Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

Chapter 181: Chapter 181: Who Do You Like? Is It Quentin Blackwood?

Perhaps his voice was too harsh, because it seemed to frighten Ivy Sherwood.

The next second, he saw her freeze, staring at him without blinking.

Her beautiful eyes instantly filled with tears, and her black, agate-like pupils grew hazy.

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, carrying an air of brokenness that made Quentin Blackwood’s heart ache.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. Just as he was about to explain that he hadn’t meant to be so harsh, Ivy Sherwood spoke.

"Timothy Sherwood sent you, didn’t he? How much did you pay him?"

"He loves selling off his daughters. Selling Thea Sherwood wasn’t enough, now he wants to sell me to the Blackwood Family."

The more Ivy spoke, the harder she cried, as if venting all the grievances and frustrations bottled up inside her.

"I don’t like Silas Blackwood. I don’t want to marry him! Why can’t I be in control of my own life? I just want to marry someone I love. The Blackwood Family is a prison. If I go in, I’ll never be able to escape."

"I just want to live my own life. Why is that so hard?"

She was bottling everything up and desperately needed an outlet. These were words she would never say to anyone else.

But now that she was drunk, she couldn’t hold back anymore. She felt like she was about to go crazy.

The man just listened quietly. His hand twitched with the urge to pull Ivy into his arms.

A storm of emotion surged in his eyes, but he forcefully suppressed it. His voice was laced with a hint of hoarseness.

"Who is this person you like?"

Ivy sniffled. A face suddenly appeared in her mind—an incomparably handsome face, radiating a cold and aloof aura. On his wrist was a string of dark Buddha Beads.

That face gradually overlapped with the one before her. With tears still clinging to her eyelashes, Ivy bit her red lip and said, "You look so much like him."

’Who do I look like?’

Quentin Blackwood’s eyes tightened in an instant. ’Is there someone else in Ivy’s heart?’

"Who is he?"

Ivy shook her head, trying to banish the face from her mind. ’I can’t like him.’

’He’s like a god, high and unreachable. His gaze would only slide past ordinary people like me, never lingering.’

"No one."

An idea occurred to Quentin Blackwood, and he asked tentatively, "Do you like Quentin Blackwood?"

’Ivy said I look like him. She’s drunk now, what if she hasn’t recognized me?’

The name "Quentin Blackwood" made Ivy’s expression shift. "No."

’Not Quentin Blackwood. I can’t like Quentin Blackwood.’

’He’s the last person in the world I should like. Loving him would be too painful. Far too many women are in love with him, and I hate trouble more than anything. I don’t want to fight with other people for him.’

’Besides, Quentin Blackwood doesn’t like me.’

’There are too many girls more outstanding and beautiful than me. I don’t think I have any qualities that could possibly attract his attention.’

Her lips said no, but her tears flowed even more fiercely.

This was different from her earlier crying. Now, it was more like an intangible sorrow, a different kind of sadness from when she had mentioned Timothy Sherwood.

A dull ache inexplicably pierced Quentin Blackwood’s heart. Ivy not liking him should have been a good thing; otherwise, she’d just be another nuisance he couldn’t shake.

But now, he felt no excitement at all.

Instead, it felt as if a heavy stone was pressing on his heart, making it hard to breathe.

’So, Ivy really does have someone she likes?’

Ivy lowered her gaze. After a moment, her eyelashes trembled, and she looked up again with her beautiful eyes, her tone pleading.

"Whatever Timothy Sherwood paid you, I’ll pay you back, okay? Just don’t touch me. I’m really ugly and plain."

’I’ve already made myself look so ugly and unnoticeable. No one should find me attractive.’

"Don’t cry." Quentin reached out and gently wiped the tears from Ivy’s cheeks.

Her tears streamed down her cheeks, followed the path of his long fingers, and fell into his palm. The drops were warm, like molten lava, searing a path straight to the bottom of his heart and making his entire body ache from the burn.

"I’m not someone Timothy Sherwood sent, and I won’t touch you."

After drying Ivy’s tears, Quentin said, "Go to sleep."

Ivy nodded, a smile finally gracing her lips, as brilliant as a child’s.

"Thank you."

She lay down on the bed and obediently pulled the covers over herself.

But after lying there for two seconds, she threw the covers off again. "I stink. I need to take a shower."

’How is a drunk like Ivy supposed to take a shower?’

"You don’t need to. I don’t mind."

If anyone who knew Quentin Blackwood heard this, their jaws would drop.

President Blackwood was a known germaphobe who usually found even the slightest odor unpleasant. Yet now, despite the strong smell of alcohol, he actually said he didn’t mind?

"But I do, I need to take a shower." Ivy climbed out of bed, intending to go to the bathroom.

"You dare go take a shower with a man in the room? Aren’t you afraid of what I might do to you? Didn’t you think I was someone your dad hired?"

Quentin’s words successfully intimidated Ivy. He asked, "Still want to take a shower?"

Ivy shook her head. "Not anymore."

Ivy got back under the covers and lay down obediently.

’Her intuition told her that the man in front of her wasn’t a bad person.’

’Anyone who looks like Quentin Blackwood couldn’t be a bad person.’

’He’s a very good person. Although he can be brutally honest and cold sometimes, deep down, he’s someone who makes you feel very safe.’

Ivy pulled the blanket up to her eyes and peeked secretly at Quentin.

However, when Quentin’s gaze shifted her way, Ivy quickly squeezed her eyes shut and stealthily pulled the blanket up higher with her hands.

The white blanket looked incredibly soft, and only a few of her curled fingers were visible, nestled within its plushness.

’It was actually a rather lovely sight.’

Ivy wasn’t the type to get rowdy when drunk. On the contrary, she was quiet and well-behaved.

It was a fairly high-end suite, and there was a laptop in the room.

Quentin hadn’t dealt with any work all day, and his inbox was now overflowing with emails.

He opened it, browsed through them one by one, and replied to the important ones.

He would glance back at Ivy from time to time, but she was sleeping soundly under the covers.

Just as Quentin was finishing up with his emails, the phone he had set aside began to ring.

He glanced at the caller ID. It was Old Master Sheridan.

’President Sheridan is calling me at this hour?’

Nevertheless, Quentin answered the call. "Hello, President Sheridan."

"It’s me, Quentin," Joy Sheridan’s voice came through the phone. "I knew you’d only answer if I called from my grandfather’s phone."

"What is it?" Quentin’s voice grew cold.

"Can’t I call you even if there’s nothing wrong? I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you so much, Quentin. You only left Aethelgard a few days ago, but I just miss you this much."

"Joy, I thought I made myself perfectly clear before."

"I know, but I haven’t said anything out of line. Is it wrong for me to miss you? I..."

Before Joy could finish, the sound of someone retching violently came from the other end of the line.

"What was that sound?" Joy asked sharply.

Quentin looked over and saw Ivy hugging the trash can, vomiting her guts out.

"Water... I feel sick..." Ivy’s hand fumbled around the headboard, searching for water.

On the other end of the line, Joy’s body trembled. That was clearly a woman’s voice!

’In the middle of the night, Quentin is actually sharing a room with a woman?’

’Did they... do it?’