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."

are a Linwood; if people knew you lived in the

have another space, but it's

out and let her stay there

and airy as the guest rooms, never imagining

involuntarily conjured images of Claire enduring endless cold, lonely nights in this dreary room, intensifying the ache in his

vast mansion where even the staff enjoyed private rooms, his own sister had been relegated to a

realization nearly suffocated

before suggesting, "The storage room is damp. Perhaps it would

pierced by countless needles

unconscious form

surge of happiness 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,

to Ethan's room swung open, and Victor's voice preceded

move her to your room when Vanessa is sick and should be resting

pale face

criminals," he said, grabbing his medical bag

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