Chapter 17

In the cramped little attic, the only furnishings were a worn-out folding bed and a few sparse, basic belongings. Everything else was clutter-boxes, old books, and forgotten knick-knacks. The walls were yellowed, exuding a musty odor, while cobwebs collected in the corners.

Seeing the state of the place, Ethan was seething with anger. "May, what were you thinking? Claire is my sister. Who allowed her to live in this dump?"

May, feeling wronged and helpless, replied, "Sir, wasn't it you who told Miss Claire to stay here in the first place? Have you forgotten?"

"When did I ever..."

Ethan stopped mid-sentence as memories rushed back to him.

Eight years ago, when Claire was brought back home, he had let her choose a

room.

Claire had picked the guest room next to his bedroom, which he immediately rejected, "I plan to turn that into my study. Pick another."

Then, Claire chose the room adjacent to Vanessa's. He refused again, "Vanessa wants to make that her art studio. You can't stay there."

Claire settled on the attic, only for him to object once more, "You are a Linwood; if people knew

another space, but it's just a storage

out and let

bright and airy as the guest rooms, never imagining

images of Claire enduring endless cold, lonely nights in this dreary room, intensifying

where even the staff enjoyed private rooms, his own sister had been relegated to a damp, dark storage space for three

nearly suffocated

is damp. Perhaps it would be better to move Miss Claire to my

as though pierced by countless needles of remorse. He took a deep breath and

cradled Claire's unconscious form and headed

for Claire. It seemed the master finally showed some brotherly concern for Miss Claire, after years of neglect. She quickly dialed Victor Lewis's number, "Hello? Dr. Lewis, our young lady

to Ethan's room

to your room when Vanessa is sick and should be resting in

face on the bed. His playful demeanor

don't treat criminals," he said, grabbing his medical bag and turning

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