NovelEnglishChapter 262 She stood alone in the dark, a chill creeping slowly through her heart. That feeling of being overlooked by her family, forgotten by the world-it was something Claire could never quite shake, no matter how much thad passed.
Later, it was May who left a light on for her, a small beacon of warmth in the darkness—a rare comfort in the Linwood household, where such kindness was in short supply.
Having once experienced that deep, bone-chilling loneliness of a hdevoid of affection, Claire treasured the warmth she found with the Foster family all the more.
She wanted to wait for Mr. Foster to return, just as she once waited for her fifteen-year-old self to chome, braving the snow and wind alone.
Minute by minute, tticked by.
The entire house was wrapped in silence, broken only by the steady ticking of the living room clock.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtWhen Claire grew tired of sitting, she curled up on the sofa. Her health had always been frail; exhaustion ceasily. As weariness washed over her, she let her eyes drift shut.
She pulled her knees close, cocooning herself in the smallest space possible, as if that could somehow make her feel safer.
That was how Sean found her when he chome: Claire-small and fragile— fast asleep on the couch.
His eyes swept the room. There was no sign of his grandmother or Nanny Grace; they must have already turned in for the night.
Had she left the light on for him? Was she waiting? For a brief moment, the hard set of Sean's face softened, almost imperceptibly, when he saw her.
He moved quietly to her side, careful not to wake her. Then he leaned down, slipping one arm beneath her back and the other beneath her knees, lifting her gently into his arms.
With long strides, he carried her upstairs and laid her on the bed, pulling the covers up around her with painstaking care, so as not to disturb her sleep.
"Goodnight, Miss Linwood," Sean murmured into the quiet room, a tenderness in his voice he didn't quite recognize.
Without another word, he slipped from the room, closing the door softly behind him.
But Sean didn't head for his own bedroom. Instead, he walked straight to the study, settled behind the desk, and switched on the lamp. The warm light cast gentle shadows across his sharp features.
He began to tackle the mountain of paperwork waiting for him, the only sound in the room the scratch of his pen against paper.
Fifteen minutes later, the shrill ring of the phone shattered the stillness. "Hello?" "Sir, I've found Vincent," cLiam's voice on the line.
After dropping Sean off at home, Liam had been driving back to his own apartment. Halfway there, he realized he was out of cigarettes and stopped to buy some. That's when he heard the faintest of groans coming from a nearby alley.
Curiosity got the better of him. He followed the sound, and under the weak glow of a streetlamp, he found Vincent sprawled on the ground, covered in blood, looking utterly wretched.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmEarlier that day, Vincent had said things to Claire at the hospital—things Jeffry had already relayed to Sean, with Liam present. So now, seeing Vincent beaten half to death, Liam decided to call for Sean's instructions.
Sean paused for a moment, then replied, his tone icy: "Take him to the hospital. Make sure he doesn't die, but don't let him walk away unscathed." Liam felt a shiver run down his spine. He hesitated, then asked, "You mean... You want him to live, but barely?"
A cold smile flickered across Sean's lips, void of any warmth, "Hisdegs are already useless. There's no reason to keep them. Have them amputated." Liam's own legs went numb at those words, a chill shooting from his feet all the way to the top of his head.
Vincent's legs were broken, but with proper care, he might have recovered. Whoever did this had m beaten him within an inch of his life. If Vincent spent the night bleeding in that alley, he probably wouldn't make it. After hanging up, Liam followed Sean's orders and brought Vincent to the hospital.
Meanwhile, the person who had left Vincent in such a state was now calmly stripping off bloodstained clothes and gloves, moving with cold precision. He took out a lighter and set them ablaze.
Flames leapt up, quickly devouring the fabric and latex. The firelight flickered across his face-sharp, cold, and utterly untroubled.
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