Chapter 9: You’re a Pervert

Clara returned to her room, her mind blank, losing the capacity for much reaction. It wasn't until she walked past the foyer that she saw Elliot sitting on her sofa, waiting for her.

Her face darkened as she suppressed her emotions, stepping forward to grab Elliot by the collar. "Elliot, if you enter my room again without greeting me, I’ll kill you."

Elliot allowed himself to be pulled toward her, his handsome face gazing at her calmly. "Hit me."

Clara’s movements faltered. Elliot’s voice was very soft: "You can hit me when you’re unhappy."

"You..." Clara’s expression turned strange, as if she had touched something unsanitary. She let go and shoved him away. "You’re a pervert."

Elliot was thrown back, bouncing twice against the sofa cushions. His shirt collar was a mess, but he didn't bother to straighten it. Looking at him, he possessed a certain decadent, bohemian air—a refined rogue. He even seemed to harbor a bit of regret at being rejected, disappointed that she hadn't actually struck him.

Elliot picked up a controller from the side. "Want to play? I just downloaded a few new games."

Clara curled up on the seat next to him. She said nothing, but she reached out and took the controller.

Several consultation meetings were held prior to the board’s final resolution. Specifically, they were discussing how Clara’s portion of the shares should be redistributed.

Quentin presided over the meeting. The Secretary-General first mentioned, according to the bylaws, that surrendered shares should be distributed proportionally among current shareholders. This immediately sparked an argument.

Quentin leaned back in his leather chair, listening to the board members carve up Clara’s assets as if they were spoils of war. He toyed with a fountain pen in his hand. The most heated arguments came from the Third and Fourth Uncles.

"Those shares were given by the Old Patriarch when he was alive. If he knew he’d been deceived by an outsider, who knows how heartbroken he’d be."

"I have no objection to a proportional split, but the eldest branch should be penalized with a reduction."

Heng couldn't stand it anymore. "The Chairman was the party at fault and has already surrendered power. What does that have to do with the rest of the family?"

"The Old Patriarch’s portion was always meant for his granddaughter. If not Clara, then it goes to Chloe."

"You can't put it that way. Giving willingly is one thing; being swindled into giving is quite another."

"And look at the impact Clara’s presence on social media has had these past two days. You’ve seen how bad it looks."

Heng wanted to speak again, but Quentin stopped him. Quentin asked, "How do the shareholders think it should be divided?"

The Fourth Uncle spoke up: "Besides your branch receiving less, the rest should be distributed based on shareholding percentages and the previous year's performance of each subsidiary."

Quentin nodded understandingly. "That makes sense."

"No, that won't do. It’ll cause chaos." The Third Uncle interrupted him, knowing the Fourth Uncle’s performance last year far exceeded his own. "Company rules state it follows shareholding percentages."

Quentin echoed, "That also makes sense."

The Fourth Uncle grew anxious. "Those rules were set decades ago. The market is different now. If we give shares to the sectors that are declining, the entire group will decline."

The Third Uncle retorted, "Who’s declining?"

No one noticed that Quentin had simply tossed out a question and was now nonchalantly watching them tear into each other. The uglier they fought, the clearer it became who was desperate to profit from this. These people, who claimed to be acting to mitigate losses for the group, were actually eyeing Clara’s shares and assets.

Though Clara was just one of many grandchildren, she had been the Old Patriarch’s favorite since birth. Coupled with the positive impact she had brought to the group previously, she held over 6% of the shares. Even Quentin, as the eldest grandson, had only held 3% back then. For someone without an official position in the group, 6% was a heavy weight, and the annual income was substantial.

Beyond that, counting the various companies, real estate, foundations, and trusts, Clara’s net worth exceeded 60 billion. The money was secondary; what mattered was the voting power that came with those 60 billion in assets. Combined with Howard’s penalty, which would strip him of a portion of his equity, these chips represented a chance for some to turn the tables and trample over the others.

The argument in the conference room grew out of control. The Third Uncle, stung by the Fourth Uncle’s mockery of his poor management, began to air dirty laundry. "You can make money, but do your company's accounts even balance?"

Quentin watched them wordlessly. Nearby, other shareholders hurriedly interrupted them. "Enough. We are all considering the future development of the group. There's no need to fight."

"Indeed," Quentin said leisurely. "The future of the group depends on all of you. I want to confirm one last thing: the asset recovery agreed upon by the board includes not only Clara’s shares, companies, and industries but also her trusts, real estate, and other family assets, correct?"

No one objected.

Quentin nodded. "Then I will follow your suggestions. My branch will accept a proportional reduction in share distribution. I can guarantee absolute fairness. The secretariat will collect everyone's opinions and finalize the plan. Rest assured."

Quentin was known as a man of reason and rules, a refined gentleman. Because of this, his prestige in the group was high. When he spoke this way, no one felt uneasy.

As the meeting adjourned and the crowd dispersed, Heng closed the door and walked back. "Sir."

Quentin sat back in his chair, his expression unreadable. He handed a file to Heng. "It seems some people don't understand the concept of quitting while they're ahead."

Then he would make them spit it all back out.

Inside Cloud Bay, Clara had simply slept until noon without leaving her room. This led the servants to mistakenly believe the Young Miss was overwhelmed with grief again. Panicked, they piled a mountain of food at her door.

When Clara opened her door, she nearly tripped over the stacks of snack racks and cake boxes. The racks were stuffed with various handwritten notes—the new servants were trying every trick to coax her. Some begged her to see the rose wall in the garden, some pleaded with her to try the chef’s new dishes, and some urged her to go out and spend money, even tucking a black card into the pile.

Clara was quite amused. She pulled out the black card and found it was from Penelope. The signature was in Penelope’s handwriting: "—Mommy’s Wen Ni baby."

Clara pouted slightly, put the items away, and wandered downstairs. The servants in the main house immediately messaged Howard and Penelope the moment they saw Clara emerge. Unfortunately, Penelope was out in Central picking up custom jewelry for Clara.

Howard, now "honorably retired" at home, took the news and immediately sat in the dining room with a newspaper and coffee, pretending it was a chance encounter.

Clara, hungry from sleep, ran into Howard as expected. She asked with a smile, "Daddy, you didn't go to work today?"

Howard ostentatiously turned a page of the newspaper. "Nothing urgent, so I didn't go."

"Oh." Clara strolled over to sit opposite him and ordered foie gras toast from the chef. She mentioned casually, "Is it because there’s nothing urgent, or because you got fired?"

Howard’s movement stalled. Clara snatched the newspaper from his hands. "You’re holding it upside down."

She didn't give it back but looked at it herself. "Why did you resign?"

"I’ve reached the age where I’m too lazy to manage group affairs," Howard said with an air of calculated control. "I just used this as an excuse to step back and let your big brother take over."

Clara put the paper down, ignoring his explanation. "Is it because of me?"

Howard’s eyelid flickered. He even wondered if that newspaper had written about group affairs and Clara had found out—but it was just an entertainment tabloid. "Who have you been listening to?"

"Is it that hard to figure out?" Clara’s eyes crinkled into a smile. "You had one meeting and now you're idling at home. Plus, Mommy never gives me cards directly." Her lunch was served, and she spread some blueberry jam. "That means my cards are about to be canceled."

"You’re letting small things get to you," Howard said directly. "Don't worry about the rest. Everything stays as it was..."

Before he could finish, Clara spoke up: "I’m not worried about it. I can accept it."

Howard stopped mid-sentence, frowning. "Accept what?"

Clara took a bite of her food, thought for a moment, and smiled at him. "Accepting that I’m no longer part of this family. By the way, you haven't given me news about Chloe’s parents yet. What do they do? Chloe has moved in, but I haven't gone over there yet. Haven't they asked?"

Howard stared at her fixedly as she went on and on. The atmosphere in the dining room became frozen and oppressive. Only after Clara went quiet did Howard speak in a heavy voice: "You want to leave?"

The pressure brought by a lifelong leader filled the large hall in an instant.

Clara finished her toast quietly. Instead of answering him directly, she asked, "Daddy, you gave up a board seat you held for nearly thirty years because of me. Was it worth it?"

Howard couldn't suppress his anger. "Who said it was because of you? I’m the judge of whether it was worth it."

"I have my own judgment too."

"You don't understand!"

Clara refuted him softly, as if speaking of something ordinary: "I do understand."

Howard took a deep breath. "Wen Ni, listen to me. This is all temporary. I’ll say it again: you stay at home, follow my arrangements, and your life won't change one bit from before."

"They want you to sever ties with me, so how can I stay?" Clara stirred her spoon, still in the mood to joke with him. "Are you going to hide me away? I don't want something illegitimate; it feels like living under someone else's roof."

Clara felt there was nothing unacceptable about it. "Besides, it's not like we’ll never see each other again. I still work at the museum. If you miss me and want to see me or hang out, they can't say anything. They might even praise you for being sentimental and righteous."

The lighter her tone, the heavier Howard’s expression became. "You think I’m doing this for a good reputation? If I kick a child out, where is the righteousness in that?!"

"I’m not a child," Clara thought Howard could be quite stubborn. "Can't it just be that I’m willing to leave?"

"You're 'willing to leave'?" Howard became even more agitated. "I've been spending these past few days trying to figure out how to get back what was snatched from you. Even if I can't get it back, I’m figuring out how to compensate you out of my own pocket, how to set up better industries for you. While I’m figuring things out, what is a little ingrate like you thinking? You're thinking about leaving us! Do you even see me as your father? Or have you already decided to recognize someone else as your dad? Or do you think I’m the kind of bastard who would give up on you over a small matter?!"

"I’m telling you, if you leave, then the assets, real estate, companies, antiques, and funds of the Harrison family will have nothing to do with you ever again!"

Suddenly faced with a barrage of accusations and threats, Clara didn't bother arguing with her stubborn, autocratic father. "I think you should consider the relationship between those things and Chloe."

She stood up, finished with her meal. "If you hadn't brought the wrong baby back then, it would be more useful than anything you're saying now."

Howard called out to her angrily, "Howard Wen Ni! If you dare leave this place, I will only leave you with one billion in assets, two hundred million in financial investments, a small manor, a small helicopter, and a few nannies, bodyguards, assistants, drivers, chefs, and doctors!"

She didn't stop. Howard regretted saying too little, wondering if he had truly made her angry. Clara’s temper was sometimes very much like Penelope’s; Howard realized he couldn't control either of them.

Leaving the dining room, Clara happened to hear a servant asking the butler, "With the house like this, are we still having the gathering next week?"

The butler’s brow was furrowed. "Wait for news. It’s a rule set by the Old Patriarch, so we should gather."

When the Old Patriarch was alive, the family rules emphasized unity and harmony. To prevent drifting apart, they gathered once every two months on the fifteenth. Clara remembered the last gathering shortly after she returned to the country. A group of uncles and aunts had surrounded her, praising her beauty and success, giving her gift after gift and calling her "baby." Thinking back now, it felt meaningless.

Clara knew her parents couldn't bear to let her go. But if she didn't take the initiative to state her position, those people wouldn't let it rest.

Clara went back to her room and started packing. After stuffing in one safe, her suitcase was full. Her cat, Cookie, also sat in the suitcase watching her. Clara was silent for a moment, then took the safe and the cat out. She put in some daily clothes, then took the cat out and put in some daily necessities. Finally, she took the cat out again and closed the suitcase.

As she pushed the suitcase out, she ran into Chloe coming down from upstairs. Chloe frowned, looking at the suitcase at Clara’s door and the clattering sounds coming from the room. She stepped forward and knocked.

Clara saw it was her. "Oh, perfect. This is too heavy; help me move this over."

Seeing the safe in Clara’s hand, Chloe took it over. "Where does this go?"

"The fridge."

Chloe thought she had misheard. But Clara had already opened the door to her walk-in refrigerator and pointed to a cold storage area. "Here."

It was the first time Chloe had heard of putting a safe in a fridge. "Is the stuff inside afraid of melting?"

"No." Clara helped her slide it in. "It’s just that these images need low-temperature preservation."

Chloe didn't like prying, but she was curious. "Images?"

"Some ancient book images and old photos."

Chloe understood. These were also antiques. Clara finished putting the safe away and locked the area. "I originally wanted to move them first." But it seemed that wasn't possible now.

Chloe could tell these antiques were important to her, but she also keenly caught another piece of information. "You're moving?"

"Yeah," Clara planned. "I want to find a house first and then move slowly. A week should be enough."

Chloe was silent for a long time. If Clara moved out, wouldn't she be the only one left here? What about her parents? "Is it because of me?"

Clara was confused. "Why would it be because of you?"

"If it's because of me, I can be the one to leave." She had wanted to leave long ago.

"Don't add to the chaos." Clara closed the fridge door and walked out. "This has nothing to do with you."

"It does have to do with me." Chloe couldn't keep her there, so she followed her out. "Stop right there."

Clara: "Shut up."

Not long after, Howard stepped out to find both his "good daughters" had run off. "Wait, why didn't you stop them?"

Several 1.9-meter-tall bodyguards looked at each other and lowered their heads timidly. "Who could we possibly stop?"

Clara had already made an appointment to look at houses the previous night. She had a house in mind on the slopes of Kowloon Tong. The location was great, quiet, and offered a sweeping view of the city. Most importantly, it was close to the museum.

Once at the villa, Clara settled on it immediately. She told Cherry to get the house ready for her to move in later. Then, she took Chloe to Central, asking her, "You’ve been following me all this time; why aren't you worrying about yourself?"

"I have nothing to worry about."

"Then I’ll worry for you." Clara signaled for her to get out of the car. "There might be a family gathering next week. It’s your first time participating; you need something that fits your status."

The luxury mall was filled with brilliant lights and well-dressed service staff. When the car reached the parking lot, someone was there to receive them. Clara could see that Chloe preferred a low-key, cool style, so they went to a corresponding custom brand.

In a private lounge, Clara nibbled on a small cake and briefly explained the family situation—everyone's personality and what they liked. Clara spoke for a long time without a response. She looked up and found Chloe staring at her fixedly.

"What's wrong?" Clara held up a mirror. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No." Chloe withdrew her gaze. "I just didn't remember it; it’s too complicated. How can you remember what everyone likes?"

"Because they used to remember what I liked." Clara wiped a bit of cake from her lip in the mirror. "But you don't need to suck up to them. Just a general understanding is fine."

Clara thought of seeing her in the cafe. "The more you know and the faster you blend in, the less trouble you'll have and the less you'll be bullied."

Chloe: "I’m rarely bullied."

Clara paused; indeed, last time couldn't really be called Chloe being bullied. "Violence doesn't solve every problem."

"It's not just violence. I know what I’m doing." Chloe looked at her. "You don't want me to be bullied?"

"Why would I want you to be bullied?"

"Don't you hate me for causing you to have to move out?"

"It’s not you who caused me to move out," Clara said simply. "You didn't do anything wrong. If I hated you because of someone else's mistake, that would be my fault." Clara added in a whisper, "I didn't do anything wrong either. If you hate me, that’s your fault too."

Chloe spoke, picking up the lemon water next to her. "I don't hate you. But I don't like your family, and I don't really want to stay."

Clara leaned a bit closer to her. "Then what is your home like? Take me to see it."

Chloe’s movement of drinking water slowed down. "My home is a bit far."

"Perfect. I have nothing to do lately and the house isn't ready yet."

Chloe put down the glass. "My home is different from yours. Smaller, and a bit older."

Clara was prepared. "I know."

There were many versions of Chloe’s background online, but without exception, they all described her home conditions as poor. She had worked part-time to pay for her schooling. There was no news of her father, and her mother’s jobs were all over the place—mostly described as a nanny.

Of course, Clara didn't think being a nanny was a bad job. Their family’s nannies made nearly 300,000 a year. If she didn't take private antique restoration work, it wouldn't be much different from her salary at the museum.

Chloe seemed to hesitate for a long time and couldn't help but remind her, "My parents' work isn't very convenient. I rarely mention my home situation; you’d better not tell others. The house just has some old things left by our ancestors."

Clara understood and was willing to respect her self-esteem. "Don't worry. That will be my home too from now on; I won't go around talking nonsense."

The next morning, the plane landed in the capital. Clara stood outside the security gate of a garden-style Siheyuan courtyard with red bricks and glazed tiles, guarded by security. The courtyards were deep and layered.

She looked at the square pillars and high gates, listening to the distant sound of the royal garden’s bells and drums, and was stunned for a long time. It took her a while to react. "This... is your home?"