When Claire opened the bags in the guest room, she discovered a full outfit from one of her favorite haute couture brands.
She used to wear their pieces all the time.
But this specific outfit was a new arrival that required a three-month pre-order.
Which meant he had purchased this a long time ago.
He probably bought it for one of his many female companions.
Well, his loss was her gain today.
The other bag contained lingerie, and when Claire checked the tags, her jaw dropped—it was her exact size!
How on earth did he know?!
He clearly had extensive experience buying these things for young women. That was the only way he could judge sizes with such terrifying precision.
What an absolute playboy!
To her surprise, the outfit fit her perfectly as well.
So, the mystery woman wasn't Rowan Ross.
Rowan was shorter than her and bustier.
Which meant there was someone else.
He certainly played the field!
When she went downstairs, she noticed Wilbur had changed clothes again, looking like he was ready to head out.
Claire couldn't wrap her head around it.
If he was planning to go out anyway, why the hell had he put on that silk robe earlier?
What a show-off.
"Thanks for the clothes. I'll transfer the money to you later." Claire was ready to leave.
Her tone was freezing, her expression slightly sour.
Wilbur frowned. Was she still mad about the Pear Compote?
He had been an absolute saint during the massage earlier, and it still hadn't won her over?
Even Claire herself realized how aggressive she sounded.
She mentally kicked herself. What exactly was she so furious about?
She had no real relationship with Wilbur. Whoever he dated, whoever he bought clothes for, whoever he gave desserts to—it was entirely his business.
But it still rubbed her the wrong way. Something just felt off.
"Come with me somewhere first." Wilbur intercepted her, grabbing her wrist.
When Claire finally looked at him, he finished his sentence. "The investigation results are out."

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