The monotonous days that followed saw her maintaining her usual schedule. One morning, while strolling in the back garden, Clara deliberately strayed a little from the main path, heading towards the wall separating the garden from the East Wing area. She pretended to admire a rare cluster of flowers, but her eyes quickly scanned the ground. Near the base of the wall, hidden by a dense bush, she saw a small object sparkling in the sunlight.
She subtly bent down, pretending to tie her shoelace, and quickly picked up the object. It was a small gray plastic card, looking like an access pass or ID card. The surface was printed with a series of complex symbols combining letters and numbers, and a stylized triangle icon. There was no name or photo. The card seemed to be made of a special material, feeling heavy and sturdy in her hand.
What was this? An access card for the forbidden area? What did the symbols and icons mean? This card must have been dropped by someone from the East Wing area.
Clara quickly hid the card in her sleeve and continued her stroll as if nothing had happened. She could sense the eyes of the servants watching from a distance, but they didn't approach. She had to find a way to keep the secret of this card.
Back in her room, Clara carefully examined the card again. She used her phone (which had limited functions) to photograph the series of symbols and the icon, hoping to understand them later, even though she knew network connectivity was restricted. She hid the card securely in a secret place in her room.
This small discovery made her both excited and anxious. It confirmed that the East Wing contained important secrets, and the Goldsmiths family was not merely a wealthy clan. But at the same time, it also increased the danger. If she were found with this object, what would the consequences be?
Immediately after Clara hid the card, Butler Reid appeared.
"Madam," her voice was as even as the flow of time, but today, her eyes seemed slightly different, more unreadable than usual. "There is a matter I need to inform you of."
Clara pushed away all thoughts about the card and focused on the butler.
"This morning, we received contact from the Haughan family," Butler Reid said, pronouncing the name "Haughan family" politely. "Mr. and Mrs. Haughan... wish to visit you."
This event arrived just after she had made a small discovery. Complex emotions surged within Clara. Butler Reid continued to inform her that Jonathan Goldsmith had agreed to the meeting, and had even invited Mr. and Mrs. Haughan to have dinner at the Goldsmiths' mansion tomorrow evening.
Jonathan Goldsmith agreed. Invited them for dinner. It was his confusing politeness again. What did he want? To show himself as a considerate husband, a hospitable son-in-law? Or did he want to observe, evaluate Mr. and Mrs. Haughan, or even use them for some purpose related to the Haughan family or Clara herself? This easy agreement, instead of reassuring Clara, made her even more wary.
She nodded, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. "I understand. Thank you."
Butler Reid withdrew. Clara was left alone, feeling as though two currents, one cold and one hot, were flowing through her simultaneously. On one hand was the excitement and curiosity about the meaning of the mysterious access card. On the other hand was the tension and unease regarding the upcoming meeting with her adoptive parents under the roof of the Goldsmiths mansion, and especially under the gaze of Jonathan Goldsmith.
She had to prepare for it. Not just her attire or attitude. She had to prepare mentally.
Tomorrow quickly arrived. The atmosphere in the Goldsmiths' mansion was more formal than usual. Servants prepared everything perfectly for the dinner. When Mr. and Mrs. Haughan arrived, the moment of reunion was still emotional. Mrs. Haughan hugged her tightly, tears welling up. Mr. Haughan looked at her with worry. Their smiles and greetings were warm, a complete contrast to the cold luxury of the Goldsmiths' mansion.
Stepping into the dining room, Jonathan Goldsmith was already waiting. He was still polite, a faint smile on his lips, a noble bearing. He greeted Mr. and Mrs. Haughan attentively, pulled out chairs for them – his actions were perfect to the point of being unbelievable.
But as soon as the meal began, the atmosphere became strange. Jonathan Goldsmith dominated the conversation.
"Mr. and Mrs. Haughan," Jonathan Goldsmith said, his voice warm but carrying an invisible pressure. "I hear the Haughan family is in the... real estate business?"
Mr. Haughan flinched slightly, stumbling over his reply, "Yes, yes. Just... a small company, Young Master Goldsmiths. Nothing worth mentioning."
Jonathan Goldsmith smiled faintly. "Small or large doesn't matter. What matters is... is the foundation sturdy? If the foundation isn't sturdy, even a light wind can shake it."
Mr. and Mrs. Haughan paled.
Then he changed the subject, still in a calm tone. He spoke of "great structures built on secrets," of "doors that only open for the worthy," of "the price of truth and peace." He didn't speak directly, but those words seemed to paint a picture of the Goldsmiths family – an empire built on secret foundations and control.
Clara sat silently, listening to every word, observing every small expression on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Haughan and Jonathan Goldsmith. She sensed the terrifying nature of Jonathan Goldsmiths, not in his appearance, but in how he manipulated the conversation, making others tremble with his veiled words. She tried to weave in a small question, as a test.
"Mr. Jonathan Goldsmiths," she said softly, her voice slightly hesitant, "The East Wing... it looks very modern. Is there anything special there?"
Jonathan Goldsmith turned to look at her. His eyes were deep, bottomless. The faint smile on his lips didn't change, but that gaze held a sharp, cold glint that made Clara unconsciously clench her hands under the table. Mr. and Mrs. Haughan looked at her with worry.
"The East Wing?" Jonathan Goldsmith repeated, his tone still calm, as if talking about the weather. "Ah, that's my work area. And some... important projects of the Goldsmiths family. Projects that require... absolute discretion." He emphasized the words "absolute discretion," his gaze lingering on Clara for a moment longer, like a warning.
He said no more about the East Wing, but that answer and look were enough. He knew she was curious about that area. And the words "absolute discretion" were like an invisible wall he erected.
The meal ended in a tense atmosphere. Mr. and Mrs. Haughan were clearly frightened and worried for their daughter. Jonathan Goldsmith still politely saw them out to the hall, then returned to his usual calm demeanor.
Butler Reid took Mr. and Mrs. Haughan to Clara's room for a private conversation. As soon as they entered the room, Mrs. Haughan hugged her again, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm so worried about you!" she sobbed. "Living here... It's terrifying. Young Master Goldsmiths... he..." She couldn't find the words, just trembled. "You must be careful. Careful. Don't make any mistakes. I saw him... he looked at you..." Mrs. Haughan stopped, not daring to continue. "However it is, you're married in now. Just... comply. Don't think too much. Your father and I will try, however hard it is, we'll try... so you can be safe here."
Clara hugged her mother tightly, her heart aching. She knew their worry was genuine, but the advice to "comply" felt like a knife cutting into her resolve. She couldn't comply here. Complying was waiting for death, being controlled.
"Mother, I'm fine," Clara tried to reassure. "Don't worry about me. I'll take care of myself." She couldn't talk about the mission, the system, her true nature, or Jonathan Goldsmith's true nature.
Mr. Haughan placed a hand on her shoulder. "My daughter... your mother and I know you're suffering. But circumstances... We didn't want this either. We just hope you can be safe here." His eyes were filled with helplessness and regret.
The short conversation was full of tears and helpless advice. Mr. and Mrs. Haughan left, looking more tired and worried than when they arrived.
Clara stood alone in the room, her heart heavy. The dinner wasn't just a family reunion; it was proof of the brutality of power and the imprisonment she faced. He had seen her, warning her with his eyes and words about the East Wing. He knew she was curious.
And her mother's plea... It only reminded her why she had to escape. She cannot "comply" in this gilded cage.