CHAPTER 33: CHAPTER 33: SHE’S JUST A SISTER

Justin Holden no longer looked at her, his profile sharp and cold as a blade, staring straight ahead as if seeing nothing at all.

"Her father was my mentor."

"I’ve always seen her as a sister."

Jean Ellison smiled wryly; she had secretly loved him for three years and shared a bed with him for four—only to be told she was like a sister to him in the end.

How could he say such a thing, wasn’t he ashamed?

The one truly in love with orthopedics was him, right?

While in bed, all he could think about was that the person beneath him was his mentor’s daughter, his sister. How could he do it?

"I thought she was really important to you, seeing how you’re always looking for her."

Jean sniffled, a thin mist in her eyes, unable to suppress the sour feeling in her heart.

Thinking back, he truly never said he loved her, hadn’t even uttered the words "like" to her.

His gentlest moments were when he coaxed her in bed; off the bed, his attitude remained perpetually indifferent and distant.

"And you, you say you and Claire Caldwell were childhood friends, where’s the proof?"

Justin’s expression was unclear, feeling that her words tonight were a bit odd.

Jean glanced upstairs, saying, "The proof is at my place. Do you want to see it?"

"Sure."

His voice was deep, not sounding like a joke.

Jean never expected he was truly planning to follow her upstairs; didn’t he find it improper to visit a woman’s home alone in the middle of the night?

Moreover, wouldn’t Wendy Wallace call to ask where he was?

Right, someone as smart as him naturally had a thousand excuses for not going home if he didn’t want to.

The two walked upstairs, just in time to run into a neighbor coming out.

"Reporter Ellison, your boyfriend’s here again, so considerate."

The neighbor met Justin’s dark eyes, was momentarily stunned, then quickly said, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, mistook you for someone else, my eyesight’s not good at my age."

She remembered Reporter Ellison’s boyfriend was a policeman, even appeared on TV.

Jean couldn’t immediately figure out who the neighbor was referring to, until they ascended another floor, realizing the boyfriend mentioned was Philip Paxton.

On the first day Philip Paxton brought her over, they had run into this neighbor on the stairs.

She wanted to explain, but it was already too late.

"The neighbors around here gossip quite a bit."

Mostly elderly folks, renting in this area was the safest; the old lady downstairs even knew how many times she ordered takeout a day. They had nothing better to do, liked watching young people.

Moreover, unless provoked, elderly people wouldn’t bother you.

"Who did she mistake me for?"

The voice from behind carried a cold air, as Jean turned on the living room light, noticing the man’s face had gone cold and ugly.

"Probably Officer Paxton, he was here earlier."

Jean casually brushed it off, stepping into the bedroom to retrieve a photo album.

Fortunately, she had prepared in advance, having had many old photos made, including ones of her and Claire Caldwell, and some of just herself.

Having assumed a new identity, everything had to be flawless.

Many potentially suspicious details were thoroughly considered by Philip Paxton and Isabel Dalton, one a detective, the other a prison officer, far more meticulous than ordinary people.

She didn’t believe Justin Holden, a lawyer, could surpass Philip Paxton, a detective captain, in investigative abilities.

Justin stood beside the sofa, watching her back with heavy eyes. He didn’t sit, one hand in his pocket, standing straight.

What did she mean by "probably Philip Paxton"?

It seemed Simon Sterling also came by, or maybe it was someone else, something seemed to block his mind, a feeling he’d never had before.

Jean handed him the album, "Take a look; these are the proofs you wanted."

Justin opened the album, glanced at the photos inside without flipping a page.

"Is this you?"

He knew what Claire Caldwell looked like as a child. When the Caldwell family was still around, their villa was full of Claire Caldwell’s photos, from every stage of life.

Jean glanced at the spot his finger pointed to, nodded, said calmly, "Yes, does it not look like me?"

It looked just like her current face, even had some resemblance to Claire Caldwell.

If someone didn’t know, they’d think the two girls were twins.

The photos showed two little girls, around four or five years old, pretty and cute, with the real difference being their builds, not features.

One was chubbier, the other thinner.

One had long hair, the other a short bob.

"You were very cute before."

Justin closed the album, casually placing it on the table. He looked at the sparse furnishings in the room, noticing it was cold and sparse, with only the necessary household items, not even a vase.

Her life seemed quite impoverished.

Having known Claire Caldwell since childhood, her family shouldn’t have been poor. How did she end up like this?

Jean followed his gaze, noticing he was staring at a small second-hand refrigerator.

She had refurbished the fridge, decorating it with cartoon stickers, giving it a retro beauty.

"My family went bankrupt even before the Caldwell family, so we moved out of Kingswell City to our hometown long ago. Now my parents are in the countryside."

"Does Lawyer Holden want to see their photos too?"

She had even prepared fake parents’ identities; as long as he dared to ask, she dared to take him to see.

They were Philip Paxton’s distant uncle and aunt by marriage.

They had lived their whole lives in the village, never leaving, childless, always cared for by Philip Paxton.

"No need."

Justin interrupted her, seemingly a bit low-spirited, lowering his cool gaze behind glasses, appearing heavy-hearted.

Was he still suspicious?

Jean kept a mental note; if he didn’t ask, she wouldn’t tell. The more said, the more mistakes, making it easier for him to detect.

Justin turned to leave, and Jean called out to him.

"Did I leave my hair tie in your car?"

"A transparent telephone cord hair tie, gifted by a friend, with a circle of colorful rhinestones on it."

The man walked to the door, turning around, his brow moved slightly, after pondering briefly, he said.

"I didn’t see it, maybe it’s lost."

"I’ll get you a new one tomorrow."

Jean asked casually, waved her hand, "No need, I have other hair ties at home."

Justin said nothing, opened the door, and walked downstairs.

The next morning, as Jean went out to work, she found seven or eight exquisite paper bags hanging on her doorknob.

Besides Justin Holden, she couldn’t think of anyone else who’d do this.

Was he a night owl?

He had left late last night, yet these things appeared at her door early this morning, indicating he’d been there at dawn.

This brand was one she frequently bought as Claire Caldwell, targeted at wealthy young women around twenty years old.

Five years ago, even a small hairpin would cost two to three thousand, and now they would only be more expensive.

She untied the bags, finding each one contained a hair tie. Had he bought out all the hair ties in the store?

Though small items, they added up to tens of thousands of dollars.

She thought for a moment, then picked up the phone and dialed Justin Holden’s number.