Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

"Mr. Hawthorne, we’ve uncovered some new information. Yvonne Summers was also spotted where your mother was killed."

The person on the other end of the line explained the situation in just a few sentences. It was information they’d just uncovered through discreet inquiries, including evidence proving Yvonne Summers had also gone to the seaside on the same day.

The last investigation had revealed they had argued and exchanged harsh words, with Yvonne Summers even threatening to kill his mother.

But this time, the evidence was more definitive, placing Yvonne Summers at the scene of the crime.

Investigating events from that long ago was extremely difficult, so this new information spoke volumes.

Even if Yvonne Summers wasn’t the direct murderer, she was undoubtedly involved in his mother’s death.

His mother had suffered enough in her life, only to die in such a way. Her body was found floating by the shore. The once-beautiful woman was swollen beyond recognition, like an overinflated balloon.

Hearing this, Quentin Blackwood’s heart turned to stone, his fists clenched tightly.

His mother had always been Quentin Blackwood’s weak spot, the softest place in his frozen heart.

But why did it have to be Yvonne Summers? And why was Ivy Sherwood her daughter...?

He had started this with a casual attitude, just for fun, but he had fallen deeper and deeper.

’If I could do it all over again, if I had just stayed away from Ivy Sherwood, would I be able to stay calm now?’

Quentin Blackwood didn’t dare look at Ivy Sherwood inside. He took out a cigarette, lit it, placed it between his lips, and took a deep drag.

The taste of nicotine spread from his tongue to his brain. He didn’t smoke often, only when he was deeply troubled like this.

The cigarette burned down quickly, but Quentin Blackwood’s mind remained blank.

The current evidence was still scarce, but what he had was enough to suggest Yvonne Summers was one of the killers.

In the days he had spent with Ivy Sherwood, he had pushed those matters aside.

But discovering this now felt like a heavy blow, as if his mother was trying to tell him something.

’Was choosing Ivy Sherwood a mistake?’

Just then, there was a soft knock on the glass balcony door. On the other side stood Ivy Sherwood.

Ivy Sherwood pointed at the door, signaling that she wanted to come out.

Quentin Blackwood slid the door open, and Ivy Sherwood walked toward him, holding a jacket.

"You said you were taking a call. Why are you out here in the wind? Did something happen?"

Quentin Blackwood’s eyes tightened, his expression grim.

He averted his gaze. "No."

The news about his mother had affected him, but Quentin Blackwood wouldn’t take his emotions out on Ivy Sherwood.

After all, the affairs of the previous generation had nothing to do with her.

"Then why are you out here smoking by yourself? And so much?" Ivy Sherwood asked, noticing the cigarette butts nearby.

’She didn’t know what had happened, but people always have their own problems, their own secrets. Even a husband and wife aren’t always completely honest with each other.’

She also knew Quentin Blackwood’s personality—he bottled everything up and wouldn’t say a word.

"It’s nothing." His voice was hoarse, probably from smoking so much.

"Well, if Mr. Blackwood says it’s nothing, then it’s nothing. Hurry and put this on. Don’t you have a plane to catch tomorrow? You should get some rest." Ivy Sherwood draped the jacket over his shoulders.

She had just come from inside, so her hands, untouched by the outside chill, were still warm.

Quentin Blackwood just stared at her, his eyes filled with an emotion Ivy Sherwood couldn’t decipher.

It was as if he was holding something back.

"What is it, Mr. Blackwood?" Ivy Sherwood stood opposite him, meeting his gaze.

The light outside was dim, but a faint glow illuminated Ivy Sherwood’s small face.

Ahead lay the darkness of the night, yet Ivy Sherwood alone seemed to glow.

Quentin Blackwood roughly shoved Ivy Sherwood against the railing. Her back hit the bars, and though it didn’t hurt, the suddenness of it made her cry out in surprise.

"Ah!"

Before she could close her lips, they were captured by his.

Quentin Blackwood’s kiss was rough, like a violent storm. She could sense his mood was different; he seemed dejected, in pain.

As if it would never be enough, Quentin Blackwood lifted Ivy Sherwood into his arms and strode into the bedroom.

’Ivy Sherwood is Yvonne Summers’s daughter. This is what they owe him.’

’So, shouldn’t he tie Ivy Sherwood to his side, trap her for life, and never let her escape? Make her struggle alongside him in this hell, as atonement for Yvonne Summers’s sins!’

...

The next day, when Ivy Sherwood woke up, it was almost ten o’clock.

The room was empty. The man was gone. Quentin Blackwood had an early flight and had already left.

But the room was filled with lingering traces of their intimacy.

Ivy Sherwood got up and went to the walk-in closet to find something to wear. ’Lately, Quentin Blackwood seemed like two different people—one person one day, another the next. Even if the butler didn’t know the details, he must have sensed something was off.’

Uncle Linton had prepared breakfast. "Miss Sherwood, please eat before you go."

Ivy Sherwood replied, "No, thank you, Uncle Linton. I have things to do at the company. If you all haven’t had breakfast yet, please don’t let it go to waste."

Ivy Sherwood quickly left Norhaven and went to her company.

Her studio was still relatively small, and Ivy Sherwood wanted to expand it.

She had been thinking about it for a while, but now she wanted to expand the company to Aethelgard.

Quentin Blackwood had asked if she was willing to go to Aethelgard with him, and she was. So, she needed to make some preparations.

She could open an Iris store there first. After all, she already had a factory and her own people on the ground, which would make development much easier.

Ivy Sherwood planned to go there in a few days to inspect the site, and she could also visit Quentin Blackwood at the same time.

With a plan for her company’s future, Ivy Sherwood felt more motivated than ever.

In truth, Ivy Sherwood wasn’t dedicating most of her energy to the company anymore. It was developing well on its own. She was focusing more on financial investments. She wasn’t short on money now, so she had started investing in a few small companies she believed had great potential.

Just before closing time, Anna Nash arrived at Ivy Sherwood’s studio.

"Miss Nash... oh, my mistake, I should call you Young Mrs. Blackwood now. To think you’d have time to visit me on the second day of your marriage." Ivy Sherwood looked at her with amusement. It wasn’t hard to guess why Anna Nash was here.

"Or does this mean you’ve already gotten what I want?" Ivy Sherwood didn’t even offer her a cup of tea.

"Ivy Sherwood, what were you thinking, bringing my parents here? Do you have any idea I didn’t sleep at all last night?!" Anna Nash demanded, sporting two huge dark circles under her eyes.

"Your wedding night? After all these years, your dream finally came true. Isn’t it normal to be too excited to sleep?"

"Bullshit!" Anna Nash couldn’t stop herself from cursing.

It had nothing to do with her wedding night. She had clearly sent her parents off to a hotel yesterday. She’d even booked a slightly more expensive one, and they had seemed perfectly happy with it. But who would have thought that in the middle of the night, they would show up at the Blackwood Manor entrance, throwing a tantrum when they weren’t let in.

And now that she had married into the Blackwood family, her parents were technically family too, so even calling the police was useless. When they weren’t allowed in, they stayed at the gate all night, even threatening to start a livestream if the doors weren’t opened so netizens could see what a "prestigious family" looked like from the inside.

This was clearly something Ivy Sherwood had taught them. Left with no choice, the Blackwood family had to let them in.

And once they were inside, all hell broke loose.