Chapter 286
After stepping out of the conference hall, Clarice was immediately joined by the butler. Without slowing her stride, she issued a series of sharp instructions regarding the Starr family.
“Handle it quickly. I want a full report by tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the butler replied promptly. He hesitated for a moment before adding, “There is… one more matter. Young Master Ethan is still in the punishment chamber. It has been four hours. Should you go see him?”
Clarice’s steps slowed almost imperceptibly.
Only then did Ethan come to mind.
Ever since Khloe’s return, his performance had deteriorated sharply. Every attempt to deal with her had failed—some even humiliating enough to damage her business directly. That latest mistake had pushed Clarice’s patience to its limit.
She had no interest in wasting time on him.
And yet, he still had use.
Without a word, she changed direction and headed toward the underground chamber.
The so-called chamber had once been a bomb shelter when the estate was first built. Later, it had been used for storage. After Clarice moved into the Morrison residence, she converted it into two sealed rooms—one for rest, one for study.
But they were never meant to be comfortable.
No ventilation. No relief from heat in summer or cold in winter. Damp, airless, and suffocating—spaces designed specifically for punishment.
Since childhood, whenever Ethan erred, he had been locked inside.
Clarice believed discipline shaped control. A child who could endure correction would grow into an adult who could endure everything else.
As a boy, Ethan had been made to kneel here under supervision, forced to reflect in silence. The longest he had ever remained inside was two weeks. Yet he rarely repeated the same mistake twice. By adulthood, punishment had become rare—but never forgotten.
The door to the chamber opened.
Heat rushed out like a wave.
Ethan knelt in the corner of the study room, upper body bare, sweat soaking his hair and skin. His posture was rigid, head lowered. On the wall beside him hung the seventy-eight rules Clarice had written for him over the years.
“Madam has arrived,” the butler said quietly.
Ethan lifted his head slowly. “Mother.”
“Stand up,” Clarice ordered.
Her tone softened slightly despite herself at the sight of his condition. Four hours in that place was no light punishment, even for him.
Ethan tried to rise, but his legs had gone numb. He braced himself against the wall, forcing himself upright inch by inch.
The butler instinctively stepped forward to help.
A sharp look from Clarice stopped him.
“Do you understand what you did wrong this time?” she asked, her voice calm but unyielding.
“Yes,” Ethan replied hoarsely. “Negligence. Underestimating the situation.”
Clarice exhaled slowly. “You’re not a child anymore. Do you think it unreasonable for me to make you kneel for four hours after such a mistake?”
“No, Mother.” His head remained lowered. “The punishment is deserved. I accept it.”
There was no resentment in his voice—only obedience.
That seemed to satisfy her.
From the day she adopted him, Clarice had said the same thing more than once.
“I do not raise incompetents.”
Ethan’s expression tightened slightly. “I was wrong. I won’t disappoint you again.”
“Go shower, change your clothes, and come to the study later,” Clarice said after a brief inspection. The anger in her voice had already faded.
Then she turned and left.
The moment she was gone, the butler hurried forward to support Ethan. Only then did his strength finally give out; most of his weight collapsed into the servant’s arms.
He had been hungover since the previous night and had only just been dragged out of bed that morning—interrupted before he could even recover, intercepted the moment he left Charlotte’s presence.
Half an hour later, after cleaning himself up and regaining his usual composed demeanor, Ethan arrived at Clarice’s study.