Chapter 45: Chapter 45: I Will Never Marry Silas Blackwood
"Go wash up first," Quentin Blackwood said coolly.
He really had made a mess of Ivy Sherwood’s face.
Quentin Blackwood called for a maid to take Ivy Sherwood to wash up.
Ivy Sherwood followed the maid. Along the way, she opened her phone’s voice recorder and, sure enough, saw a very long audio file.
Yesterday, she had started recording before she thought of calling the police, but those people had snatched her phone and thrown it on the ground. Her uncle must have been the one who picked it up for her.
Everything on it could be used as evidence. She certainly wasn’t going to let those people off the hook.
"This way, Miss Sherwood." The maid led Ivy Sherwood back to the room and brought over a plethora of items. Besides clothes, there were all sorts of toiletries and cosmetics—a complete set.
"Thank you." Ivy Sherwood went to brush her teeth. When she lifted her head and looked in the mirror, she froze completely.
’That... that messy-faced cat in the mirror... that can’t be me, can it?’
The dark powder was all over the place, making her face look like it was covered in charcoal.
’No wonder Quentin Blackwood was staring at me in a daze. Looking like this mess, who wouldn’t be stunned!’
’All my makeup is waterproof. Did I get wet yesterday, and then smudge it by rubbing my face?’
Ivy Sherwood gasped, covering her face. She was too embarrassed to be seen.
After Ivy Sherwood finished washing up, she quickly applied some makeup before changing her clothes.
Looking down at her pajamas, she wondered, ’So who changed my clothes?’
’The maids?’
"Excuse me, did you help me change into these clothes?" Ivy Sherwood asked a nearby maid.
The maids were all carefully selected and were very discreet in their words and actions.
"Miss, you were submerged in cold water for several hours last night. By the time Mr. Blackwood instructed us to take care of you, you were already dressed."
Ivy Sherwood’s face instantly turned red. ’So Quentin Blackwood really was the one who changed my clothes!’
’It’s not like it was the first time we’ve been bare with each other, but it still feels a little embarrassing.’
Ivy Sherwood quickly changed into clean clothes and was then led to the dining room by a maid.
Norhaven was truly huge, filled with a classical charm. They had to wind through several corridors before reaching the front hall.
Quentin Blackwood was sitting on the sofa. He had clearly showered and changed. His long legs were crossed, and the taut lines of his suit trousers stretching over his thighs gave him an air of extreme asceticism.
The man’s facial contours were impeccably perfect. He had dashing, slanted sword-like brows, and his long, narrow black eyes held a sharp glint. His thin, lightly pressed lips exuded a sense of sparse, cold detachment. He was aloof and solitary, yet overwhelmingly imposing.
The morning financial news was playing on a television not far away. Quentin Blackwood held a tablet in his hands, looking at something.
Beside him, his secretary, Zane Linton, was reporting on some work matters.
"President Blackwood, are you wearing cologne?" Zane Linton found it a bit strange.
President Blackwood had never liked such things. He found fragrances to be pungent and would feel uncomfortable not just wearing them himself, but even smelling them on others.
"What do you think of the scent?"
"It’s very subtle and elegant. Not pungent at all. It smells great," Zane Linton commented.
Quentin Blackwood didn’t say anything. He had only sprayed a little of the bottle Ivy Sherwood had given him.
The scent wasn’t bad. Quentin Blackwood didn’t dislike it.
And one should know, for Quentin Blackwood to not dislike something was already high praise.
Ivy Sherwood didn’t know what they were talking about inside, and she didn’t go forward to interrupt. She waited until a while later, when Zane Linton left.
Zane Linton saw Ivy Sherwood on his way out and gave her a slight nod as a greeting.
Only then did Ivy Sherwood walk in. Quentin Blackwood had already moved to the dining table. No matter what he did, he seemed to exude a certain elegance.
"Uncle, from the looks of it, you don’t plan on returning to Aethelgard anytime soon?"
"Mm."
Ivy Sherwood let out a small laugh, though she herself didn’t know what she was laughing about.
Quentin Blackwood noticed her expression. ’I’m not leaving, and she’s this happy about it?’
In movies, the classic "hero saves the damsel" trope sometimes leads to the damsel secretly falling for him.
Ivy Sherwood was Silas Blackwood’s future wife. Quentin Blackwood didn’t want her getting any ideas.
He cleared his throat and said, "A few days ago, Caleb Blackwood selected a few dates and asked me which was best. These are for your engagement day. It’s better if you choose yourself."
After speaking, Quentin Blackwood handed her a traditional almanac. Several important dates were already marked.
Ivy Sherwood saw the selected dates—every single one was an auspicious day for a wedding.
Her expression turned cold. "Uncle, you should know I don’t want to marry Silas Blackwood. Why are you trying to force the unwilling?"
Quentin Blackwood said flatly, "Sometimes, that’s just fate."
Ivy Sherwood sneered. "Uncle, are you a man who believes in fate? If you are, then why did you leave the Blackwood Family back then? Shouldn’t a person’s destiny be in their own hands? What era are we living in? Shouldn’t marriage be a personal choice, not a transaction?"
"A person’s life is very short. It should be lived happily, not shackled and manipulated like a marionette."
She closed the almanac and set it aside. "I will never marry Silas Blackwood in this lifetime!"
Quentin Blackwood’s expression remained as indifferent as ever. His other hand rested on his Buddha Beads, his fingertips gently caressing them.
After a long moment, Quentin Blackwood finally spoke. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to fight against fate?"
The world only saw that after he left the Blackwood Family, he quickly established himself and built DG Group into a massive enterprise in a short time.
But the price he paid for it was something no one else knew.
Ivy Sherwood’s eyes were exceptionally firm. "I know, and yet I don’t."
"No one can predict what will happen in the future."
She pressed her lips together, her face stubborn. "No matter how difficult it is, I will never gamble my life on Silas Blackwood."
"I’m not asking for your help, Uncle. But we have no grudge against each other, so I hope you won’t interfere in this matter."
"No grudge?" Quentin Blackwood scoffed as if he had heard a joke.
Ivy Sherwood looked at his expression. ’What does he mean by that? What kind of grudge could there be between us?’
’Could it be that he’s still holding a grudge from that night I schemed against him when he first returned to the country?’
’I thought he was a pretty good guy. He couldn’t be that petty, could he?’
"If I’ve offended you in some way, Uncle, I ask for your forgiveness. And please rest assured, Uncle, I’m not that kind of woman. I won’t cling to you, nor will I show up with a child later to threaten you. I took the pill; my contraceptive measures are absolutely foolproof."
"Thank you for your help last night, Uncle. I have work, so I’ll be leaving now." Ivy Sherwood stood up and walked toward the door.
Quentin Blackwood didn’t stop her. He picked up the cup of tea beside him and took a light sip.
His gaze was fixed forward, on the glass that reflected Ivy Sherwood’s retreating figure.
His pupils were deep and unreadable.
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