Seeing her silence, Nancy Lockwood grew even more irritated. "I’m talking to you. Did you hear ?"
Claire Sinclair finally spoke. "Nancy, in terms of position, you should at least address as Young Madam. And in terms of our connection, my sister was your comrade-in-arms. Shouldn’t you show a little courtesy?"
’Young Madam?’
’Hmph...’
Ever since Claire Sinclair had brought up divorcing Young Master Quincy, Nancy Lockwood had been utterly disappointed in her. In Nancy’s mind, Claire was no longer fit to be the mistress of Quincy Manor. Getting her to say ’Young Madam’ was out of the question.
"If you want to divorce Young Master Quincy, then make him give up on you for good. Stop fooling around while you’re still married. If you embarrass Young Master Quincy again, don’t bla for getting rough."
With that, Nancy Lockwood turned and walked out.
Claire Sinclair was furious now, too. She snatched the comb from the table and hurled it at the door.
But she was too weak; the comb only flew half a ter.
’What a load of crap!’
’Who the hell wants to be the Young Madam? I’m already divorced!’
Forgetting for a mont that feeling hadn’t returned to her legs, she tried to jump to her feet, only to pitch forward and slam into the edge of the table.
THUD...
’So painful!’
Claire Sinclair rubbed her head, her fury mounting. In a fit of rage, she picked up a chair and began to viciously smash it against her own legs.
"What are you good for? You can’t even stand up straight..."
She struck them a few tis but felt no pain. Her arms gave out, and she tossed the chair aside.
She sat on the floor for a long ti before the slightest sensation returned to her legs.
It took Claire Sinclair a full hour to pull herself up, get washed and dressed, and make her way downstairs.
Once she finally made it to the ground floor, she could only shuffle along slowly, leaning against the wall for support. The dining hall was still a good distance away; she had to grit her teeth and press on.
By the ti she finally reached the dining hall entrance, her legs felt mostly recovered, and she decided to try walking without holding onto the wall.
But just then, a tall figure burst out of the dining hall, slamming into her and knocking her flat on the ground.
"Hiss..." Her poor backside took another beating.
"So, you’re Claire Sinclair?" Helen Wallace stared down at her, her arrogant gaze tinged with contempt.
Claire Sinclair slowly looked up to see a woman nearly six feet tall...
A soldier, to be more precise. She was in uniform, her chest a dazzling array of dals that shone as brightly as her beautiful face.
Claire knew this person from the photographs her sister had sent her.
Her na was Helen Wallace, if she recalled correctly. Another of her sister’s comrades-in-arms, and a formidable one at that. She’d been transferred elsewhere later on, and her sister had rarely ntioned the na since.
Claire Sinclair was used to being looked down on, but Helen Wallace’s condescension was so blatant that Claire felt it all the more keenly.
’Another one. Soone else who can’t help but compare to my sister. Why is it always like this?’
Claire Sinclair felt a wave of resignation. She couldn’t even be bothered to reply, focusing instead on struggling to her feet.
Helen Wallace watched her every move with cold detachnt. After a long mont, she drawled, "Pathetically weak, just as I thought."
This ti, Claire Sinclair looked up to et her gaze, her voice even. "Whether I’m weak or not is none of your business. And stop comparing to my sister."
"Ha..." Helen Wallace laughed. "Claire Sinclair, if you don’t want people looking down on you, then prove them wrong with your strength. What’s the use of getting an attitude with ? You think you have what it takes to beat on the battlefield?"
Claire Sinclair scoffed. "Are you blind? The person in front of you is disabled. Is there so great honor in defeating a disabled person?"
Only then, hearing Claire’s words, did Helen Wallace realize sothing was wrong with her legs.
Her knees were bent, unable to fully straighten...
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