Clara’s eyelashes fluttered slightly.

She wasn’t entirely certain what the third brother meant. But it surely couldn't be

that

meaning.

Clara found a suitable way to phrase it. "Neither of them was fun. They were busy talking about proper business and had no time to pay attention to me."

She slightly avoided mentioning Quentin, fearing she might manifest some anomaly. Diverting the topic, she added, "However, the French people were actually more interesting."

The third brother listened. "How so?"

"They are very open and bold," Clara said shiftingly, unable to resist testing the waters with a subtle insinuation. "I even saw someone that day."

"He let a girl sit on him."

"I originally thought they were a couple," Clara said as she applied the medication to the third brother, pretending to speak casually. "Later, I heard the girl call him 'Brother.'"

The third brother didn't answer Clara’s question immediately, merely watching her.

Clara felt entirely uneasy under his gaze, reviewing her phrasing and thinking there wasn't anything that would expose the truth.

She added anxiously, "They shouldn't be like that, right? That's inappropriate."

Yet the third brother spoke up out of nowhere. "How did she sit on him?"

The third brother looked at her, spreading his hands. "Demonstrate it."

Clara choked, pulling his hand back. "Don't move around recklessly."

"They... just sat like that."

"Between family members who grew up together since childhood, being a bit close is quite normal." The third brother pondered, carrying a trace of habitual enchantment and enticement. "Between siblings, they can hold hands, hug, or even kiss on the cheek from a young age. Didn't we frequently do that when we were little?"

"What problem is there with that?"

"If it's just taking a rest, what problem could there possibly be?"

These words were familiar; the third brother often said them to her when they were little. Thus, Clara had developed the habit of holding her brother’s hand when going out to play, asking her brother for hugs, and rewarding him with cheek kisses.

But it was different now.

Just as Clara’s thoughts were in a state of confusion.

She heard the third brother's next sentence, "Perhaps 'Brother' is also just a title. If they share no blood relation..."

"Then nothing they do is excessive."

Clara’s chest tightened slightly as she finished applying the medication to the third brother.

The third brother stood up, opening the window to disperse the medicinal smell, and brought out an aromatherapy candle to place nearby. Lighting the candle lamp, the third brother continued, "If one day, you are tired from playing outside and have no suitable place to rest."

"You can also rest on me. You can use me however you like."

Clara declined tactfully, "That won't be necessary."

The third brother evaluated, "Grown distant from me?"

"No."

The melted aromatherapy lamp oil dispersed in the air.

Looking at the aromatherapy lamp, the third brother said, "But this is also just my thought. If you truly can't figure it out, why not go search and see what others say."

After hearing this, Clara lightly nudged her phone. "I just happened to see it, it's not a particularly vital matter."

"Take a look at that model first, see if you like it."

The third brother looked at her for a little longer before walking to the shelf.

Taking advantage of his back being turned, Clara picked up her phone and began searching: [Sibling relationship].

The third brother was right; instead of spending all day letting her imagination run wild and judging whether this matter was right or wrong, she might as well go see what everyone else said.

Just as Clara was seriously waiting for the answers.

On the screen, within the topic of sibling relationships, a highly-upvoted post popped up: [Our Red Thread Is Hidden in Our Blood Vessels].

Clara: ?

She was in a daze for a while, scrolling through the screen recommendations with a bizarre look.

The entire screen was filled with [BG], [Pseudo-Incest], [Recommendation].

[Older brother and younger sister is just the most delicious!!!]

Everywhere, people were looking for stories to consume.

Clara modified the keywords a few more times, and finally, there were normal answers.

The third brother wasn't in a hurry either, pouring a glass of milk for Clara and placing it nearby.

Clara snapped out of it, turning her phone face down beneath the screen full of unpresentable posts, and asked him about the gift she had given, "How is it, do you like it?"

The third brother looked at her, offering an enigmatic sentence, "I like it."

"That's good." Clara picked up the milk he handed over, drinking it to cover up her embarrassment.

While the third brother went to assemble the model, Clara picked up her phone again, curling up on the sofa to read the posts. Perhaps she was tired, or perhaps she couldn't find many proper posts. Clara began to feel drowsy, yet remained stubborn.

A long time passed.

Inside the entire room, only the faint sound of the third brother piecing together the model remained. The warm fragrance of the sleep-inducing aromatherapy slowly dispersed in the air.

The third brother calculated the time and stood up.

As expected, he saw the person who had already fallen asleep on his sofa. He stood a short distance away, looking at those well-proportioned legs curled up on the sofa.

The phone slid from Clara’s palm and dropped into the crevice of the sofa.

He didn't go over immediately, but rather carried a strand of hidden pleasure from precise calculation and planning—finally getting her to sleep here at his place—appreciating the sight for a long time.

She slept peacefully, entirely oblivious to the anomalies around her and that increasingly distinct aura of danger.

The man walked to her side and bent down. His slender fingers brushed aside the stray hairs falling on her cheek, revealing that bright face that haunted one's soul.

The back of his finger scraped across the fair skin, accusing her, "Clara left me behind again."

The third brother felt the warm and moist sensation at his fingertips. "I want so much to lock Clara up, lock her here with me where no one can find her."

"That way, you wouldn't leave me behind to fool around with the two of them."

The third brother was highly satisfied; right now, the sleeping person wouldn't reject him, nor would she push him away. Much less would she ponder whether the relationship between them was correct.

He smiled, interrogating the soundly sleeping person, his words appearing sinister.

"So, which brother made you feel that the boundary was exceeded?"

"Let me guess," the third brother supported the person up, letting her lean against his chest, slowly stroking her cheek, "Big Brother?"

"Second Brother?"

"Or both."

"Not speaking, right?" The third brother gripped her jaw. "Then once I guess it, it won't be this simple."

Clara gave birth to a strong sense of being suppressed in her dream, letting out a couple of soft hums. But she didn't wake up.

In her haze, she seemed to be able to hear the sounds outside.

The third brother looked down at her lightly knitted brow. "Elliot?"

"He's a good brother who agreed to let Clara take advantage of him for free."

Almost simultaneously, the third brother felt the person in his embrace carry a subtle tremble.

"Why would I know," he laughed, responding as though he could converse with her, "because on Second Brother's person, there is a listening device I installed."

"Everything you two say, I can hear."

The force in the third brother's hand didn't decrease but rather increased. "Also, that bracelet he spoke of that can stay on you for a lifetime makes me want to leash Clara with a chain too."

"As for Big Brother..." The third brother said this with a bit of regret; Big Brother wasn't easy to plant a listening device on. But if it wasn't something Elliot did, then it was done by Quentin.

So...

"That brother who kept his sister captive on his body was him, wasn't it?"

"He crossed the line too."

"Only I haven't..."

Since childhood, Big Brother had Father, Second Brother had Mother, and only he had neither.

The third brother gripped her jaw. "It can't be that only I don't have you, Clara."

Inside the room, it was utterly quiet without a sound.

In the next instant, with a sharp "ding" sound, the door to the third brother's room was opened without any warning.

The third brother raised his head with impatience, as though he could guess who it was, looking at Quentin standing at the doorway of his room.

"Big Brother, you are being very impolite."

In his room, only one person in the entire family had the authority for forced entry.

Quentin looked at the third brother's action of restraining Clara. "What are you doing?"

The third brother didn't conceal his behavior in the slightest. "Clara fell asleep here at my place."

Quentin felt that he hadn't changed a bit from when he was little. Since childhood, the third brother liked to stealthily hide the sleeping Clara away, keeping her at his place. This had caused the mother and the father to think Clara was lost several times, searching up and down through the entire household.

Quentin believed that initially, the third brother's behavior shared the same purpose as breaking a vase to draw the adults' attention. When they came looking for Clara, they would pay a bit more attention to him.

Yet reality was often contrary to a child's thoughts; they would only increasingly feel that he was an undisciplined child.

Under the vicious cycle, Quentin feared he would develop malice toward their young sister, trying to understand him. But the one who understood the third brother before him was Clara. She would forever stand on the third brother's side amidst a chorus of noisy accusations. "It was me who wanted to play with Brother."

"I just like playing hide-and-seek with Brother."

"It's fine wherever Brother takes me."

When the third brother questioned why she spoke up for him, she asked him in return, "Isn't Brother with me because he likes me?" Then she patted his face. "I like you too."

No one could resist this. Quentin understood.

Therefore, Quentin walked straight into the room, adjusting his cuffs. "Kid, I don't want to beat you up today. Be tactful and give the person to me."

The third brother didn't intend to let go. "Why should I give her to you?"

"Who knows what bad things our sanctimonious Big Brother will do if he takes Clara back."

Quentin didn't say much to him, stepping forward with giant strides. He bent down, his arm naturally passing beneath Clara’s knees. Just as he wanted to lift the person up, he felt the resistance brought by the third brother pressing down on her waist.

Clara slept deeply.

The two distinct forces on her body were like two vines, continuously climbing and spreading from her lower legs, tightly entangling her. Neither was willing to let go. Along with it, her body was also eroded and enveloped by the possessiveness brought by both sides. It felt as though every inch of her skin was to be consumed and swallowed, stained with the temperature of one of them, though she knew not which.

The air was scorching.

Quentin lowered his eyes, reminding, "Any more force, and she's going to wake up."

The third brother raised his brows. "What if she wakes up?"

"She was willing to fall asleep here at my place herself. Why was she willing to be at my place but unwilling to be at yours?"

"Big Brother, what did you do?"

Quentin took a deep breath. What could be more of a provocation to a man's dignity than his wife running away from him, confiding her grievances, and falling asleep in a completely unrelated man's room?

Quentin stared at this person who provoked him. "If you don't wish for Clara to know that you've placed a monitor on her person." Quentin's voice was very light, yet the pressure was very heavy. "Then let go."

Sure enough, the third brother's expression began to freeze.

When Quentin demanded the person again, the hand restraining her waist found it difficult to exert force, and she broke free from his palm.

Quentin took Clara away.

The third brother was unreconciled. "Big Brother, your schemes are being used on me now?"

"As for the monitor on Second Brother's person, you clearly knew I placed it, yet you didn't stop me. Wasn't it just to borrow my hand to constantly know what he would do to Clara behind your back?"

"Does Clara know you are this calculating?"

Quentin didn't answer his words. "The item was placed by you, not me."

"In addition, that wound on your hand looks quite calculated as well."

The third brother didn't deny it; he had intentionally scratched himself. "What of it? Clara still felt heartache for me. If she didn't care about me, I wouldn't be able to keep her even if I were covered in wounds."

The more Quentin listened, the darker his eyes became. The arms holding the person also tightened more and more.

In her dream, Clara felt herself being entangled even tighter by those vines. It felt as though she was to be dragged back to its territory, imprisoned in a cage by a dense net woven from countless vines, and then subjected to everything it wanted to do.

Quentin's footsteps were heavy. Rounding the entryway, a figure suddenly appeared in front of him. His sword-like brows knitted slightly, snapping out of his thoughts.

Behind him, the third brother was also somewhat surprised to see the newcomer. "Why did you come?"

Meanwhile, Sylvia looked at the situation inside the room with keen interest, offering a sentence that was neither hot nor cold, "The brothers are truly considerate."

"No need for you to worry anymore."

"I've come to take Clara back to rest."

Others might not know, but regardless of who it was in this family, everyone would give Sylvia a shred of face. To say she was currently the most authoritative person in the house wouldn't be an exaggeration, though she didn't frequently state demands either. At most, the third brother was familiar with her and would retort a couple of sentences to her, but the third brother's temper belonged to the type that targeted everyone indiscriminately.

Clara woke up in Sylvia's room the next morning as she wished. She stretched, and turning over, her head rested against Sylvia's arm.

Sylvia was awoken by her touch, opening her eyes drowsily.

Clara looked at her, murmuring a greeting, "Morning..."

Clara shrank half her face into the blanket, not withholding her praise at all, "Bb, your bed is so soft and fragrant, I like it so much."

Then Clara confusedly heard a sentence from Sylvia, "If you woke up from your Big Brother's bed this morning, would you say the same thing?"

Clara instantly became clear-headed.

She widened her eyes, looking at Sylvia for a little while before sitting up. "Why do you say that?"

"How could I from..."

"Wasn't I yesterday..."

Clara’s words came to a grinding halt. She reacted for a moment, discovering that she seemed to have no memory of before sleeping; her sole impression was that she had fallen asleep while reading posts in the third brother's room.

Clara moved her lips, and amidst countless questions she wanted to ask, she realized something. "Big Brother... he's back?"

Sylvia nodded, giving her a look that showed she didn't mind the trouble being bigger, and turned to get out of bed. "Very afraid of him coming back?"

"No." Clara talked tough. "I knew he would come sooner or later, I'm not afraid."

Sylvia asked her, "Coming back to do what?"

Clara fell silent now. She walked into the bathroom, pretending to brush her teeth to stuff her mouth.

Knowing Quentin was back, Clara began to evade going out, hiding in the room and refusing to step outside.

At lunchtime, Quentin sat in the living room reviewing briefings, listening to the conversation between the nanny coming downstairs and the butler.

"The young ladies aren't coming down to eat?"

"They aren't coming down. They ordered food, and I'll deliver it up to them in a little while."

Quentin knew why Clara wasn't coming down. He just didn't know how this bad habit of running whenever there was a problem and hiding from him whenever she was unhappy had been cultivated. It had to change.

Quentin wasn't in a hurry, leaning nearby to continue reading the paper.

At this time, the father came downstairs from the upper floor with a stiff expression and a very poor complexion. The butler hastily asked, "Will the master dine at home at noon?"

The father waved his hand. "Not eating."

"Then the mistress..."

"The mistress?" The father's tone was helpless. "The mistress is likely in Monaco right now, still eating."

The butler understood. "Argued again?"

The father suppressed his temper. "Such a grown person, yet still playing that game of running away from home, vanishing the moment one isn't paying attention."

After the father finished speaking, he discovered that Quentin had been staring at him nearby. Unable to resist saving face, he muttered, "What are you looking at? This is because you haven't started a family yet; you'll know when you encounter it."

Quentin withdrew his gaze, knowing now who Clara had learned it from.

The father gave a few instructions to the butler, and seeing Quentin, gave a couple more instructions before leaving the door in a burning hurry.

The mother running away was different from ordinary throwing of tantrums and leaving home. During the first two years of marriage, he had also thought it was just throwing a tantrum and that she would return on her own once her anger dissipated. Later he discovered that once the mother ran out, she went looking for fun and could truly do without him.

In the past, before the daughter had her accident, she could still help him coax his wife, being a well-behaved daughter who could maintain the husband-and-wife relationship. Ever since that incident, the frequency of the mother arguing with him had risen in a straight line, and his precious daughter had no time to help him bridge the connection either. Those three stinky boys were simply of no use whatsoever regarding husband-and-wife relations.

At noon, after having lunch.

Clara was currently agonizing over whether she should return to her own room when the butler came upstairs to call them. Clara stood at the doorway, likely not having expected it. "Aunt has arrived?"

"Yes." The butler smiled. "She arrived rather suddenly; the master and mistress are both absent."

That meaning was that they, the younger generation, had to go down to receive her. Otherwise, it would appear too impolite.

Clara agreed, asking Sylvia if she wanted to go down together. Sylvia had some impression of this aunt; she appeared far more amiable than that group of uncles. She didn't particularly reject this person, but she consistently believed that the socializing of this family had nothing to do with her, and she was too lazy to participate. "You go ahead."

Clara didn't force her.

By the time she went down, the living room was already filled with people. Even though Clara had some psychological preparation, seeing Quentin in the living room still caused her heart to drop.

Clara tried her best not to manifest any anomaly. But Aunt still detected Clara’s unease, unable to resist teasing her, "Why is Clara still acting shy around familiar people?"

She patted the spot beside her. "Come sit down quickly. I came today specifically for you."

Clara blinked. "For me?"

"Yes." Aunt pulled her to her side. "That painting you intercepted from Paris last time belongs to the family in the coastal city."

"It just so happens that I know the elder of that family. He called me, saying that in a while, when the artwork enters customs from Hong Kong, it might require you to go to the museum for verification."

Hearing this, Clara was very interested. "I'm certainly willing. But it still depends on the arrangements of other relevant personnel." After all, she had just onboarded and wouldn't necessarily encounter a project of such a high level.

"The elder has already made contact. He intended to appoint identification personnel himself anyway. Originally, the report in Paris was done by you, so you are definitely more suitable than others. In a little while, the old gentleman will also come to Hong Kong, and Aunt will take you to see him then."

To one side, the butler brought over the washed cherries. They chatted as they ate. Clara naturally wanted to reach for a tissue, and raising her eyes, discovered that the tissues were on Quentin's side.

She pursed her lips, subconsciously glancing at the man over there. She collided right with the gaze of the man who had long been waiting there. Clara looked away, pretending it was unintentional.

Just as she intended to give up on the tissue, Quentin raised his hand and passed the tissues over. There was a person separated between them. This distance that was neither near nor far was just right.

Clara paused for two seconds. Quentin didn't move either. Clara could only reach out and take them. As though afraid of touching him, she avoided the position where his hand was located, turning her head to continue speaking with Aunt.

Although neither of the parents was present for dinner, a guest still had to be properly entertained. Quentin, as the eldest brother of this household, assumed the responsibilities of the parents, calling upon the kitchen to prepare the meal. The child from Aunt's family came over, pestering the third brother to look at his racing cars.

Clara chatted with Aunt alone in the living room. What elders cared about regarding the younger generation was invariably those few matters.

As Aunt chatted, she brought up softly, "When you went to Paris to play, Madame told me that you seem to have a situation going on?"

Clara choked on the juice she had just swallowed, coughing a few times. "What situation?"

"She said she saw you wearing a pink diamond. That pink diamond seemed to be the grand finale jewelry of a previous auction house." The more Aunt spoke, the more excited she became. "I've seen that one too."

Very unfortunately, at this moment, Clara saw Elliot returning from outside.

Clara sucked in a breath of cold air. She consistently remembered that because of who sent that pink diamond, Elliot had intentionally taken her to such a jewelry exhibition, interrogating her for two days. Clara’s mind was entirely filled with the thought of hiding first.

She barely answered Aunt, "No, it belongs to a friend, I borrowed it to wear for a bit."

"Ah, how is dinner being prepared? I'm already hungry." Clara said as she found an excuse. "I'll go look over there, you sit here."

Entering the door, what Elliot happened to see was precisely Clara’s fleeing figure. He stood still at the door, narrowing his eyes, and greeted Aunt with a smile. "Aunt, long time no see."

Aunt hastily called him, "You've come at a good time, Clara refuses to speak. Tell me quickly, is Clara dating?"

Elliot let out a light laugh. So she was afraid of chatting about this.

Clara originally thought dodging the trouble in the living room would be enough, but halfway through, she just remembered. This direction was the direction Quentin was in. Her steps stiffened to a halt. Just as she was about to turn around, she heard Elliot's voice from not far away, "I've asked too, she won't say."

Clara turned back again, hardening her resolve to walk toward the kitchen. Fortunately, Quentin wasn't in the kitchen, and Clara felt much lighter. She entered the kitchen pretending to be calm to chat with the chefs, but the oil fumes were too choking, and she had to come out again.

The chef told her that the refrigerator in the tearoom held the chocolate ice cream cake brought by Aunt's family, and she could go eat it. Clara’s interest was piqued, and she sauntered over.

Unexpectedly, pushing open the door to the tearoom, Clara saw Quentin standing inside. He was wiping a knife he had just washed. Beside his hand sat that chocolate cake. Hearing the sound, he didn't even raise his head. "Come to get what?"

It wasn't good for Clara to close the door and go out again, so she stepped forward. Moving her gaze away from the cake beside his hand, she lied, "A drink."

"In the refrigerator."

"Oh."

He didn't say anything. It was very strange.

Clara walked to the refrigerator, opening the cabinet door to select a drink. She took the lemon soda she loved to drink, and then began to pick beverages to entertain the guests. From time to time, she stealthily listened to the sound of Quentin cutting the cake nearby.

One way or another, the beverage bottles in Clara’s embrace stacked higher and higher. She caught sight of a bottle of plum wine in the freezer again. Just as Clara was about to reach her hand out, the beverages in her embrace gave a "gulu" sound and began to roll downward.

It was already too late for her to try to shield them. Just as Clara thought she was going to knock things over again, a large hand appeared within her sight, steadily catching the bottle that was about to fall.

Clara froze for a moment. Quentin had stood behind her at some unknown point. He supported the cabinet door with one hand like this, and blocked beneath her arm with the other. It was another feeling of being trapped somewhere and unable to move.

It was very strange.

Looking at that hand in her sight, Clara could feel the scorching heat emanating from the man behind her. Meanwhile, in front of her was the cold air brought by the double-door built-in refrigerator.

Clara softly wanted to say thank you, yet couldn't bring herself to speak.

Quentin picked up that bottle of beverage. "If you can't carry them, why didn't you call me?" As he spoke, he smoothly gripped another bottle of beverage in Clara’s embrace.

Clara didn't react at first, not knowing what that pause of Quentin's meant. Not until Quentin pulled that bottle of beverage away. The cold and rough frosted glass bottle was carried by the man's movement across her chest. The frosted bottle brushed across her sensitive skin through the thin clothing.

Clara’s scalp went numb in an instant. Only then did she comprehend that Quentin was waiting just now for her to let go herself and give the things to him.

She hastily piled everything onto him in one fell swoop. "Then you take them."

Clara said as she wanted to leave, but Quentin, blocking outside the refrigerator door, didn't leave her a way out. A sense of crisis sprouted within her haze.

Meanwhile, the culprit organized them bottle by bottle, placing them into the basket beside his hand. "Constantly sleeping in someone else's room isn't appropriate. When are you returning to sleep?"

Hearing his words, Clara subconsciously looked outside the tearoom door. When she entered, she hadn't closed the door, which meant that at any time, if someone came over, they would hear their conversation.

"Aunt is still waiting for me outside, I'll first..."

Just as Clara was about to take a few steps outward, she was pushed back by Quentin gripping her arm. He asked once more, "When are you returning to sleep?"

Clara didn't want to answer, yet had to answer. It was indeed impossible for her to sponge off Sylvia's room forever. Once Monday arrived for work, for the convenience of commuting, she would have to return to the residence.

Under utter helplessness, Clara asked him in a small voice, "Then after returning home, will you do even more excessive things to me?"