The car drove smoothly, the warm air was making people drowsy.
Her hand rested on the center armrest as she closed her eyes drowsily, falling asleep unguardedly.
By the time they arrived at the destination, she was already sound asleep.
The doors to Sinclair Apothecary were shut, but the lights were still on, the window screens emitting a layer of white hazy light.
The young girl was breathing evenly, covered with a suit jacket, her chin being supported by the man’s hand, her sleeping posture was not elegant but somewhat charming and cute.
This scene was completely observed by Assistant Cheney.
It was unexpected that the usually aloof and indifferent Mr. Lowell would engage in such a simple and mundane act.
It was as if he had voluntarily stepped down from the "altar," affectionately favoring the young traditional medicine practitioner beside him in a simple, ordinary person’s stance.
In the dim light, Keane Lowell applied slight pressure, gently laying her back against the seat, and called out as usual, "Claire... we’re home."
What responded to him was a long silence.
In the enclosed space, there was no sound, only faintly hearing the young girl’s shallow breathing.
About a minute passed, he spoke softly, "Let’s head back."
Upon receiving the command, Assistant Cheney started the engine and began driving smoothly.
The disciplined Mr. Lowell clearly hadn’t planned to wake the person.
...
Arriving at the hotel.
Keane Lowell walked around to the other side of the car door, carrying the person out of the car.
The young girl was about 160 centimeters tall, yet her body was so light it felt as if her weight couldn’t be sensed.
Perhaps sensing the piercing light, her tranquil face burrowed anxiously into his embrace, avoiding the light.
Her soft lips barely touching his skin, the only intense sensation was her breath spraying on his neck.
He glanced down at the young girl, his lower body slightly tensing, his gaze seemed enshrouded by the night, deep yet tender as if he could melt a person away.
They took the elevator back to the suite.
The room was dark.
Keane Lowell moved in the dark and laid her down on the bed, just straightened up when suddenly his waist tightened, the belt being grabbed with a force that made it difficult for him to escape smoothly.
He grasped that hand, his gaze deepening.
...Of all places to grab, she grabbed here.
"Claire..." His clear voice was low and deep.
There was no response from the person beneath him, he helplessly bent down, supporting himself above her, observing her curled up into a soft and limp likeness.
Gradually, hearing her murmur, amplified in this silent space.
"Mom..."
"Mom, don’t leave me."
Suddenly, his waist was embraced by her, Keane Lowell lay down gently beside her, raising his hand to softly stroke her head.
Then he was called "mom" again.
Keane Lowell’s expression stiffened slightly, softly comforting, "I’m here."
The voice was unexpectedly hoarse.
The sleeping person held him tighter and tighter, her warm tears soaking and staining his shirt, her body was incredibly soft, silently drawing her into his embrace, protecting her.
It was his first time holding a girl, unexpectedly so soft, so easily making one feel addicted.
...
The next morning, waking up to a strange ceiling, Claire Prescott immediately sat up from the bed, surveying the surrounding environment.
Last night...
Recalling, she thought of Keane Lowell.
Wasn’t it agreed to send her back to Sinclair Apothecary, how come I was sent here?
No harm to the clothes, nor were there any marks on her body, only somehow she had a thumb-sized black button in her hand.
No, how could she subconsciously think Keane Lowell would do something to her, he wasn’t interested in her at all.
Instead, it was her.
Did she take advantage of being drunk to make advances on him?
As she turned over to get out of bed, the door was pushed open from outside, a tall and lean figure of a man fell into sight.
"Awake?" he spoke, in a cold black shirt, his arm holding a set of women’s clothing.
As he approached, a steady and composed aura permeated through, Claire Prescott’s heartstrings were becoming more tensed.
Yet, he simply placed the clothes down, calmly saying to her, "Freshen up first."
Claire Prescott said nothing, grabbing the clothes and heading to the bathroom, her mind a whirl...
Approximately half an hour passed.
She emerged dressed in a light green French long dress, the silky satin clung to her figure’s curve, enhancing her fair and translucent complexion, youthful yet elegant.
It was quite different from her usual simple and elegant new Chinese style, a refreshing change.
The dress was nice indeed, but... the underwear was a bit tight, constricting uncomfortably.
At this time, Keane Lowell was sitting on a single-person sofa using a silver laptop for work.
Upon her appearance, their eyes met.
His gaze restrainedly lingered on her smooth neck for a few seconds, he spoke gently, "Put on the coat."
Looking around, Claire Prescott saw the coat he mentioned placed on another sofa.
Soon after, she heard him say, "The hangover tea is on the table."
Observing his expression, he didn’t seem bothered, as if staying here last night hadn’t been a disturbance.
She put on the coat, sat down, picked up the hangover tea from the table, took a sip, then cautiously asked, "I didn’t do anything to you last night, right?"
"..."
Upon hearing this, Keane Lowell’s gaze fixed on hers.
He hadn’t expected her to break from convention, to wake up and ask this question first.
However...
She was indeed a bit frivolous last night.
Lightly curling his thin lips, he spoke casually, "With your strength, what could you possibly do to me."
"..." Claire Prescott was speechless.
Feeling that there was some unclear implication in his words.
Was there or wasn’t there, no definite answer.
She dared not ask carefully anymore.
But in any case, no embarrassing incidents had happened between them, and that was good.
"I drank too much last night, hope I didn’t cause you trouble."
The young girl sat straight, her voice consistently soft and pleasant.
After last night’s drunken sleep, not knowing what happened, she could still sit calmly in front of him. Either she has a good mindset or simply doesn’t consider him as a man.
Keane Lowell quietly closed the laptop, raised his eyes to look at her, speaking slowly, "You’ve changed quite a bit over the years, don’t you think?"
"Really... have I?"
Mentioning the past, Claire Prescott’s heart tightened for a moment.
Keane Lowell observed her expression keenly.
Noticing her tension, his tone instinctively softened, "Since our reunion, you’ve always greeted me formally as ’Mr.’, the earlier you didn’t do so."
Being informal then was because she didn’t know him well; to her, he was just an acquaintance, besides, every meeting she had never actually called him, it was always straightforward with issues.
Claire Prescott still chose to avoid past matters, shifting the topic by asking him, "Then what should I call you?"
Keane Lowell slightly furrowed his eyebrows, looking at her intently.
Silent for a while, he finally spoke, "Except for ’Mr.’, you can call me whatever you want."
Upon hearing this, Claire Prescott instantly showed interest, her smile blossomed as she looked at him, "Keane, President Lowell, or Brother Keane?"