Chapter 277

Second Floor, The Sewing Room

All it took was a gentle push of the window, and the entire garden below stretched out before her in a riot of color and fragrance.

It was Sean's idea to set up the sewing room directly overlooking the garden. He'd thought that whenever Claire grew weary from her needlework, she could simply stand by the window, breathe in the fresh air thick with the scent of blooming flowers, and let herself relax, if only for a moment.

Right now, Sean lounged lazily by that very window, his gaze following Claire and Mandy as they moved about the garden below.

He listened to their conversation drifting up to him, his deep-set eyes narrowing slightly, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. He couldn't help but lift an eyebrow, an intrigued smile curling at his lips.

May really had raised an astute daughter.

He'd always assumed the biggest threat to Claire would be the men outside, circling like hawks. Who would've thought it'd be Mandy who managed to spirit her away instead?

Still, he showed not a trace of annoyance. Instead, he watched with a calm, almost indulgent interest, eavesdropping on their every word.

He heard Claire hesitate, then say softly, "I... I promise."

"Really?" Mandy's face lit up in an instant. She bounced forward, throwing her arms around Claire in a tight hug, her voice bright and barely able to contain her excitement. "Claire, when should we leave?"

"How about tomorrow? I'll book our tickets in a bit."

her ear, but she was sure Mandy was already bubbling over

a gentle push, adding, "I'll

anxiety flickering in

embroidering 'Radiant Beauty' for Grandma. At her birthday party, Mr. Foster spent

clouded with guilt

he was the one who pulled me back. If not for him, the night Irene

bottles of his vintage wine, each worth a fortune. She'd ended up in the hospital, unable to handle it, and he'd quietly

things-one after another-she'd kept close

owed Mr. Foster more than she could

Claire had

Claire had met Sean. If not, Mandy might never have seen her

you've repaid Mr. Foster,

played

of silk embroidery, she could support herself anywhere—even overseas. She'd never have

his eyes-a smile

I never agreed to let you run

decided you're her

slipped my mother's ring

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