CHAPTER 168: CHAPTER 168: I WOULD NEVER BE LIKE HIM

The next morning, Aunt Mason turned on the faucet and discovered there was no water.

"Oh dear, the water’s out. How am I supposed to make breakfast?"

Jean Ellison looked at the empty kitchen.

"I’ll go downstairs to buy some breakfast."

She walked to the door, and just as she opened it, she saw Ronan Sutton standing outside with a large insulated bag in his hand.

When Ronan saw her, his face immediately lit up with a bright smile, and he lifted the bag in his hand.

"Good morning, sister! I made steamed buns and thought you might not have had breakfast, so I brought some over."

Aunt Mason heard the commotion and walked over. Seeing a young stranger at the door, she asked, "And who is this?"

Jean stepped aside to let Ronan in and introduced him to Aunt Mason, "Aunt Mason, this is Ronan Sutton, Uncle Sutton’s son."

Aunt Mason examined Ronan closely, surprise and nostalgia evident on her face.

"So you’re President Sutton’s son. You’ve grown so much. The last time I saw you, you were a little chubby kid; now look at you, such a spirited young man."

Ronan laughed as he set the insulated bag on the dining table, opening it to reveal a box full of steaming, plump steamed buns.

"Hello, Auntie, please try the buns I made, they’re fresh off the stove."

Aunt Mason was even more surprised, "You know how to make these? That’s impressive."

Ronan took out the buns while speaking, "I moved to the United States when I was very young. It’s not easy to find authentic Chinese food, so I had to learn to make it myself. It’s not just buns; I can make pancakes too."

Jean took a bun, blew on it, and handed it to Jesse.

"Jesse, eat a bun first, then Grandma will take you to kindergarten."

Jesse took the bun and began to eat it in small bites.

Ronan looked at Jesse, a hint of curiosity in his voice, "Is the child this big? Looks like she’s about six."

Jean poured Jesse a glass of milk, "Not yet five, her birthday is next month. She just grows tall, so she looks a bit bigger."

Ronan’s gaze shifted between Jesse and Jean, and he smiled, "That’s lovely, Jesse is very cute and looks a lot like you, sister."

He paused, seemingly making a casual remark.

"But they say daughters resemble their fathers, and Jesse doesn’t look much like Mr. Sawyer."

Jean’s hand holding the bun paused slightly, but her expression remained unchanged, and she responded naturally.

"Kids haven’t grown into their features yet. When she gets older, she’ll naturally look like her dad."

Jesse, who had been silently eating her bun with her head down, raised her big eyes upon hearing this to glance at her mom, then lowered her head again.

She knew she didn’t resemble Uncle Sawyer.

When she looked in the mirror, she felt her eyes and nose were more like those of Uncle Holden next door.

Daughters resemble their fathers; could Uncle Holden be her dad?

She wanted to ask her mom, but Aunt Mason had already picked up her backpack, urging her, "Jesse, hurry up, we’re going to be late."

After Aunt Mason left with Jesse, only Jean and Ronan were left in the apartment.

Ronan leaned against the dining table, watching Jean as she cleaned up the dishes, and abruptly asked, "Sister, why did you change your name? ’Jean Ellison’ doesn’t sound as nice as ’Claire Caldwell.’"

Jean didn’t stop washing dishes; the sound of running water was continuous.

Without lifting her head, she said, "I hope you will also call me by my new name, Jean Ellison."

She paused, her voice lowered, "The name Claire Caldwell isn’t auspicious. If I don’t change it, there will be a lot of trouble."

Ronan blinked his seemingly innocent eyes, his tone carrying a hint of playfulness.

"No matter what name you go by, in my heart, you’ll always be my sister. I’ll just call you sister, okay?"

Jean turned off the faucet, dried her hands with a towel, and turned around, her face expressionless.

"Suit yourself, call me whatever you like."

Ronan immediately broke into a triumphant smile, though a fleeting glint of sharpness passed through his beautiful eyes.

He stepped closer, his tone turning concerned, with a hint of empathy:

"Sister, it pains me to see this." He frowned, "Does your husband treat you well? It doesn’t seem like he’s good to you."

He glanced around the rather spartan apartment.

"He has you living in a place like this, taking care of an elderly mother-in-law and a young daughter."

"There’s not even a nanny, and you have to do everything yourself."

He looked at Jean, probing in his gaze, "Does your husband make good money? Can he afford life in New York for you all?"

Jean’s expression darkened. She cut him off, her tone noticeably displeased.

"Ronan, whether my husband makes money or not is a matter for our family. Aren’t you asking too many questions?"

Instead of backing off, Ronan pouted, looking aggrieved, and lowered his lashes, speaking faintly, "It’s my fault, sister, don’t be mad. I was just concerned about you."

He quickly perked up again, wearing a cheerful smile, "But it’s okay, sister. From now on, I can visit you often, keep you company, and help you."

Jean flatly refused, "No need, thank you for your kindness. Go back and tell Uncle Sutton and Aunt Sutton that I’m doing well here, so they don’t need to worry."

Ronan looked at her, a meaningful smile on his lips, clearly saying, "It’s not my parents’ idea."

He pointed at himself, "It’s my idea."

Seeing Ronan making no move to leave, Jean unambiguously told him to go.

"If there’s nothing else, I won’t see you out."

Ronan shook his head with a smile, "Oh, there’s something. Of course, there’s something." He casually extended an invitation, "I want to ask you to accompany me to a mall nearby. It’s not far."

Jean frowned, "I don’t have time."

Ronan stepped forward, his smile slightly restrained, his voice lowered, carrying a trace of earnestness.

"Come on, sister, besides the buns, I have some information about Miles Morgan that I’d like to discuss with you alone."

At the mention of "Miles Morgan," Jean’s gaze shifted slightly.

She was silent for a few seconds before finally nodding, "Alright, wait for me."

She turned around and went into the bedroom to change clothes.

After a while, she emerged wearing a beige knee-length coat.

The style was clearly outdated, the fabric looked old, and there were even some pilling at the cuffs.

Ronan’s eyes lingered on her old coat for a moment, a cold glint in his eyes.

He was well aware that the Caldwell family had long been bankrupt, and she was now in difficult circumstances, probably without money to buy new clothes.

And that so-called husband of hers, Dylan Sawyer, seemed quite impressive, but it turned out he couldn’t provide a good life for his wife and daughter.

The two of them went downstairs, got into Ronan’s car, and arrived at a nearby large upscale mall.

As soon as they entered the brightly lit, dazzling mall, Jean stopped and looked at Ronan, "Can you tell me now? What else do you know about Miles Morgan?"

Ronan Sutton, however, had his hands buried in his pockets, his posture relaxed.

"Sis, don’t rush. There’s a lot to talk about, so let’s chat as we shop."

Without giving her a chance to object, he took Jean Ellison up the elevator and directly into a well-known luxury brand store on the third floor.

The store was spacious and bright, with luxurious decor; the salespeople wore uniformed attire and displayed suitable smiles.

Ronan Sutton directly instructed the approaching attendant.

"Help her pick out a few casual outfits that suit her style, comfort above all."

The attendant nodded professionally, "Certainly, sir. Please have the lady take a seat; we’ll prepare the selections immediately."

Jean Ellison’s face changed instantly; she refused, "Ronan, I don’t need it. Don’t go overboard."

Ronan turned to her, wearing a harmless yet persistent smile.

"Sis, don’t refuse me."

"It’s actually my parents’ idea. My dad has always treated you like his niece. Seeing you alone abroad, they’re concerned. Accept this token, please."

His words were half-truths, yet his tone was so sincere it was hard to decline firmly.

Jean Ellison looked at his face full of ’concern’ and remembered Uncle Sutton and Aunt Sutton’s previous enthusiasm. Eventually, she swallowed her refusal, silently accepting.

The attendant quickly brought out several coordinated outfits for Jean Ellison to try.

Jean Ellison took a brief look; they were all high-quality basics, in elegant colors, indeed suitable for daily wear.

After trying them on, Ronan watched her emerge from the fitting room, nodded, and instructed the attendant, "Pack all the outfits she tried on, along with the ones I picked earlier. I’ll give you the address; send them directly there."

He smoothly wrote down Aunt Mason’s address.

Jean Ellison watched him presumptuously purchase a heap of pricy clothes, wanting to say something but decided against it.

After leaving the clothing store, Jean Ellison asked again.

"Can you tell me now what’s going on with Miles Morgan?"

Ronan touched his stomach, displaying a slightly embarrassed expression.

"Sis, I’m a bit hungry. How about we find a place to sit down, eat, and talk?"

"I know a decent restaurant around here."

Without waiting for Jean Ellison’s response, he led her to a Michelin-starred restaurant on the other side of the mall.

At the restaurant entrance, quite a few people were waiting in line.

Ronan walked directly to the reception desk, said something to the head waiter.

The head waiter clearly knew him and showed great courtesy, bowing and leading them through the crowd into the restaurant’s elegantly tranquil interior, seating them at a favorable window spot.

"What would you like to eat? The foie gras and steak are good here."

Ronan handed the menu to Jean Ellison, while he expertly ordered a few dishes from the waiter, clearly a regular here.

Jean Ellison didn’t have much appetite and just ordered the simplest steak.

Ronan, however, added several starters, soups, desserts, and even ordered a pricey bottle of red wine.

He even beckoned the restaurant manager over, whispering a few instructions.

Soon, a formally dressed violinist arrived at their table, playing soothing romantic tunes.

The restaurant had an elegant ambiance, with melodious music, crafting an extremely intimate atmosphere.

But Jean Ellison felt none of the romance; she only wanted to learn about Miles Morgan.

She watched Ronan, leisurely swirling his wine glass across the table, patiently waiting.

Ronan took a sip of wine, his gaze growing distant, seemingly lost in memory.

"Sis, do you recall? The first time I met you was when I was about twelve."

"I’d just returned from the United States, speaking Chinese awkwardly, barely understood by anyone."

He chuckled, his eyes carrying genuine warmth.

"Only you smiled at me, sharing your secret stash of snacks. That afternoon, we hid in the garden, playing joyfully."

He paused, softening his voice.

"From then on, I truly wished I could have a sister, not a brother."

Jean Ellison, hearing the mention of his brother, remembered not seeing his older brother at the Sutton family home last time, nudging him, "What about your brother? I didn’t see him last time."

Ronan’s smile faded a bit, his tone casual.

"Oh, he’s taken over my father’s company, now flying around the world, dealing in business, rarely home."

He swirled his wine glass, "And he’s long since married with kids. My sister-in-law gave the Sutton family two big healthy grandsons, now the family’s treasures."

He self-deprecatingly tugged at his mouth, "I’m different; I’ve been a useless playboy since young, good for nothing apart from spending money, not much expected from me at home."

Jean Ellison looked at him, reminded of the surprisingly well-crafted buns he delivered that morning, objectively said, "But your cooking is good. Those buns you steamed were really tasty."

Ronan’s eyes lit up instantaneously, even delighted.

"Sis, you do love eating them!"

He seemed to have his Pandora’s box opened, his body slightly leaning forward.

"Actually, later when you were attending university in the country, I visited you a few times."

His gaze turned focused, nostalgic.

"You were so cute, so beautiful then, just like you were as a child."

"I often saw you buying buns from a stall at the school gate in the mornings, standing by the roadside, eating them with delight."

His tone carried regret and timidness.

"Every time, I only dared to watch you from afar, too timid to greet you."

His expression slowly grew solemn, his voice lowered.

"I always thought you didn’t have a boyfriend, until one day..."

He paused, seemingly organizing his words.

"I saw you meeting a man at a street corner; he... he lowered his head and kissed you."

Ronan’s grip on the wine glass tightened, his knuckles whitening.

"That’s when I learned you’d been secretly seeing someone."

He looked up at Jean Ellison, his eyes holding a complex, indistinguishable emotion, filled with disappointment, confusion, and a hint of concealed anger.

"I was very upset then."

He pulled a smile sans warmth.

"If it were me, had I such a wonderful girlfriend like you, I’d announce it to the world, letting everyone know Sis was my woman."

"I would never treat you like that, concealing you, turning it into some shameful underground affair."