Chapter 218

Jade looked up at Tyrone, chasing after him not out of infatuation, but because of the Lynch family’s influence. She was perfectly aware of it—there was no way she’d ever fall for Tyrone himself. The man had a razor-sharp tongue, and nothing about his personality tempted her.

But Clayton was different. An orphan, with the look of someone who belonged to the White family but none of its power—Jade sometimes half-

believed she was the one who owned him, his master by default. Maybe that’s why she found herself drawn to him, though Clayton never spared her so much as a glance.

“Where’s Grandfather?” Clayton ignored Jade entirely and addressed the butler instead.

“Young Master Holloway, the old gentleman’s gone to bed,” the butler replied, smiling. “It’s been years, but you look even more distinguished than before.”

Clayton was handsome, but not like Tyrone—Tyrone’s good looks were all rugged edges and bold confidence, while Clayton seemed as if he’d stepped straight out of a graphic novel: composed, ascetic, untouched by the world. His eyes, perpetually frosted over, made him seem immune to desire or intrigue.

Jade couldn’t remember ever seeing an unnecessary expression flicker across his face.

Maybe it was because he’d been abandoned by his parents as a child. He looked at the world with cool detachment, as if nothing could crack his composure or spark longing in him.

After all these years, he’d never once been seen with a woman. No scandals, no greed, no sign of any indulgence. Sometimes Jade wondered if the only reason he was still breathing was to repay the old man’s kindness.

“Didn’t even notice me, did you?” Jade snapped, annoyed that Clayton wouldn’t even look her way.

“Sorry. I just noticed you now,” Clayton said coolly.

He wore no unnecessary accessories—just a tailored suit, no expensive watch gleaming on his wrist, no designer cufflinks, not a single piece of flashy jewelry.

The only thing he always carried was a well-worn wooden cross. The old man had fetched it for him on Clayton’s eighteenth birthday, after a pilgrimage to St. Benedict’s Abbey, seeking a blessing from a renowned monk.

That year, Clayton had fallen gravely ill; the fever wouldn’t break despite countless doctors and specialists. It was the cross, pressed into his hands by the monk, that finally brought the fever down.

Rich Radiant and Over Him (Alicia and Vincent)

Chapter 217 Transmigration: I Have Storage Space in the Apocalypse Chapter 760 - 756: Encountering a Man with Evil Intentions After that, he developed a fascination with theology, and the cross had never left his hand since.

“A dog’s still a dog. Doesn’t even know who its master’s supposed to be,” Jade spat coldly.

Clayton sat quietly in the corner, unreadable as ever, utterly unmoved by her jabs. If it had been Tyrone, he’d have already fired back with a retort that would leave Jade fuming, but Clayton did nothing of the sort.

He simply sat there, holding his cross, making tea with a kind of tranquil grace.

“Still got that same dead look, huh? Maybe you’re a eunuch. Born without any drive at all? Is that why you cling to that cross all day like it’s the only thing that matters?” Jade’s words dripped with malice, hoping to get a rise out of him.

Clayton treated her as though she were invisible, as if he couldn’t even hear her—the ultimate indifference, enough to drive anyone mad.

Jade could feel herself suffocating. “Don’t act like that with me. You’re just the White family’s lapdog—I’m your master, you hear me?”

This time, Clayton actually reacted. He looked up, and Jade was caught off guard by the way his eyes, a strange mix of deep blue and dark brown, seemed to glow.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Clayton was of mixed heritage—his father had been a visiting professor from overseas who’d slept with a student, then skipped town and returned to Vesperia, leaving nothing behind but a scandal. His mother, still in college when she gave birth, had been too scared to tell her family and too unwilling to take responsibility, so she abandoned Clayton at an orphanage.

Though his features were mostly Asian, the unique blend of striking blue and dark brown in his eyes made them hauntingly beautiful.

“Even if I’m a dog...I’d only ever belong to Miss Nicole,” Clayton replied, his voice smooth as velvet. The sharp line of his throat gave the lie to Jade’s insult—he was no eunuch. If anything, she suspected, he was quite the opposite.