Taken By My Fiancé's Uncle - Chapter 143: Chapter 143

"Hey, the light's green. You moving or not?" someone behind Lorraine urged impatiently.
"I'm going now," Lorraine replied, tightening her grip on the box. She noticed a phone number on the receipt—she'd get in touch after she got home.
'Those shoes must have cost a fortune. Who knows, maybe he only tossed them out because he was drunk. But if he suddenly changes his mind and accuses me of stealing, that would be a nightmare,' Lorraine thought nervously.
Antiquity Lane was just waking up, like an oasis of tranquility amidst the bustling city.
Lorraine walked barefoot along the cobbled alley of Antiquity Lane. The stones felt cool beneath her feet, still bitingly cold.
The breakfast stalls on Antiquity Lane were always the first to open. Lorraine glanced at the pies in the steamer by the entrance. The shop owner spotted her right away and called out warmly, "Morning, how many would you like?"
"I don't have any cash on me," Lorraine said, patting her pockets awkwardly. She was still in her pajamas, huddled in a blanket.
Aside from the key Eugene had just given her, the shoebox clutched to her chest, and her phone, she had absolutely nothing else to her name.
The shop owner smiled casually and handed Lorraine two pies. "Here," she said warmly. "Go home and put on some shoes. Don't catch a cold."
Lorraine flashed her a sweet smile and said, "Thanks."
"No problem. So, where's your husband?" the shop owner asked casually.
Lorraine hesitated, clutching the bag tightly. "He's not my husband."
"Oh? So you two must be getting married soon, huh?" she asked.
Lorraine could only force another smile and said, "Thanks again."
Lorraine hurried toward her courtyard house. The morning air bloomed with the mingled aromas of street food, the comforting scent of daily life. It was simply wonderful.
Though she had spent over two months in the mountains, she never once forgot the feel of every bluestone slab along this road, nor the sight of each weathered doorplate.
Lorraine never thought she'd be back, but once she was, she walked with a calm assurance.
She turned the corner onto the final path to her courtyard house—a route so familiar it felt like instinct, something she'd never forget.
Lorraine pushed open the door and stepped inside. After sitting down, she took out the pies and took a few bites. Then it hit her—she hadn't turned on her phone for over two months.
It powered on. The screen flickered on and off—utterly silent, not a single call or message.
Sheila and Shirin both knew Lorraine's phone had been out of service. The Shaw family, aside from her sister, none of them never cared whether Lorraine lived or died.
Lorraine gave a wry smile, set her phone aside, and took her time eating.
Her phone chimed, a text from Eugene. [Phone back on? Made it to the palatial stone manor?]
Lorraine: [Made it. How's Queenie doing?]
Eugene leaned against the hospital corridor wall, facing the ICU ward. Through the glass door, he saw Queenie lying motionless, connected to a tangle of tubes and machines, her face as pale as paper.
Eugene lowered his head again, his fingers gliding over the screen, skimming over each word Lorraine had sent. But no matter what, he just couldn't type those words: [It's okay.]
Maria sat weeping silently nearby, her voice choked with sobs. "Eugene, what should we do?"
Eugene slipped his phone into his pocket, crouched down, and put his arm around his mother's shoulders. "Mom, I'm here. She'll be alright," he reassured her and said.
At this point, Maria knew her son's words were just meant to comfort her, but she truly had no other options left.
The doctor emerged from the ward, pulling down his mask. "I urgently recommend an immediate hysterectomy. Without it, her chances of survival are minimal."
Maria covered her face, sobbing uncontrollably.
The doctor extended the surgical consent form toward them. "Which of you will sign?"
Eugene's bloodshot eyes burned into the doctor's. He'd paid a fortune to assemble this team; every single one of them was a top authority in their field. So, Eugene had no choice but to believe them.
Eugene rose, hands trembling, and took the consent form from the doctor.
Maria suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Eugene's arm. "Eugene, don't sign it. Queenie hasn't even had children yet. If you sign this, her whole life—"
Eugene lowered his gaze, veins bulging at his temples as he drew a deep breath and reached for the pen with trembling fingers.
"Eugene," Maria cried out. She clung desperately to his hand.
Eugene lowered his head, slowly prying her fingers loose one by one. "Lorenzo, take my mother to rest."
"No. I won't go anywhere." Maria shook her head vehemently. She knew exactly what this signature meant. It meant Queenie would never be whole again as a woman, and that she would never have children of her own.
More than that, it meant Eugene would now be completely at the mercy of the Pedler family.
Maria had heard about the engagement between the Pedler family and Eugene, but she also had her private hopes. She wanted to choose a daughter-in-law she genuinely liked.
Maria could clearly see that Lorraine was someone truly special to Eugene.
Eugene pried loose her last finger with finality. "Lorenzo?"
Lorenzo, jolted by Eugene's outburst, quickly stepped forward and gently guided Maria aside. "Mrs. Moore, let me take you to rest, okay? Otherwise, the doctors might have to give you a sedative."
Maria staggered slightly, tears streaming down from her clouded eyes. Through her tears, she gazed at her son and choked out, "Eugene—"
'How could this happen?' Maria thought in despair. 'My two children? All I want is for them to be happy.'
Eugene looked at her, his chest feeling as if it were both burning and freezing at the same time. He parted his lips, but in the end, said nothing—just nodded. "I understand, Mom. Please go get some rest."
With no other options left, even if there was only a one-in-a-thousand chance, Eugene had to choose to keep Queenie alive first.
Lorenzo finally supported Maria as they walked away.
The doctor handed the pen back again. "With a hysterectomy followed by chemotherapy, the survival rate would be thirty percent."
Eugene's hands wouldn't stop trembling. The man whose handwriting usually cut through paper with its force could now only manage a shaky, barely recognizable scrawl—nothing like his usual confident hand.
The doctor took the signed consent form, turned sharply, and ordered, "Wheel the patient to the OR. Prep for surgery now."
The door before him slid open soundlessly, then closed again. The scarlet letters—IN SURGERY—loomed like a blood-red ocean.
After settling Maria, Lorenzo turned back, only to see Eugene slowly sink down against the wall, crouching there, looking utterly defeated.
Lorenzo had never seen Eugene like this before, his head hanging low, back hunched, his whole body curled in on itself, as if a storm of fury, agony, and helplessness was raging inside him, struggling to break free but unable to.
All those emotions festered inside him like a toxic brew, gnawing at his nerves and pushing him to the very edge of what he could bear.
Lorenzo took a deep breath and walked over slowly. "Eugene?"
"What I owe her," Eugene looked up at Lorenzo, his voice raw with emotion. "How could I ever repay it?"
'How could I ever repay what I owe Queenie?' Eugene thought in anguish. 'No matter what I do, this debt can never be cleared.'
Inside the palatial stone manor, after finishing breakfast, Lorraine quickly tidied up and changed into an old set of clothes. She planned to go to Auretian University to talk to her advisor at the medical college about her internship.
Just as Lorraine reached the door, it suddenly occurred to her, the shoebox she'd carefully carried back. Lorraine fished the receipt out of the shoebox.
In the pale morning light, Lorraine finally deciphered the name on the receipt, Ian Pedler.
His signature swept across the receipt in bold, dramatic strokes, exuding dominance. At the very bottom, the customer's phone number was scribbled in.
After a moment's hesitation, Lorraine dialed the number. After just two rings, the call connected.
"Ian, your phone. Ah, go easy—" A woman's breathy moans, intertwined with sultry music, came through the phone.
"Wait," Ian growled, tightening his grip on her waist and thrusting hard. "Who the hell told you you could answer my phone?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to," the woman stammered, clearly terrified. "M-Maybe I should just hang up?"
In her panic, she fumbled the phone and it clattered to the floor, ending the call abruptly.
Ian smirked with wicked amusement, flipped her over effortlessly, then pulled away without a shred of tenderness.
The woman froze, words dying on her lips. 'I was just about to reach my peak—so close to that perfect moment. What on earth is he doing now?' she wondered.
Ian snatched the silvery-blue robe from beside him and draped it loosely over his sculpted frame, leaving his toned torso partially exposed. "Get out," he commanded coldly.
His eyes, no longer clouded with lust, had turned ice-cold.
Not daring to waste another moment, the woman snatched up her clothes and scrambled out of the presidential suite.
It was just a casual fling. She'd only been sent to keep him company last night. As long as she got paid, there was nothing to be sad about.
Ian plucked a slim cigarette, dangling it between his lips as he bent to retrieve his phone from the floor, checking the missed call.
It was a local Auretian number. Ian raised an eyebrow and called back. "Who's this?"
Lorraine blushed crimson at what she'd just heard and, in a panic, hung up before he could. Little did she expect him to call back.
Lorraine froze, cheeks burning—the last thing she wanted was to hear those kinds of sounds again.
"Not talking? I'm hanging up." Ian flicked open his lighter, the blue flame casting a dangerously alluring glow over his chiseled features.
"Wait," Lorraine blurted out anxiously, her voice a little shaky. "About last night—you gave me those shoes. Could you come and get them back?"
Ian raised an eyebrow. 'Shoes? What shoes?' he thought.
He'd given women so many presents—damn, he'd been with so many women—that this one was completely forgotten.
Her pickup attempt was as dull as her voice. It didn't spark the slightest interest or desire in him.
Ian hung up without another word. He stubbed out his cigarette and strode into the bathroom, turning on the shower.
Water cascaded down his sculpted body, tracing every defined curve, his chiseled abs, the sharp V-line above his hips, and his long, powerful legs.
After his shower, Ian casually grabbed a towel and walked out, drying his hair as he went.
His phone on the bedside table lit up again, signaling a new text message. He casually swiped open his phone, droplets from his wet fingertips pooling into a tiny puddle on the screen.
Suddenly, a text message popped up on his screen. [Hello, this is Lorraine Shaw—the person who received your shoes last night. I'm a student at Auretian University.
[Please come and retrieve your shoes as soon as possible today. When you arrive at the entrance of the medical college, just tell the security guard you're here for Lorraine, then call me and I'll come down to meet you.]
Ian casually skimmed the text, ready to delete it. His finger froze mid-swipe.
'Lorraine?' Ian paused and wondered, 'That name rings a bell.'