**Chapter 22: Then What Am I to You, You Tell Me**

Quentin looked into her pure eyes, his hand gripping the watch and ring tightening involuntarily, applying force.

The veins on the back of his hand became engorged with blood, snaking up his forearm. The metal pressed a dull, painful red mark into his palm. He barely managed to suppress the surging urge.

Inside his mind, a tempest was raging. In the shifting light and shadow, he reviewed countless ways he could punish her. There were many he liked, which he had already played out a thousand times.

Clara never heard a response and watched him for a long time. She only felt that Big Brother's deep, bottomless eyes were caught in the blurry reflections of the surrounding light. Some things that she knew were forbidden felt on the verge of erupting, only to fade away back into the long silence.

Quentin was a man accustomed to suppressing himself; he rarely, if ever, vented his emotions.

Thus, his face remained entirely impassive as he gave her a very ordinary reply: "I'm going to take a shower."

Saying that, he bypassed Clara and went into the master bathroom.

Clara stood in place and glanced at the clock. She only knew that Quentin took a shower every day before bed. Did he take showers when he came back at noon too?

Clara muttered to herself as she walked over to the dining table to continue eating her brunch, offering an observation about Quentin: "Big Brother really loves taking showers."

He really was a meticulously proper and rule-abiding person.

While eating, Clara replied to all the messages on her phone. She also agreed to Sylvia's invitation for a thank-you dinner tomorrow.

---

Meanwhile, Elliot got into his car, and a video conference with the PR department was already starting on his tablet. This counted as the first emergency meeting since Quentin had shoved him into Third Uncle’s PR department.

On the video call, Third Uncle, Quentin’s uncle, presided over the meeting as usual. "Clara is a child who just can't keep us out of trouble, causing messes all day long."

"But fortunately, we already anticipated the risks beforehand and had the former chairman remove her from the group. So this time, our risk exposure is relatively small."

His assistant chimed in from time to time, praising the foresight of several shareholders regarding risk management.

"Still, every department needs to be careful and handle all content related to the group in a timely manner."

"Don't let her keep being tied to us. Keep all her personal impact strictly at her individual level. Don't worry about anything else."

The uncle noticed Elliot and specifically asked him, "Elliot, do you have any suggestions?"

Elliot agreed, "You've arranged it very well."

"You've just joined this department and need to get familiar with things, so just watch them handle it this time."

The uncle wouldn't willingly hand over power to him; Elliot knew this and raised no objections. After all, Quentin hadn't shoved him in here to take power. He was an informant.

Elliot turned off the video conference. He looked down at a message Quentin had sent him. It contained the project content and numbers for two foundations.

Elliot looked up and instructed his assistant, "Have our private PR team keep an eye on this."

"They don't need to do anything else. Just add the *Bamboo Slips* and *Bronze Yuan* foundations behind any related trending topics."

"Understood."

---

Clara made two more trips to the embassy to verify materials. Along the way, she brought the recording and photographic evidence chain she had collected on the day of the auction. The evidence gathering process went smoothly. The remaining matters could be left to the embassy to file a lawsuit and follow standard procedures; she didn't need to worry about it anymore.

While Cherry was waiting for Clara in front of the embassy inside the car, she processed several work files. To be honest, since she started following Clara, there had never been this much work. Miss Jiang was truly moving up in the world.

Just as Cherry was enthusiastically typing away on her keyboard, the car door was opened by Clara.

Clara greeted her, "Thanks for your hard work, bb. I’ll give you double pay this month."

"It's not hard at all." Cherry put away her laptop. She didn't know where Clara had picked up this wonderful habit of giving people raises at every turn.

Cherry sent a few files to Clara. "The *Bamboo Slips* fund has a few investment collaborations over the past two days that need your selection."

"Investment collaborations?" Clara thought about her current reputation. After cutting ties with the Huo family, ordinary capital would usually recede.

"Yes."

Clara opened her phone to look at the investment projects Cherry had sent. "Did Daddy help me run this?" After all, these two foundations were financial investment blocks that the father had set up for her individually many years ago. It could be counted as the consolation money left to her when she severed ties with the family.

The capital turnover had always been lukewarm. For someone to suddenly come looking for her, outside of the father helping her, Clara couldn't think of any other possibility for now.

Hearing Clara's tone, Cherry felt like she was missing some information. "Have you looked at the news recently?"

"I don't look at it." Clara had no desire to look for trouble. She even reminded Cherry, "You shouldn't look either, it affects your mood."

Cherry was about to say something, but was immediately cut off by Clara, "And if you do see anything, absolutely do not tell me."

Clara spoke leisurely, "Let's go, to the Michelin restaurant. I've stood Sylvia up for several days already. Oh right, I booked a small private room for you too."

Even though Cherry was trying hard to learn how to remain unfazed, she still opened her eyes wide in pleasant surprise and drove to the Michelin restaurant.

They met at the restaurant. Sylvia couldn't help but sigh, "You are so busy. Booking you once is like booking a celebrity's schedule."

Clara sat down. "Not at all."

"What do you mean 'not at all'? When our family books celebrities, they scramble over for us to choose from." Sylvia asked her, "How are things going?"

"It's almost done. Once the procedures are through, that painting will be sent back." Clara picked up her knife and fork. "Though the Su family from Shanghai has also been contacting the embassy and the museum recently. I just don't know if it will continue to be displayed in the museum or if they will take it back for their private collection."

"Wherever it goes is fine, as long as it's not in my hands." Sylvia shook her head. "If this were traced back to me later, how embarrassing would that be? My dad would definitely beat me to death."

A family like theirs didn't lack precious collections. To the outside world, they just wanted to save face. With so many good things available, why would they have to hold onto something unclean?

Sylvia sighed, "If you had mentioned beforehand that you were there that day, I would have definitely asked you to check it over first."

Clara put on a little display of pride. "Well, I am very hard to book. You have to line up and wait for me."

"I know you're hard to book. Who else is the professional here?" Sylvia remembered something. "I recall you didn't entirely do this before. It seemed to be cultural relic origin tracing... or something like that." But she couldn't remember clearly; it was quite a complex profession after all. "Are you not doing that anymore? Only doing appraisal and restoration?"

Clara laughed and brushed the topic aside with a joke, "Why? Want to hire me as your family's exclusive restorer?"

"We'll definitely trouble you in the future anyway. Some of our family photos from over a hundred years ago are about to disintegrate, and my dad is trying to find someone." Sylvia pulled out a photo to show Clara. "So I remember what you did before wasn't just relics, it was also related to imagery. Do you see a way?"

Clara looked at the image on Sylvia's phone screen. After more than a century of wear, only the original outline could be seen. She knew that for a century-old European family like Sylvia's, whose ancestors were titled nobility, they placed extreme importance on this kind of imagery. This was a matter that required great caution. "I haven't done it in a long time."

"It's fine. Next time you have time, come to my house." Sylvia asked along the way, "By the way, will the Hong Kong Museum allow you to take private jobs?"

"Who knows," Clara smiled. "The museum will probably not want me soon."

"How could that be!" Sylvia was very surprised.

There was actually nothing to be surprised about. Clara was originally in an observation period this month. It was just her luck that she caused trouble again before the observation period ended.

Sylvia nudged her. "Didn't you also get invitations from several major European museums? I think they would definitely love you. Otherwise, I can help you ask at the Louvre." Speaking of this, Sylvia became very happy. "It just so happens that the Chinese director, Arthur, has his family settled here too."

Clara turned her spoon. "Is that so."

As Sylvia spoke, she thought of something. "Right, I saw your big brother was there that day too?"

Clara nodded. "He was."

Sylvia leaned a bit closer. "Does your brother have a girlfriend?"

Her sudden mention of this caused Clara to be scalded by the soup in her hand. Sylvia hurriedly handed her a napkin.

Clara said vaguely, "I don't know about his business."

"You should find out for me. Your big brother dotes on you so much. If you act spoiled and beg him like before, he'll definitely tell you everything."

Clara lowered her head. Whether out of guilt or something else, she didn't dare act spoiled and beg him like before now. "He doesn't tell me everything."

Sylvia murmured to herself for a couple of sentences, "If Quentin hasn't even told you, then he probably doesn't have a girlfriend. Then can you do me a favor?"

Clara felt a bit apprehensive. "What favor?"

Sylvia said directly, "Help me pursue him."

At that moment, a subtle sense of guilt blossomed in Clara, as if she were deceiving a friend who trusted her. Yet she couldn't say anything either. After a long pause, she only asked, "You like him?"

"I do," Sylvia said very directly. "Why do you ask? I assume many people pursue your big brother. He looks like he has very good fertility."

Clara still couldn't quite adapt to Western girls' open way of expressing themselves.

Sylvia had already prepared the item. "You don't need to do much anyway." She took out a rose, inside of which was a card. "Just help me give this to him."

A very simple and direct way of confessing.

For a moment, Clara found herself in a dilemma. Accepting it felt inappropriate, yet refusing it felt inappropriate too. She couldn't accept on Quentin's behalf, nor could she reject a passionate and open Western girl who liked him on his behalf.

Two hours later, Clara still held that single rose as she returned to the hotel with utter helplessness.

Quentin was sitting in the living room reading financial statements as usual. Hearing her return, he only asked a couple of simple questions. Clara lingered at the door for a while before walking forward, pretending to be nonchalant, and placed the rose on the table in front of Quentin. Then she walked away herself, putting away the credentials she had brought back from the embassy.

Quentin’s peripheral vision caught the item she had placed on the table. He looked steadily at her back. "Who gave you this?"

Clara pretended to be busy to hide that strange, bizarre sensation. "It’s for you."

Quentin pondered for a moment. "You gave it to me?"

Clara didn't know why he would think that. But being asked this made her feel even stranger. "Sylvia gave it to you."

Quentin put down the statements in his hand.

Clara simply relayed their entire conversation today, explaining, "She said today that she likes you and wants me to help her pursue you."

After saying this, Clara felt as if ants were crawling all over her body. The discomfort that had existed this entire time appeared once more, reminding her of what relationship she and Quentin actually held right now.

"I-I-I didn't want to agree, but she didn't ask me to do anything else either. She is my friend. She just asked me to bring this to you." Clara rubbed her fingertips and stammered, "I thought, well, what if you like it?"

Quentin didn't say anything. He rose, walked forward, and picked up the rose. Clara watched him draw out the card inside the bouquet and glance at it. It should have Sylvia’s confession and contact information on it.

There was no other sound in the living room for a long time. Such silence made Clara unable to resist breaking it, trying to say good things for her friend: "Actually, actually Sylvia is a very generous and warm girl. When I first came to Paris as a child, it was her family that hosted me. She took great care of me."

Quentin caught her tone. "So you think I can accept her."

"If you want to, sure. Why not?" Clara was very understanding. "Aren't we a partnership? If you truly have someone you like, you'll definitely still want to be together in the future. What if in the future, if I have someone I like, you'll definitely agree to let me go too."

After Quentin sent a message out, hearing such a sentence caused him to take a deep breath. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Clara, come here."

Clara walked toward him. "What's wrong?"

Just as she stood firmly in front of him, her wrist was seized without any warning. Clara froze for a second, looking down to see Quentin's chiseled hand easily encircling hers. Before she could react, that large hand applied a slight force. In an instant, Clara lost her balance and fell right over the armrest of the sofa.

But this was a single-seater sofa. By the time Clara realized where she was sitting, it was already too late. Goosebumps exploded all over her body!

When Clara reflexively tried to get off the man, her waist was buckled by another large hand, and her legs hovered above the floor for a long time without touching the ground. She was wearing a short skirt, and even through his suit pants, she could clearly feel the solid and full muscle of the man's thigh.

Every time Clara moved, the force Quentin applied to her waist grew a bit heavier. The place where the soft flesh of her leg brushed against became firmer and harder.

"Brother..."

Quentin brought her waist in again, moving her a bit closer in his direction. The words Clara was about to say were caught by this sudden closing of distance, as well as his sentence: "I am not your brother."

As Quentin spoke, he handed his phone to Clara. Clara saw a text message Quentin had sent to Sylvia on the screen:

[Sorry, I have a partner.]

The French word for partner didn't specifically mean spouse, but in any case, it meant a companion in an emotional sense.

Seeing these few words, Clara’s thoughts went blank for a moment. Quentin put the phone in her hand. "Help me delete her contact info."

Clara felt like she was sitting on pins and needles, holding a hot potato in her hand. "Delete it yourself."

Quentin didn't take it back, nor did he let her down, just looking at her like that. Clara found it even stranger. "I'm not your... partner."

"Then what are you?" Quentin asked her, leading her on. "A sister?"

His voice drilled into her eardrums, making Clara unable to bear the word 'sister' for a moment. Yet he doubled down: "So when you act as a sister, you can sit on your brother’s lap like this."

Blood rushed all over Clara’s body. In her embarrassment, she covered Quentin’s mouth. "You are not allowed to say that! It’s you who won't let me down! I have never..." Clara briefly lost her ability to organize language, her rosy lips parting slightly, flushed all the way to the corners of her eyes. "Let me down."

Quentin didn't move, looking steadily at her. When Clara released him, he still repeated that phrase, "Delete it."

Clara’s emotions were likely a bit intense, her chest heaving heavily. "I won't delete it."

Quentin arched an eyebrow, just waiting like that. Clara struggled on him, wanting to get down, but his 190cm mixed-heritage physique carried too much of an advantage. Clara’s feet couldn't touch the ground, her waist was pressed down, and her arm was gripped.

Her random squirming and moving would only result in an increasingly intense and obvious sensation of the unshakeable power radiating from the man. It would only stimulate the senses of their physical contact.

Clara had never been touched, suppressed, or controlled by her brother like this before. And it was Big Brother. It was that Big Brother who was meticulously proper and noble. The Big Brother who wouldn't even allow her to spend the night in his room. She had never thought that one day she would be buckled to him, unable to get down.

Clara didn't know what was happening. The overloaded physiological and psychological stimulation made her feel a bit like crying. She pried at Quentin’s hand that was holding her captive. "You, you, you can't touch me like this."

Quentin was committing an unprecedentedly wicked act, yet his tone remained as warm as an elder brother's from before. "Delete it."

The tip of Clara’s nose was already red. Perhaps out of discomfort, guilt, or being forced with no other choice, her finger trembled slightly when she reached it out. It took her a long time to lock onto the message box and delete the contact information.

After Clara deleted it, she spoke with a tone that sounded a bit aggrieved from being bullied, thick and muddled: "I deleted it. Let go."

Quentin kept his word and released her. Clara threw his phone back onto him, got up, and ran back to her room, slamming the door shut with a "thud."

Quentin sat in place for a while, put his phone on the coffee table, and stood up. He walked to her room door, tried to open it, and found the bedroom door locked tightly from the inside.

Clara didn't want to see him for the time being. She locked the door and was just about to catch her breath when she suddenly heard the sound of a lock turning. Clara looked around and could only see the adjacent bathroom. She ran inside, but before she could close the door, it was blocked by Quentin’s hand.

Clara wanted to close the door, but was afraid of pinching her brother’s hand, so she was forced back inside by him. Her eyes were red.

Quentin looked at her now; she was like a little lamb with nowhere to go. She was bullied to the point where she couldn't speak, or perhaps didn't dare speak. Quentin felt it wasn't to that extent. "I only let you sit on me for a bit. When you were little, you had to sit on your brother’s lap just to watch TV."

Clara stopped Quentin, "Don't you bring up the word 'brother' again."

Quentin’s expression remained cloudy and deep. "You finally know I am not your brother."

Clara was speechless. It was like a seamless safety net had been waiting for her all along, and she had finally fallen into it.

Quentin stepped closer to her again, his tone carrying more sternness than warmth: "Then what am I to you, you tell me."

He emphasized once more, "I am your husband. A husband cannot be pushed away. Just like how I would never allow my wife to leave me."