Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

Chapter 200: Chapter 200: A Sick Ivy Sherwood is Adorable

Ivy Sherwood fell into a deep sleep, as if catching up on all the rest she had missed.

She was woken by a loud noise from outside, like someone was taking something apart.

’Did a new neighbor move in? Are they renovating?’

She felt much better after some sleep, so Ivy Sherwood climbed out of bed.

Her stomach felt a little empty. She hadn’t eaten all day, but she didn’t feel particularly hungry and had no desire to cook. She figured she’d just order some takeout.

She rarely got sick; it was probably because of the recent cold snap.

Ivy Sherwood was stunned when she came out of her room. Her front door seemed to be moving, as if someone was taking it apart.

She stood frozen for two seconds before the lock was removed and the door swung open.

She stared warily at the workman who had just opened her door. "Who are you?"

"Who gave you permission to take my door apart? I’m calling the police!"

’I thought the neighbors were renovating, but it’s my own apartment they’re breaking into!’

’The lock is completely off... Are burglars really this brazen these days?’

Ivy Sherwood’s eyes were wide with astonishment.

The locksmith was surprised too. He glanced at Ivy Sherwood, then back toward the doorway. "But... the gentleman said this was his place?"

"What gentleman?" Ivy Sherwood asked, confused.

And then she saw him—the man walking in from the hallway.

A pair of long legs strode inside. Tall and dressed in a suit, the man cut a striking figure. His hair was slicked back with gel, revealing a broad forehead.

Seeing this god-like figure appear, Ivy Sherwood thought her eyes were playing tricks on her and blinked hard.

’Of course, being home alone, I’m not wearing any makeup.’

She subconsciously touched her face, then remembered that Quentin Blackwood already knew her secret. There was nothing to hide.

"Quentin? What are you doing here? And what’s going on?"

"Why didn’t you answer my calls?" Quentin walked in and set down what he was carrying.

"I was asleep. Did you call me?" Ivy Sherwood had no idea; she’d been sleeping too soundly.

"Sir, this..." The locksmith was suddenly unsure whether to continue. ’Is this really his place? It feels like we just broke in,’ he thought.

Quentin shot him a cool glance. "Finish the job."

The locksmith deftly installed the new lock. It was far more advanced than Ivy Sherwood’s old one, with a much better security system.

Quentin immediately registered his face with the new lock. It was only after Ivy had registered hers that she thought to ask, "This is my apartment. Why are you adding your face scan to it?"

’Doesn’t that mean Quentin can just walk in whenever he wants?’

"I’m the one who changed the lock, so of course I’m adding my scan."

Ivy Sherwood walked over to pour herself a glass of water.

Seeing her pour cold water, Quentin snatched the cup from her hand. "You have a cold and you’re drinking that? Where’s the hot water?"

Ivy Sherwood pointed to the water dispenser, and Quentin got her a cup of hot water.

"That excuse doesn’t really hold up, does it?" Ivy Sherwood took the cup of hot water from Quentin, cradling it in her hands as she looked up at him with pleading eyes.

’This is my apartment. He just changed the lock. Why does he need to add his own access?’

Sickness made Ivy Sherwood unusually quiet and docile.

Especially when she sat there so quietly, her eyes glistening and looking utterly pitiable.

Her gaze struck Quentin’s heart like a physical blow.

Whether it was because she had just woken up or because of her fever, her face was flushed, making her look incredibly innocent.

"What if something happens to you? This way, I can come and save you."

Ivy Sherwood took a sip of water. "What could possibly happen to me?"

"A gas leak, a fire, an earthquake... The list goes on."

Ivy Sherwood muttered, "But the chances of that are so small."

"Are you going to keep arguing?"

Ivy’s mind was fuzzy from her illness, so she didn’t press the issue.

"So, did you come all this way just to see me?" Ivy Sherwood asked. "Was it Secretary Linton who told you?"

’Come all this way just to see her?’

Quentin wouldn’t admit it, so he passed the buck to Zane Linton.

"Zane Linton said you were on your deathbed. That if I didn’t get you to a hospital, you might not live to see another day."

At that very moment, Zane Linton sneezed. ’Am I coming down with a cold? Or is someone talking about me behind my back?’

Of course, Zane Linton had no idea his boss had just thrown him under the bus. Ivy Sherwood said quietly, "Secretary Linton was exaggerating. I’m not a child; I know to go to the hospital when I’m sick. Besides, it’s supposed to be overcast tomorrow, so there won’t be any sun anyway."

She mumbled the last part, and Quentin looked at her. "What was that?"

"Nothing. I already went to the hospital, got an IV, and took my medicine. The doctor said I should be fine by tomorrow. You really didn’t need to come all this way."

’What does she mean by that? Is she saying I shouldn’t have come?’

Quentin didn’t know where this sudden surge of anger came from. ’Doesn’t she know I postponed all my afternoon meetings for this? Doesn’t she know I was so worried she might have fainted that I couldn’t even wait for her to pick up the phone before calling a locksmith?’

Just then, Ivy looked up, a radiant smile spreading across her small face. "But still, thank you for coming to see me."

’At least,’ she thought, ’Quentin was the first person to come check on me.’

Her eyes curved into crescents, and her smile was like a ray of sunshine, instantly dispelling his anger.

Quentin took a deep breath, forcing himself to look away.

’If Ivy weren’t sick,’ he thought, ’after a smile like that, I might have just pushed her down right then and there.’

"Stop smiling," Quentin said, his voice turning a little hoarse.

Ivy Sherwood rarely smiled with such genuine radiance. Sickness made her seem completely different from her usual self—like a fragile porcelain doll that might shatter at the slightest touch.

And yet, that smile on her face was so pure it made him want to destroy it.

’Sometimes, he really didn’t want to be a decent man. Being a beast seemed rather appealing.’

"Does it not look good?" Ivy rubbed her cheeks.

’I just woke up,’ she thought. ’My hair is down, I’m in my pajamas, and I’m sure I look deathly pale.’

Quentin didn’t answer her question, asking instead, "What do you think?"

Seeing how flushed Ivy’s face was, Quentin pressed the back of his hand to her forehead to check her temperature.

’Is her forehead a little hot? Is the fever making her delirious?’ He couldn’t shake the feeling that Ivy was acting a bit silly today.

The cool back of his hand felt wonderful against her hot skin. For a second, Ivy wanted his hand to stay on her forehead forever.

Still, she took hold of his wrist to pull his hand away. "My fever’s gone down. I’m not hot."

Quentin frowned. "Why is your hand so hot?"

Her hand felt hot enough to fry an egg on.

"I was just holding the hot water," she said. The very same hot water Quentin had poured for her.

Quentin: "..."

’Why does my IQ seem to be dropping too?’