CHAPTER 163: CHAPTER 163: BURN IT FOR CLAIRE CALDWELL UNDERGROUND

In the evening, Aunt Mason prepared dinner and packed it in an insulated lunch box.

She was about to take it next door when Jean Ellison walked out of the room.

"Aunt Mason, let me deliver it."

Jean said softly.

Aunt Mason looked at her worriedly, "Miss, you..."

"I’m fine." Jean took the lunch box, "There are some things I want to clarify with him."

Jean walked to the door of apartment number seventy-seven with the lunch box.

She raised her hand, hesitated, and ultimately didn’t knock.

She bent down and gently placed the lunch box on the ground at the doorstep.

As she was about to turn and leave, the door opened from the inside.

Justin Holden leaned against the door frame. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, his upper body bare.

His broad shoulders had smooth lines, his chest muscles were firm, his abs well-defined.

Droplets of water slid down his strong chest, disappearing into the waistline of his suit pants.

His left arm was wrapped in several loops of white gauze, particularly noticeable.

"What does this mean?"

He glanced at the lunch box on the ground.

His voice had a hoarse tone from the shower, "Brought for the cat?"

Jean was taken aback, then quickly explained, "No, it’s for you."

Justin uttered an "oh" and stepped aside, "Come in."

Jean followed him into the apartment. The living room was tidy but lacked a sense of life.

"How’s your injury?" she asked.

Justin sat down in a single sofa, crossing his long legs.

Scattered on the coffee table were gauze, antiseptic, and scissors.

"It hurts a lot." He answered very directly.

Jean exclaimed softly, feeling a bit helpless, "Do you need medication?"

"I took it." He pointed to the glass of water on the table, "The wound has also been treated."

Jean looked at those medical supplies, "I didn’t expect you to even know how to do this."

Justin chuckled lightly, his gaze landing on her face:

"Was I supposed to wait for you to come bandage it up for me?"

He paused, his tone intentionally teasing:

"A married woman, coming to my house."

"Bandaging my wounds, seeing me naked, what does that look like?"

Hearing this, Jean no longer looked at him, her earlobes slightly red, she diverted the topic.

"Aunt Mason asked me to bring the meal." She placed the lunch box on the coffee table in the living room without sitting down, "You should eat it while it’s hot. I’ll take the lunch box back when you’re done."

Justin sat down on the sofa but didn’t open the lunch box immediately. He leaned back against the sofa, watching Jean, who stood by, clearly not wanting to stay long.

"If I never eat it," he suddenly spoke, his voice exceptionally clear in the quiet room, "would you stay here indefinitely?"

Jean furrowed her brow, "What do you mean by that?"

Justin looked at her intently, "Exactly what it sounds like."

Jean felt he was simply unreasonable. She stepped forward, reaching to take the lunch box.

"If you’re not going to eat it, forget it. I’ll take it back."

Just as her fingers were about to touch the handle of the lunch box, Justin suddenly reached out, covering the back of her hand.

His palm was warm, carrying the moisture of just having showered, the pressure wasn’t much, but it prevented her from moving.

"I’ll eat." He looked at her, his voice lowered, "Don’t rush to take it away."

Jean withdrew her hand, standing in place, watching him slowly open the lunch box.

The aroma of the food wafted out.

Justin picked up chopsticks, took a bite and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly.

He ate slowly, his movements elegant, but each bite he took with focus.

"It’s very good." He put down the chopsticks, looking at the dishes in the lunch box, "I haven’t tasted this flavor in a long time, indeed Aunt Mason’s craftsmanship."

He lifted his gaze, looking at Jean, "I thought your dumplings tasted familiar before. Now thinking about it, you being Aunt Mason’s daughter-in-law, it’s no wonder. Your skills, did you learn from her?"

Jean avoided his gaze, answering briefly, "Yes."

"Why didn’t you tell me before?" Justin asked, "In Kingswell, you never mentioned your relationship with Aunt Mason and Dylan."

Jean paused in silence before saying, "At the time, I didn’t think it was necessary, and I hadn’t planned to come to the United States back then."

Justin paused, holding the chopsticks.

He slowly put down the chopsticks, leaning slightly forward, his gaze sharp on Jean:

"Then why did you change your mind?" His tone turned serious, "If you didn’t want to come back, you shouldn’t have. Staying in Kingswell City, isn’t that good?"

This question was like a needle, piercing through the calm Jean had been struggling to maintain.

She raised her head, meeting his scrutinizing gaze, her chest heaving, her voice carrying suppressed grievance and anger.

"Stay in Kingswell City? And then what? Continue to be pointed at, looked down upon?"

Her eyes were slightly red, "Justin Holden, all those things you did to me, one after another, aren’t they enough to make others see me as your secret mistress?"

Justin looked at the emotional Jean, his brows tightly knitted.

"No one will see you as a mistress." His voice was low and certain, "Mistresses are third parties, but I have no wife, and I never will."

He took a step forward, closing the distance between them, his gaze locked onto hers.

"As long as you stay by my side, I will control everyone around, no one will dare belittle you, I will protect your dignity."

He paused, his tone carrying a certainty of control over everything.

"Everything you want, I can give you."

Jean Ellison looked at him as if she’d heard some absurd joke, unable to believe what she’d just heard.

"Justin Holden, do you even know what you’re saying? Are you trying to make me divorce my husband? Is Senior Counselor Holden blatantly trying to steal someone else’s spouse?"

Justin Holden showed no shame at being accused, instead he readily admitted it.

"Yes, that’s exactly what I mean."

Jean burst into laughter from anger, shaking her head.

"Justin Holden, you really have some nerve. Aren’t you afraid my husband will find out? Aren’t you afraid he’ll give you trouble?"

"Diana Sawyer?" Justin’s lips curled into an unabashed sneer.

"In my eyes, he’s just a useless and failing husband. He can’t do anything. Even if he knew I was trying to steal you away, he wouldn’t dare, nor could he do anything to me."

"You’re being too rude." Jean admonished.

"Rude?" Justin’s eyes grew colder, "If I hadn’t been rude, how else would I have gotten your stuff back from that drunkard just now? That necklace..."

His gaze dropped to her still tightly clasped hand, his tone tinged with bitterness.

"Is it a token between you and him? Ha, he sure spends generously to win your favor."

Jean met his scrutinizing and mocking gaze, steeling herself to admit along his line of questioning.

"Yes, Diana Sawyer is indeed generous to me, much more than some people."

Justin stared at her for a few seconds, then suddenly stopped speaking.

He silently turned around, walked to the desk, opened a drawer, and took out a black credit card.

He came back and handed the card to Jean, his movements crisp and firm.

Jean was stunned, looking at the card but not taking it: "What’s this?"

"My personal savings." Justin’s tone was calm, as if discussing something irrelevant, "All the money I’ve earned over the years is in here."

Jean became more confused, even finding it absurd: "Why would you save all this money? Your attorney fees are high, you surely don’t lack money, there’s no need to save like this."

Justin didn’t withdraw the card from her, his gaze going past Jean as if seeing someone else.

His voice turned low.

"This money," he paused, enunciating every word clearly, "was originally meant for someone."

His gaze then returned to Jean’s face, his eyes complex and unreadable.

"It’s useless now."

Jean’s heart skipped a beat, instinctively questioning.

"For whom was it meant?"

Justin looked at her, his voice low and clear: "Claire Caldwell."

He paused, adding: "We were once together, and this money was intended for her after she got out of prison, enough to keep her well provided."

Jean was initially shocked, then let out a short, icy laugh.

"Ha, now you admit it?"

"Justin Holden, weren’t you always trying to distance yourself from her, acting as if you had nothing to do with her in front of everyone?"

Justin’s brows furrowed, his tone carrying a stifled seriousness.

"I never did, I never wanted to distance from anything."

"Never?"

Jean didn’t believe it at all, her pent-up grievance, anger, and the pain of being belittled erupted in that moment.

She suddenly grabbed the cold black credit card from the coffee table, and with all her strength, she flung it toward his face.

"I don’t want your money."

Her voice was sharp with agitation.

"Keep it for yourself, or burn it as an offering to Claire Caldwell in hell."

The sharp edge of the card grazed Justin’s cheek, leaving a visible red mark, then fell onto the expensive carpet.

Justin was taken aback by her sudden action, turning his head.

He remained silent for a few seconds, showing no anger at being offended, not even touching the burning scar.

He turned back, his deep gaze silently resting on her flushed angry face.

No blame in his eyes, no hostility, only an unfathomable depth.

He said nothing, calmly setting down the chopsticks he had been holding, his movements as steady as if nothing had happened.

"I’m full."

He spoke, his voice exceptionally calm.

Jean looked at the glaring red mark on his face, her heart belatedly pounding with fear, a wave of intense dread engulfing her.

Did she actually hit him, even scratched his face with a bank card?

She dared not look into his eyes again, grabbing the empty food box on the table, almost fleeing as she turned to rush toward the door.

Her hand on the doorknob, there was never any sound behind her.

She couldn’t help but glance back quickly before opening the door.

Justin maintained his original posture, sitting in that single sofa, his body slightly sunken in.

His gaze, across the not so short distance of the living room, was fixed steadily on her.

He didn’t speak, didn’t stop her, made no movement.

Just watching like that.

She felt something was off in his gaze, not appearing angry, more like scrutinizing.

Could it be that when she slapped him with the card, he noticed something amiss?

No, Claire Caldwell wouldn’t do something like this.

It’s just that she did.