Chapter 52: Chapter 52: No One in the World is Sadder Than Her
Claire Sinclair subconsciously covered her mouth and gulped, her face flushing red again.
’Oh my god, so mortifying.’
...
When Adrian Quincy came out of the shower, he was naked. He walked to the wardrobe to find something to wear. This was clearly his bedroom; Claire Sinclair had spent a night here before.
His back was to her. He was impressively tall, well over six feet, with a narrow waist and broad shoulders. Several old scars remained on his tanned skin, looking somewhat savage, yet they unexpectedly gave him a wild sort of sex appeal.
As he got dressed, the muscles in his arms rippled, making every movement seem infused with power.
’Last night, I think I touched him in a lot of places. He felt pretty good... And he touched me, too...’
’Jeez, what am I even reminiscing about? So embarrassing!’
Lost in her thoughts, she was startled when the man suddenly spoke. "You should go shower. I’ll have someone bring you clothes in a bit."
"Oh," Claire Sinclair mumbled. She lifted the covers, looking for something to wrap around herself so she wouldn’t have to walk to the bathroom naked.
But on the bed, there was nothing besides the thick comforter and a transparent nightgown.
Just as she was wondering what to do, the man suddenly turned and tossed a white bathrobe over her head.
"Here."
"What the—"
...
When she came out of the shower, the man was gone.
History has a funny way of repeating itself. Just like last time, the same woman brought her a new set of clothes. It was the same brand, but this time it was a long-sleeved dress and a set of pink, disposable underwear.
The woman said, "Young Master Quincy is waiting for you in the dining room. Get dressed and head over. Breakfast is almost over."
Claire Sinclair asked curiously, "May I know your name?"
"Nancy Lockwood."
"Nancy Lockwood! You’re Nancy Lockwood! My sister mentioned you in her letters! You were her best comrade-in-arms in the military, and her most respected rival!"
Claire Sinclair said excitedly, almost breaking into a smile. She was overjoyed to meet one of her sister’s comrades.
But Nancy Lockwood’s face was stern and expressionless. "Don’t mention anything about your sister here," she said coldly. "It just makes people wonder why she was the one who died, and not you."
With that, she turned and left.
Claire Sinclair froze.
’She’s right...’
’My sister was so outstanding, and I’m so useless. Why was she the one who died, not me?’
That question had tormented Claire Sinclair for a long time.
She remembered the day her sister died. She had been working a part-time job at a shopping mall. Perhaps it was some kind of psychic connection, but at the exact moment her sister passed, she felt a sharp, crushing pain in her chest and fainted.
When she woke up, she was deeply unsettled but had no idea why.
When she got home that night, her father took a club and beat her senseless, screaming at her, asking why she wasn’t the one who died. She was completely bewildered.
Eventually, Mrs. Lowell couldn’t bear to watch any longer and said, "The older one is already gone. Are you trying to beat the younger one to death, too? Stop it..."
Only then did she understand what had happened.
But her father didn’t give her a chance to grieve. He just kept beating her within an inch of her life.
Back then, it truly was a fate worse than death...
Two years had passed, and she thought she had moved on. But now that someone had brought it up again, she didn’t know how to face it.
’If I had been the one to die, could I trade my life to bring my sister back?’
In that instant, Claire Sinclair felt as if she had fallen into an abyss. An immense wave of grief and self-loathing threatened to destroy her world.
’Why does everyone think I should have been the one to die? Am I really just wasting air by being alive?’