Chapter 19: I Dislike Separate Rooms After Marriage

The sound of leather shoes striking the floor sent echoes rippling through the vast exhibition hall. It was like a single, sharp stone skipping across the surface of a deep, still lake, leaving behind unsettling waves.

It threw one’s thoughts into total disarray.

Stepping from the clear, bright sunlight into this dark-purple, taboo space, Quentin’s gaze quickly shifted from Clara—and the tangled vines clinging to her wrist—to Elliot, who stood right behind her.

Clara looked away, not daring to meet the eyes of either man.

Finally, Quentin spoke. "Have you played enough?"

Elliot let out a soft "tsk" and looked Quentin straight in the eye.

"I was just joking with Clara. Why is Big Brother so stiff? You can’t take a joke at all."

Quentin looked at Elliot. "Do you think this joke is funny?"

"It’s not funny," Clara interjected first. She turned her head and extended her arm toward Elliot. "Unlock it."

Elliot took her slender wrist in his palm, yielding with a lazy air. "Alright, then."

Quentin watched as Elliot’s palm gripped her delicate wrist. The two were standing extremely close.

Clara stepped on Elliot’s foot. "How could you threaten me like that?"

A moderate weight pressed down on the leather of Elliot’s shoe. The faint pain entered his body and transformed into a restless, unshakeable itch that pooled deep in his abdomen. "I was just teasing."

As he moved to unfasten the bracelet, he leaned in slightly.

He whispered into Clara’s ear, "Actually, I guessed it. He’s the one who gave you that necklace."

Clara’s heart skipped a beat, her brow furrowing slightly. "Who?"

Elliot studied her expression with great interest, deliberately refusing to say it plainly. "Him."

He started laughing, an open and undisguised sound, as he placed the removed bracelet into Clara’s palm. "By the way."

"That bit about the bracelet never coming off? That was a lie too."

Clara caught her breath and punched him on the shoulder. "You!"

The more she hit him, the harder Elliot laughed, as if those words about "leaving it on her for a lifetime" really were just a prank. He remained the foul-mouthed but "good" brother, seemingly never having harbored such dark intentions.

Elliot walked up to Quentin, but then, as if remembering something, he turned back to Clara. "Whose car do you want to take?"

The question made Clara’s skin crawl.

Before she could answer, Quentin spoke up. "I’ll take their car."

The two of them together was even worse. Clara immediately interrupted, "You two go together."

"I have some business with Cherry."

As she spoke, she dialed Cherry’s number and turned back toward the cafe inside the exhibition hall.

The two men were left standing there as silence fell over the surroundings.

Quentin said flatly, "Are you satisfied now?"

Elliot replied, "To be honest, not really."

He asked Quentin point-blank, "That Rosette Nebula... you sent it to her."

It was a statement, not a question.

Quentin admitted it without the slightest hesitation. "What of it?"

"Nothing." Elliot looked away, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Except that once she realized what the Rosette Nebula symbolized that day, she never dared to touch it again."

Quentin was unfazed. "Giving it was my business. As long as it remains with her, that’s enough."

With that, he turned and walked away.

Elliot watched his back and followed at a slow pace.

It wasn't hard to guess. Elliot knew Clara wasn't someone who accepted expensive gifts from just any man. There were very few people who possessed the wealth to bid on such an item and were close enough to Clara for her to accept it without guard.

Just as she would accept a bracelet from him.

Now, she wouldn't dare wear Quentin’s necklace or his bracelet.

At least that made things fair.

Clara sat in the cafe waiting for Cherry.

Cherry arrived quite suddenly. "What happened? Did Master Elliot abandon you?"

Clara picked up her bag and stood. "No."

Only after getting into the car did she relax. "It’s that I didn't want to deal with them anymore."

Seeing that Clara didn't want to elaborate, Cherry didn't ask. They spent the day at the Louvre and didn't return to the hotel until dusk.

Clara lazily said goodbye to Cherry and walked to the entrance of the presidential suite on the top floor. Standing before the door, she felt a sudden, ominous premonition.

The moment she swiped the key and opened the door, her world collapsed.

Quentin, with his sleeves rolled up, was coming out of the kitchen carrying a freshly made yogurt bowl. Elliot was sitting on the sofa, having just opened a bottle of Tour d'Argent Cognac, looking as though he had been waiting for her return.

Only then did Clara remember that their upcoming plans for the exhibition were too far from their original hotel. They had moved to the city center, but since it was peak season, luxury accommodations were scarce. Only one presidential suite remained available. It had three bedrooms—a master, a secondary, and a guest room.

Wait...

"We’re all staying together?"

Quentin asked, "Is there someone in particular you don't want to stay with?"

Elliot added, "Clara and I were originally the ones who booked the room."

The implication was that Quentin was the intruder.

Quentin looked at Clara.

Clara closed the door, not daring to meet Quentin’s gaze directly. She yielded. "Fine, let’s just stay together."

There were three rooms, after all. Wasn't it the same at home?

Though she had run away from home because she wasn't yet used to sharing a room with Quentin, with Elliot here, surely Quentin wouldn't insist on staying in her room.

Clara set her things down.

Quentin placed the yogurt bowl on the table and called to her, "Want some? To help with digestion."

Clara had indeed been eating a lot of different things lately. She didn't refuse and walked over. She sat on the sofa, tucking her legs up and hugging a cushion as she dug into the yogurt.

She remembered to ask Quentin, "Why did you suddenly come here today?"

Quentin sat beside her. "I finished the business at home. It just so happens there’s a partnership here in Paris."

Clara’s mouth moved faster than her brain. "How coincidental. Neither of you had business in Paris before, and now you both suddenly do."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized something was wrong. Especially after seeing that taboo jewelry exhibition earlier today.

Clara realized she had misspoken.

The atmosphere in the room, which had just begun to thaw, turned bizarre once more. Neither of the men spoke. Elliot sipped his cognac over ice; Quentin leaned back nearby.

Both were looking at her.

Clara forced down a spoonful of yogurt and said as if nothing were wrong, "So you two..."

"So you two..."

She stumbled three times before managing to say, "What are your plans for the next few days?"

Quentin spoke first. "There’s an auction."

"Oh." Clara stammered, searching for conversation. "I have an auction too. I’m going with Chloe."

"It’s fine. You don't have to go with me."

Elliot watched them in silence.

Clara grew more and more self-conscious under his gaze. It felt as if he had already figured out that her relationship with Quentin was unusual.

Clara suddenly suggested, "Let’s watch TV."

She reached for the remote and turned on the screen. Almost immediately, the movie about the step-siblings—the one she and Elliot hadn't finished—appeared on the display.

Clara saw the image and instantly shut the TV off again.

Again, both men looked at her simultaneously.

Elliot asked, "Why aren't we watching?"

"I’m tired." Clara carefully set down the yogurt bowl, pretending nothing had happened. She gave a bright smile. "You two should get some rest early, too."

After registering her marriage with Quentin, everything really had changed. Even being in the same room with him while keeping it a secret from the rest of the family felt like a crime.

As she spoke, Clara stood up from the sofa, stumbled a few steps, and pushed open the nearest bedroom door. Within ten seconds of entering, she scurried back out. "No, no, sorry. Wrong room."

That was her second brother’s room.

Elliot pointed lazily. "Your room is over there."

"Thanks, Brother." Clara scurried into her master bedroom, her long hair bouncing in a light breeze behind her. With a "thud," she shut the door.

Watching Clara’s reaction, Quentin reminded Elliot, "You're being too obvious. You’ll scare her."

"Am I the one scaring her, or is it you?" Elliot countered. "I don't think I’m being obvious at all."

Elliot leaned back against the sofa. "I’ve given her plenty of room to maneuver, Big Brother."

"If she doesn't want to think deeply about how I feel, she can convince herself that this is just my personality—that I love talking nonsense. Or, she can choose to believe I’m issuing a warning... to both her and you."

Either way, Elliot didn't lose. In the first scenario, he protected the simplicity of their bond. In the second, he could prevent things from going further between Clara and Quentin.

Quentin took the other glass Elliot had prepared. "You're plotting against me."

A subtle, sword-drawn tension filled the air. Once again, just a wall away from Clara, they were saying things that were unfit for her ears. If she hadn't shut the door tightly, she would have heard everything.

Elliot asked, "If you hadn't done anything to lead us into this mess, why would you care about my plots? Why would you fear my warnings?"

"To put it another way, if she truly can accept you openly, then you have even less to fear."

Quentin didn't deny his words. "And can she accept you?"

"She can't." Elliot knew Clara. "We are her 'good brothers.'"

"Clara won't openly accept any of us. She’s smart; she’ll find excuses for all our transgressions to maintain a state where everyone is comfortable."

"In that case," Quentin spoke as if it were only logical, "we should both know not to push her too hard."

Quentin’s posture was steady and noble; the warm gold light cast a deep, tempered shadow over him. He lightly clinked his glass against Elliot’s—a gesture of sincere business-like agreement. "From now on, at least for the duration of Clara’s trip here in Paris, we will only act within the bounds of our roles. Can you do that?"

Elliot shot back, "And what exactly are those roles?"

"The roles relative to her identity."

Elliot didn't think that would be hard. The hard part was whether his rival would follow the rules. "Of course. And you?"

"I can."

They reached a simple consensus and sat in silence for a long time. The house was deathly quiet. Elliot finished the last drop of his drink, placed the glass gently on the table, and rose to leave.

Quentin watched Elliot return to his room, but remained seated. In the dim corners of the living room light, his thick lashes cast a shadow deep into his pupils.

But his role... was husband.

Inside the master bedroom, Clara emerged from the bathroom after her shower. She was still wearing the same loose, simple camisole nightgown she wore when she stayed alone. The hem barely reached her thighs—cool and comfortable.

She walked to the desk, reaching for the auction brochure in her bag, when she suddenly remembered she had left her bag in the living room.

Clara stood still for a few seconds, pricking up her ears to listen to the conversation outside. It was very quiet now. It seemed they had both retired to their rooms.

Clara walked to the door and, after confirming there was no sound, opened it quietly. The living room was pitch black. She didn't turn on the light, catching a faint glimpse of her handbag on the sofa nearby.

She had just reached out to grab it when she heard a door open nearby!

Clara wanted to run, but she accidentally knocked a blanket off the sofa. By the time she picked it up, those slow, steady footsteps had already reached her.

There was no escaping now.

Quentin reached out and took the blanket from her hands, placing it on a nearby rack. It was a sign he intended to have it laundered tomorrow.

Quentin was a germaphobe. Clara knew this. She also knew he didn't just have a thing for cleanliness; he had obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Everything within his territory had to run strictly according to his rules.

Clara whispered awkwardly, "You’re not asleep yet?"

Quentin’s gaze swept over her thin nightgown. "Where did you want me to sleep?"

Clara hadn't expected him to dare ask such a thing in the living room. She instinctively looked toward Elliot’s room.

Without warning, Quentin took a step closer to her. In the unlit room, his tall, six-foot-two frame carried a powerful sense of pressure.

Clara flinched and backed away, losing her footing and falling onto the sofa behind her. The man’s silhouette enveloped her even more oppressively.

Clara suddenly stood up again, pushing against Quentin and keeping her voice low. "Go back to your room and sleep, quickly."

There was no way she could push an adult male who was so much larger than her. Since growing up, Clara had rarely had this kind of physical contact with Quentin. He felt solid and hard under her hands, unyielding. This defiance birthed an indescribable sense of force.

Just then, sounds came from Elliot’s room. It was the sound of someone walking out in slippers.

The hair on Clara’s neck stood on end. She stopped worrying about Quentin and let go of his chest.

But in the next instant, Quentin grabbed her wrist. In her daze, Clara thought he had gone mad.

Elliot opened his door and stood there. But within his field of vision, there was no trace that anyone had ever been there. Quentin’s door was closed; Clara’s was the same.

But Elliot felt something was off. He thought he had heard a faint sound. However, the presidential suite was well-insulated, and the sound hadn't been clear.

Elliot walked to the table to pour some water, silently listening for any sound from either room. Then, he chose one and walked toward it.

He chose Clara’s.

Elliot knocked. "Are you asleep?"

Soon, Clara’s somewhat panicked voice came from inside. "I’m asleep."

She realized the flaw in her words immediately and added, "I’m about to sleep."

Elliot stood at the door to Clara’s room, glass still in hand. He took a silent, shallow sip.

Finally, Clara couldn't help but ask, "It’s so late. Is something wrong?"

Elliot laughed in his usual roguish way. "Nothing."

"I’m going to sleep too."

Behind the wall, Clara wanted to slap him again. But right now, she couldn't reach him, and she was pinned at the entrance of the foyer, unable to move at all.

Hearing his footsteps fade away, she pushed against the chest of the man in front of her. Just as she was about to tell Quentin to leave, he leaned into her ear. In a voice only they could hear, he told her:

"He hasn't left yet."

In that moment, goosebumps broke out across Clara’s spine. A strange electric current coursed through her entire body.

Quentin stood up straight and walked into the bathroom as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The master bedroom of the presidential suite was designed for a couple. Naturally, there were items for two people.

Clara’s lips moved, but no sound came out. After leaning against the foyer wall for ten minutes, she finally heard footsteps walking away from the door for real, followed by the sound of Elliot closing his bedroom door.

Clara’s heart missed a beat. Her second brother really hadn't left. He was suspicious of them.

Quentin emerged from the bathroom after finishing his nighttime routine. Clara couldn't help but walk over, keeping her voice low. "Are you really sleeping here?"

"I don't like separate rooms for newlyweds."

Clara couldn't bear to listen to such words. "But Second Brother is here. He seems to have noticed something. The exhibition he took me to today was..."

Quentin finished for her, "Hosted by a newlywed couple who used to be siblings."

"You knew?"

"I knew." Quentin walked up to her. "Elliot only noticed that things are different between us; he hasn't guessed our actual relationship yet."

His bottomless pupils gazed at her quietly. "So, what about you?"

Clara didn't understand what he was asking. "What about me?"

"When you married me, did you never think about our relationship?"

Quentin leaned down slowly. "Did you never think that where I was once your brother, I am now your husband?"