent to punish clamored within him, telling him he should drag her over...

Clara was still too kind. When a dog from outside nudged her, she felt the need to pat its head and give it a reward. She needed a good lesson. Only then would she know that a married person with a family cannot go around rewarding dogs from outside.

Yet right now, the young wife he had raised himself was unaware of his intent. She pointed blankly at his hand and asked:

"Why are you taking those off?"