Chapter 151: The Woman Hiding in a Snail’s Shell

Blaine Jackson walked into the living room, carefully balancing a tray with a glass of fresh milk and a breakfast he had prepared especially for Claire Grace. Placing the food on the table, he turned toward the couch to call her name, but the words caught in his throat when he saw her. She was curled up in a ball, small and fragile like a kitten.

"Exhausted, grieving, and overwhelmed—yet still forcing yourself to smile. Do you really think you're a snail, Claire? That you can just retreat into a shell and let your wounds heal themselves?" Blaine thought, a mixture of frustration and sorrow welling up inside him. If she truly were a snail, she'd be the most foolish, naïve, and heartbreakingly fragile one in the world.

Too tired to fetch a blanket, Blaine shrugged off his casual shirt and gently draped it over her. The tenderness of his movements reflected his care for her, but his mind was a whirlwind of emotions.

Such a small frame, yet it bore so much pain. Even in sleep, her restless posture and anguished expression revealed the torment she endured. Blaire Zeller's death had left an unhealable wound, a pain magnified by Lucas Zeller's actions. Blaine thought bitterly of Lucas, who had hidden his sorrow behind an indifferent mask at Blaire's funeral. Did Lucas even realize how deeply his stubbornness and misconceptions had scarred the woman who loved him?

People say love is blind, but Blaine hadn't expected a man as intelligent as Lucas to fall prey to such shortsightedness. Even a fool could see that Blaire's death wasn't Lucas's fault. Yet Lucas clung to the belief that he was to blame, punishing himself—and by extension, Claire—with his misplaced guilt.

"Idiot," Blaine muttered under his breath, pacing the kitchen to vent his growing anger. "Does he think his self-inflicted suffering makes him noble? All he's doing is hurting her more."

Unable to stay still, Blaine returned to the living room, his eyes fixed on Claire's fragile figure. He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the unfamiliar surge of protectiveness rising within him.

"Why does her pain make me so angry? She has Lucas to care for her. Why should I feel this way?" Blaine asked himself, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts.

"You care about her," a voice in his mind whispered.

"No, I don't," Blaine argued, though his conviction wavered. "She's my employee, my friend, and like a little sister who likes to tease me. That's all. Nothing more."

But even as he reassured himself, another voice countered. "You're lying to yourself. Haven't you noticed the way you look at her? It's not the same as before. There's admiration, yes—but now there's something deeper. Affection, longing. It's written all over your face."

"I don't!" Blaine snapped, his voice unintentionally loud as he glared at the ceiling. "I'm not some romantic fool! I just care about her well-being, nothing more!"

His outburst startled Claire awake. She shot up from the couch, disoriented and murmuring, "Please, Lucas, stop blaming yourself. It's not your fault. It's not—"

"Claire, it's me," Blaine said quickly, crouching by her side and grasping her trembling arms. His warm gaze locked onto hers, filled with concern. "You had a nightmare, didn't you?"

"I… I think I did," Claire said softly, her hand resting over her pounding heart. As her wide eyes met Blaine's, she caught a glimpse of the tenderness in his expression, and for a moment, the remnants of her fear melted away.

"Master Jackson…" she murmured, her voice tinged with both vulnerability and a hint of playfulness as she adjusted to reality.

"Shh, it's okay. You're safe now," Blaine said, gently wiping the sweat from her brow and wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a protective gesture. The warmth of his embrace was both comforting and unfamiliar, leaving Claire momentarily speechless.

After a few moments, Claire pulled herself together, separating dream from reality. Her gaze drifted to the table, where the aroma of the breakfast caught her attention.

"Did you make this for me, Master Jackson?" she asked, tilting her head toward the food.

"Yes, I did," Blaine replied, abruptly pulling back and rising to his feet. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure of what to do with them. "You were asleep earlier, so I didn't want to wake you. I'll just heat it up for you—"

"No need," Claire said, already seated at the table. She took a sip of the milk and began eating without hesitation. "It's still warm."

"Are you eating too, Master Jackson?" she asked between bites, her voice muffled by the food.

"I've already eaten," Blaine lied. In truth, he rarely had breakfast, but ever since meeting Claire, he'd found himself drawn to the idea of sharing meals—especially ones he prepared for her.

"You're lying to yourself," that pesky voice returned, smug and relentless. "You made her breakfast because you like her. Admit it!"

Blaine's ears turned red as he fought back the voice in his head. "Even if I do care about her, it's none of your business! Leave me alone!"

"Master Jackson?" Claire's voice broke through his thoughts. She stared at him, wide-eyed and confused. "Were you… talking to me just now?"

"Huh?" Blaine blinked, finally realizing he'd spoken out loud. "N-no, not at all! I just remembered something I had to do downstairs."

Without another word, he turned and fled, his hurried footsteps echoing down the staircase. As he disappeared, Claire tilted her head, still holding her glass of milk.

"Did he just… run away?" she muttered to herself, baffled by Blaine's sudden retreat. After a moment, she shook her head with a soft laugh, chalking it up to one of his eccentric quirks.

Unbeknownst to her, Blaine was downstairs, leaning against the wall and muttering under his breath. "What's wrong with me? I'm not hiding in a snail shell… am I?"