Claire Shaw looked into Owen Crawford’s eyes as she spoke, noticing his pupils shifting unnaturally away.
"You just didn’t expect that after investing so much ti in , before you fully had under your control, your family would pressure you. Ultimately, whether I was cold to you or not, you were going to be with Stella Sutton that day. The only flaw in your plan was . I didn’t behave as obediently as you expected, so you beca furious, even using my indifference as a cover for your filthy intentions."
"I’ve seen such clumsy tricks since I was three. I should thank you because you made understand once again that relationships of unequal status are inherently wrong."
"Following this, the Blackwood and Sutton families will unite. You will join forces and your family businesses will flourish, while soone like only hopes for enough to eat, a roof over my head, and the ans to live comfortably in all seasons. So Mr. Crawford, this affectionless relationship ends here. Let go!"
Claire Shaw turned away without hesitation to leave, but just as her fingers touched the doorknob, Owen Crawford’s silent voice sounded, "You’re not concerned about the orphanage?"
Claire paused in her motion to open the door, turning back to re-examine Owen Crawford, "What do you an?"
Owen Crawford unbuttoned his shirt collar, showing none of his previous elegance.
Even his essence exuded a trace of wildness.
Slowly, he picked a few ice cubes from the ice bucket, poured a glass of strong liquor, and gestured for Claire to co over, "Co here, let’s talk."
Claire set down her drawing and sat down, "What do you want to say?"
"You’re right, I’ve always planned for you to be my secret lover. You just turned out to be more resolute than I imagined, not giving any chance. However, you weren’t entirely vigilant; you missed sothing."
With a hint of depth, Owen looked at her, "Have you ever considered why, in a country where mineral art isn’t popular, soone would go for high-end customization? Why not hire a master in the industry and instead pay a high price for you? Simply because of your gold award?"
"Do you really think you can win first place just by entering the competition? That award was ant to pave the way for soone else. It was who bribed the judges’ panel and raised the gold prize money to a million."
"I realize you’re not like those girls looking for sugar daddies, unwilling to step into circles that don’t belong to you, refusing to accept my money. It doesn’t matter, I’ve asked my friends in my circles to buy your paintings to support you."
At this point, Owen moved closer, sitting beside Claire Shaw.
He softened his tone, "Claire, I love you, don’t want you to feel any psychological burden, and respect your thoughts and freedom. Except for not being able to give you a title, I can give you anything."
Owen used a strategic retreat, seemingly sacrificing for her, while actually revealing his hand for Claire to see the lengths he went for her, catching her off guard.
"Claire, have you thought about who is behind the foundation donating to the orphanage?"
"Is it you?"
He leaned toward her, "Do you know how much money I’ve spent on you in these three years? Even if you don’t want to admit it, your apartnt, your donations, the foundation’s expenses all total over eighteen million."
Claire’s body trembled lightly, realizing Owen Crawford had such a calculated plan, setting a big trap for her long ago.
"So stop causing trouble, be with , and all this can be resolved."
Owen Crawford closed in step by step, pinning her between the sofa and his chest.
Just by seeing that stunning face, slling the faint fragrance on her, was enough to drive him mad, his heart pounding.
Owen’s voice trembled with excitent, "Claire, as long as you agree, I can provide for the people at the orphanage."
"So, you want to be your mistress?"
Owen swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple rolling with excitent, "Not a mistress, my lover."
Saying this, Owen grasped Claire’s hand, lowered his lips to her previous glass-cut wound, nearly reverently kissing the goddess he’d dreamt of a thousand tis.
"Claire, I love you, please..."
Before he could move closer, Claire felt nauseated, reflexively pushing him away.
"Owen Crawford, you make feel sick."
"Claire Shaw, my patience with you is limited. You can refuse , but who will take care of the kids in the orphanage? They must vacate quickly, where can you find such a large place to shelter them?"
Owen pulled out the auxiliary card from last ti and tucked it into Claire’s jacket pocket, "Claire, you’re a smart person. This choice is a win-win-win. You’ve achieved financial freedom, you can help more people, the kids have shelter from the storm, and I can wholly possess you. There is no loser in this deal."
Claire laughed, "How could there be no loser? I beco the plaything your mother spoke of, don’t I?"
She handed the card back to Owen Crawford, "Sorry, I can’t accept it."
Saying this, she picked up her drawing and quickly left the room.
"Claire Shaw, you’ll regret this, I’ll wait for you to co crying and begging ."
Owen Crawford’s voice followed the sound of breaking glass.
Claire quickened her steps.
She was very confused now.
Maybe the plot wasn’t a coincidence, but a setup.
Next, Owen Crawford would surely target those kids to force her compliance.
He was so selfish and hypocritical, marrying her half-sister, Miranda Shaw, sothing Claire couldn’t accept.
Claire didn’t want to walk the sa path as Miranda.
In the end, soone like her, living at the lowest level, couldn’t change anything.
Claire sat at the busy bus station, as the sky began to sprinkle rain, lightly dampening her canvas.
Just like that rainy night a year ago, her pride, once her glory, lay shattered.
She thought the money she earned in recent years was through her capability; even her apartnt, renovated by her own hands, was acquired through Owen Crawford’s handouts. How ironic.
In such a large city, Claire Shaw suddenly had nowhere to call ho.
She looked at the painting in her hands, smiling until she broke into tears.
She threw the painting hard on the ground.
Miranda Shaw was right.
"If soone appreciates it, it’s art. If no one appreciates it, it’s just a pile of waste paper! How many real artists exist in this world? Affluent people spend heavily on genuine pieces just to flaunt their wealth. Art without connections is not worth anything. You better honestly find a rich man to marry and don’t dream of being an artist!"
But then she thought about how she had used up half a month, each stroke of her heart’s effort on this painting.
Claire crouched down and carefully wiped away the rainwater on the canvas.
So gold foil powder stained her hand, Claire wiping while tears fell, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry..."
She really tried hard, but why did it still turn out like this?
Could it be that Mrs. Sutton’s words were true, "You and your mother are nothing but trash, apart from spreading your legs to seduce n, what else can you do? Lowly people should have humble awareness, not every kind can climb into our circles?"
Claire vowed in her heart to carve out a path of her own; even without a man, she’d live a brilliant life.
Now she was told that everything she had achieved so far was related to n, and she still couldn’t escape the fate of being a trophy.
Claire’s worldview collapsed.
The canvas soaked in the rain bled out colors, like the shattered Claire.
She knelt on the ground, covered her face with her hands, and wept silently.
A black sedan pulled up in front of her, the door opening.
Shiny bespoke leather shoes slowly stood firm in front of her.
A tall man held up a black umbrella for her.
Claire Shaw slowly looked up to et a pair of deep, emotionless dark eyes.
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