Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

As the bullet flew from behind Quentin Blackwood, Old Master Sheridan lunged forward, grabbing Quentin from behind.

In that instant, the bullet slammed into Old Master Sheridan’s body.

Quentin Blackwood felt himself lurch forward, and then he smelled blood. The scent was acrid, repulsive.

"Elder Sheridan, Elder Sheridan!"

Quentin’s eyes were bloodshot. Feeling Elder Sheridan’s body slide down, he quickly supported him with one hand while spraying bullets behind him with the other.

The shooter fell. Quentin Blackwood fought the group alone. When he ran out of bullets, he picked up a fallen handgun. He was like a wild beast cornered by a pack of wolves. After the beast awakened, the small-fry grew terrified.

Their original goal hadn’t been to cause a fatality.

By the time Zane Linton and his men arrived, the attackers had either already retreated, unable to win, or were lying on the ground, unable to get up.

"President Blackwood!" Zane Linton said, worried.

He saw that Quentin Blackwood was covered in blood, with streaks of it even on his face. He looked terrifying.

"To the hospital!"

"Are you injured? I brought a doctor." Zane Linton hadn’t expected something like this to happen tonight.

"Elder Sheridan was shot."

Old Master Sheridan had already passed out, blood still pouring from the wound in his back. Quentin Blackwood would rather have taken the bullet himself than have Elder Sheridan block it for him.

’What if something happens to Elder Sheridan? What will I do?!’

The ambulance was right behind them. The police also arrived to secure the scene. Quentin Blackwood told Zane Linton to have the driver cooperate with the investigation while he went to the hospital with Old Master Sheridan.

Old Master Sheridan was rushed directly into the operating room. His condition was critical, and he needed immediate surgery to remove the bullet.

Quentin Blackwood waited outside the operating room, oblivious to the blood covering him.

His figure looked solitary and desolate, his lean frame appearing somewhat helpless.

When he reached for his phone, he realized it was gone, likely having fallen out during the firefight.

The light above the operating room door remained on. One hour, two hours...

The night deepened. It wasn’t until Zane Linton had finished cooperating with the police investigation, leaving the rest to his subordinates, that he hurried to the hospital.

"President Blackwood..." Zane Linton looked at him with concern, holding a set of clean clothes.

Outside the operating room, Quentin Blackwood, who had been resting his forehead in his hands, opened his eyes. "What’s the situation?"

"The men refuse to say who was behind it, but it looks like they were targeting you."

If they were targeting Quentin Blackwood, it meant Elder Sheridan had been dragged into it. If the old man hadn’t kindly offered him a ride home, this never would have happened.

"President Blackwood, should I notify Miss Sheridan?" Zane Linton asked.

He was Joy Sheridan’s grandfather, after all. She had a right to know about something this serious.

"Yes." Quentin Blackwood nodded. "Did you see my phone?"

Zane Linton took out a phone. "Found it at the scene, but it seems to be broken. It won’t turn on. President Blackwood, were you trying to call Miss Sherwood? You can use my phone."

Quentin Blackwood thought for a moment. So much had happened tonight. At this hour, Ivy Sherwood was probably already asleep. It was best not to disturb her.

He didn’t want to worry Ivy Sherwood. If she knew, she probably wouldn’t be able to sleep, just worrying herself sick for no reason.

"No need. You can go," Quentin Blackwood said, rubbing the space between his brows. "And don’t tell Ivy Sherwood about tonight’s events yet."

Zane Linton nodded. He knew President Blackwood either didn’t want to worry Miss Sherwood or wanted to be the one to tell her himself.

He placed the clothes next to Quentin Blackwood. "President Blackwood, you’re covered in blood. You should go wash up."

"Mm."

Quentin Blackwood didn’t move, not until Joy Sheridan rushed over.

Joy Sheridan’s face was streaked with tears. "Quentin Blackwood, where’s my grandpa? How is he?"

She grabbed Quentin Blackwood’s arm, her eyes filled with resentment. "Weren’t you having dinner together? Why did my grandpa get shot?"

"Don’t you have your own car? Why did you make my grandpa drive you home? If it weren’t for you, none of this would have happened!"

"Don’t you know my grandpa is the only family I have left in this world? If something happens to him, what am I supposed to do? I’m asking you, what am I supposed to do?"

Joy Sheridan placed all the blame on Quentin Blackwood. Her words were deliberate. Quentin Blackwood was a man who valued loyalty and relationships, and now that Old Master Sheridan was lying in a hospital bed because of him, her accusations would undoubtedly weigh even more heavily on his conscience.

"He’s... still in surgery..." Quentin Blackwood managed to say, his voice incredibly hoarse.

As for his condition, he didn’t really know either.

Joy Sheridan collapsed to the floor, sobbing loudly. "Grandpa’s health was already poor. He never fully recovered from being poisoned last time. Why does Grandpa have to suffer so much? He’s in his twilight years and can’t even retire in peace, having to endure all this pain."

Joy Sheridan continued, every word twisting the knife in Quentin Blackwood’s heart.

She secretly glanced at Quentin Blackwood, her words growing more and more vicious. She wanted to make sure he knew that her grandfather had been shot because of him—that all the responsibility lay with him.

An unknown amount of time passed before the operating room doors finally opened.

Quentin Blackwood and Joy Sheridan both jumped to their feet. A doctor emerged, pulling off his mask.

"Doctor, how’s my grandfather? Is he okay? You have to save him, you have to!"

"The bullet’s location was not ideal, and the patient is of advanced age. Although we’ve successfully removed the bullet, he’s not out of the woods yet. It’s hard to say what will happen next. It’s up to fate now."

The doctor sighed. "The family should prepare themselves."

His words implied the situation was grim; the chances of survival were slim.

"No..." Joy Sheridan shook her head, weeping. She was heartbroken, seemingly unable to accept the reality.

"Tonight is a critical period. The patient is being moved to intensive care. During visiting hours tomorrow, the family can see him. Try to give him some hope."

The doctor quickly left. Joy Sheridan collapsed, slumping to the floor and wailing.

"Grandpa, you have to be okay! What will I do without you? How am I supposed to live in this world all by myself...?"

Her cries were heart-wrenching, utterly devastating.

...

In the middle of the night, Ivy Sherwood was startled awake by a dream she couldn’t remember.

Her heart was pounding, and her forehead was beaded with cold sweat.

It felt like she’d had a terrible nightmare, but she couldn’t remember anything about it.

It took Ivy Sherwood a long moment to come to her senses. She picked up her phone to check the time; it was just past midnight.

There were no new messages or missed calls. She wondered if Quentin Blackwood was done with his work.

After some thought, she decided to call Quentin Blackwood, but his phone was turned off.

’Did something happen? Why would his phone be off?’

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