Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

Ethan Forrest and Zion Landon helped Quentin Blackwood home.

They both knew this was where Quentin usually stayed.

The door had several unlocking methods. They simply held Quentin’s face up to the scanner, the door opened, and they helped him inside.

They helped Quentin onto the large bed and tucked him in before leaving.

They left quickly, but someone else was secretly approaching.

Joy Sheridan had been following them the whole time. She only dared to show herself after Ethan and Zion had left.

They hadn’t bothered to close the door when they helped Quentin inside, so Joy quietly slipped in and hid.

After hearing the front door close, Joy turned on the living room lights and emerged from her hiding spot.

Her heart was pounding. She walked into the bedroom and saw the man lying on the bed.

The man was drunk, and he hadn’t slept in days. His mind was now a muddled haze. Lying on the bed, he appeared to be fast asleep.

Joy gazed at Quentin with infatuation. She went to his side and called his name tenderly.

”Quentin, I love you so much.”

Seeing no reaction from Quentin, she grew bolder. Her gaze was blatant, filled with obsession.

’He’ll never know how much I’ve sacrificed for him. I even lost my only family member.’

’I’ve given up everything for Quentin. Looking at him now, it was all worth it.’

’This must be fate giving me a chance. Quentin’s drunk now. If I sleep with him, he’ll have to take responsibility for me.’

Joy wanted Quentin’s body, too. She could only imagine how his physique, those muscles, would drive her wild with pleasure.

Joy’s hand reached for Quentin’s clothes. Ethan and Zion had tossed his suit jacket aside. He was wearing only a white shirt and a pair of dress pants. Her gaze fixed on a certain spot on the man, her cheeks flushing as her trembling, excited hand reached out.

The moment her fingers brushed against Quentin’s belt, her wrist was seized in a viselike grip. The force was so great it felt like her bones would snap.

”Quentin, you’re hurting me!” Joy cried out.

”Get out!”

The man on the bed kept his eyes closed, his reaction purely subconscious. Quentin wasn’t awake, but even drunk, his reflexes were far sharper than most people’s.

”Quentin, you’re drunk. Let me take care of you, okay? You need to sleep. I was just trying to help you out of your clothes so you’d be more comfortable,” Joy said, her voice softening.

”Quentin, just pretend I’m Ivy Sherwood. I don’t mind being a substitute.”

”Ivy Sherwood... Ivy...” he murmured her name. His tone was completely different from before—it was filled with tenderness and adoration, as if her name were the most beautiful sound in the world.

The tone in his voice made Joy burn with a furious jealousy.

”Yes, I’m Ivy. I’m your Ivy,” Joy said, deciding she didn’t care anymore. She was willing to be a stand-in.

”Ivy...” Quentin’s brow twitched, and his grip on Joy’s wrist loosened. He was likely afraid of hurting his Ivy.

Joy slowly leaned down, trying to press herself against Quentin. Her free hand came to rest on his chest.

Her voice turned saccharine sweet, her expression fawning. ”It’s been so long since we’ve been intimate. Don’t you love me anymore? I want you... give yourself to me, please...”

The man on the bed’s eyes snapped open, and he violently shoved Joy away.

Caught off guard, Joy was sent sprawling to the floor.

She didn’t understand. ’Quentin was just fine a moment ago. Why the sudden change?’

Joy scrambled up from the floor. The man on the bed had his eyes open now. His oppressive, dark eyes held a chilling coldness that made her skin crawl.

”Q... Quentin...” Joy stared at Quentin in terror. She hadn’t expected a drunk Quentin to be so on guard.

”What are you doing here? Get out!” The man’s tone was once again ice-cold.

Quentin had regained some of his senses. He looked at Joy with cold indifference, his eyes filled with disgust.

”I just wanted to take care of you. You drank too much, and I was worried,” Joy said, unsure if Quentin was sober yet. She even tried to approach him again. ”Quentin, you can pretend I’m anyone. I don’t care. I just want to be by your side when you need me.”

”Get out!” A sharp pain throbbed between the man’s eyebrows, as if a needle were twisting in his brain.

His vision swam, and he couldn’t even make out who the person was. But he knew it wasn’t Ivy Sherwood. It wasn’t *his* Ivy.

Ivy had a clean, pleasant scent that was uniquely hers. Even when she wore perfume, it smelled wonderful—not like this cheap, cloying fragrance.

He had been intimate with Ivy so many times that the feeling of her was etched into his very bones.

He only let his guard down for Ivy. With anyone else, his instincts would kick in immediately.

”Quentin...” Joy tried to say more, but Quentin had already grabbed the phone next to the bed and was calling security.

By the time security arrived, Joy had finally left.

The commotion had sobered Quentin up considerably, but a burning sensation churned in his stomach.

He stumbled to the bathroom and retched for a long time before collapsing onto the floor.

As his rationality slowly returned, clarity began to fill Quentin’s eyes.

The needle-like pain was still twisting in his head, sending tendrils of agony through his body. Quentin pushed himself up from the floor and started walking out of the room.

Quentin hadn’t been back here since the incident. The place held too many memories.

He was afraid. Afraid that the memories were finite, that visiting too often would cause them to fade away from his life.

Ivy had lived with him ever since she came to Aethelgard. Those two months had arguably been the happiest time of Quentin’s life.

This place held too many memories of him and Ivy. It had once been just a place for him to crash when he worked late—impersonal and bare, more like a model home than a place where someone actually lived.

But Ivy had filled it with little decorations, making it progressively cozier and more inviting.

The roses on the table were withering. Ivy had arranged them in the vase the day before she left.

The sofa, the balcony... they all held traces of his intimacy with Ivy.

Ever since he was a child, he felt life had been so unfair to him. ’Why was I brought into this world? Why was I born into a family like this? Why was my mother taken from me?’

After he found Ivy, he thought all his past suffering was merely a door that God had closed. Ivy was the window He had opened for him in its place—and the view outside was far more beautiful.

Now he knew it was all just a cruel joke played by fate—a beautiful, fleeting moment in his world that was never meant to last.

Quentin cautiously reached out, his fingers brushing against the nearly withered rose. Then, he suddenly fell to his knees.

He missed Ivy. He missed her so, so much.