Taken By My Fiancé's Uncle - Chapter 151: Chapter 151

Night had fallen. The heavy scent of lavender filled the air, lulling the senses.
Lorraine slowly opened her eyes. The crystal chandelier overhead cast shimmering halos in her vision, leaving her suspended between dreams and reality.
Her head throbbed as if split open by a hammer, with nothing but a hollow ringing echoing through her mind. With great effort, Lorraine managed to turn her head to the side.
Ian sat there in a burgundy silk shirt and white linen trousers. The shirt hung open, revealing his pale chest, where a faint, menacing tattoo was barely visible. His violet eyes, nearly translucent in the light, swirled with emotions she couldn't fathom.
Seeing Lorraine wake, Ian arched a brow, a sly smile flickering at the corners of his eyes. He asked, "Awake at last?"
The cloying sweetness in the air made it hard to breathe. Lorraine took a deep breath, fighting back the nausea. She asked, "Why did you bring me here, and what is this place?"
Ian replied, "This is my family's private estate." He rose to his feet and picked up a piece of delicate fabric from the nearby rack.
Lorraine lowered her head. She saw a gossamer-thin, sage green dress fluttering in his hands, its delicate fabric gently swaying.
"Help Ms. Shaw into the dress," Ian ordered.
A maid, who had been waiting outside, replied, "Yes, sir." Carrying a partially open jewelry case, she hurried in and took the priceless gossamer gown from Ian.
Inside the case, flawless emerald-green jade shimmered with crystal clarity and an irresistible allure. Each piece was worth a fortune.
"I won't wear it," Lorraine exclaimed as she struggled to get up from bed. The room spun violently around her. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed heavily right at Ian's feet, landing in a painful, humiliating heap.
Ian looked down at her, making no move to help. He smirked and said, "No need for such theatrics. Even if you bowed a hundred times, I would be more than worthy to receive them."
Lorraine gritted her teeth, struggling to her feet from the floor. She said, "Let me go back." She thought, 'It is pitch black outside. Sheila must be worried sick waiting for me at school.
'And Eugene. Given how swamped he always is, does he even notice I'm missing?'
Ian suddenly chuckled. "You'll be free to go when the party is over," he said. He stepped barefoot onto the pristine white shag carpet, cast Lorraine an inscrutable glance, and then slipped out of the room.
Just as Ian reached the doorway, his phone suddenly rang. He answered the phone. He called, "Norah." His smile grew increasingly enigmatic.
The door clicked shut, sealing the room in complete darkness; not even a sliver of outside light could penetrate.
Lorraine stood frozen in place. She thought, 'Norah? Norah Pedler? He is from the Pedler family? No wonder he's been so hostile, constantly making things difficult for me.'
She seized the nearest young maid by the wrist and demanded sharply, "Who exactly is Norah to you?"
"How dare you address our lady by her given name?" the young maid sneered, shaking off Lorraine's hand with contempt.
Everything clicked for Lorraine.
Several maids seized Lorraine's arms and began roughly stripping off her clothes.
Lorraine tried to fight back, but the lingering effects of the drug left her so weak that her flailing arms had less strength than swatting a fly.
In the end, the maids dressed Lorraine efficiently but roughly. They forced a gown onto her body, styled her hair, applied makeup, and adorned her with jewelry, without giving her a chance to see herself in a mirror.
Suddenly, the door swung open again.
Ian reappeared, dressed in a deep burgundy suit. He wheeled in an exquisitely crafted, life-sized paper box.
The box, as tall as a person, was ominously empty and topped with a clear plastic lid.
Lorraine's heart pounded wildly. She asked, "What are you going to do?"
Ian slowly approached her, a sly smile playing on his lips. He said, "There will be many distinguished guests tonight. All the elite of Auretian, here for me. I suppose I should put on a little show for them, don't you think?"
"What exactly are you planning to show?" Lorraine demanded, her voice trembling, and she stepped back. Her terrified gaze locked onto the life-sized paper box behind Ian.
Within mere hours, an invitation from Ian became the most coveted item among Auretian's elite. Some said that one's life wouldn't be complete without attending his party.
Others claimed that with just a single approving glance, Ian could turn a nobody into the overnight talk of the town.
That night, luxury cars crowded outside the Pedler residence, while inside the grand hall, elegantly dressed guests mingled amidst the clinking of champagne glasses.
Suddenly, the butler's voice rang out across the ballroom. He called, "Presenting Mr. Ian Pedler!"
All the guests fell silent, their eyes fixed on the second-floor staircase in breathless anticipation. Everyone knew of Ian's reputation for dramatic flair. They wondered what spectacular entrance he would make for the party.
A few moments later, the sound of measured footsteps echoed down the hall. As soon as Ian appeared at the second-floor railing, his mere presence instantly drew screams of delight from the crowd.
The women had never realized just how strikingly handsome Ian was. Even the men found themselves taking a deep breath, suddenly feeling a sense of rivalry they had never known before.
Looks, wealth, and status—Ian had it all. He was blessed with divine favor, embodying enviable perfection.
Then, a float slowly rolled in behind Ian, and a life-sized display box was pushed to his side.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. They found someone standing inside the box. To be precise, it was a woman dressed in a sage green gossamer gown, adorned with a complete set of jewelry.
Her makeup was flawless, and her beauty was striking, yet she stood motionless, trapped within the box, completely immobilized.
Two small breathing holes at the top allowed Lorraine to breathe and to hear every word spoken outside with chilling clarity.
A guest gathered his courage and stepped forward to ask, "Mr. Pedler, is this the fabled Ms. Pedler we've heard so much about?"
Ian lounged casually against the railing, a wicked smile playing on his lips. He asked, "Well, who do you think she is?"
A woman chimed in, "I suppose so. I remember that dress was a limited edition from last year's Paustine Fashion Week, the only one in the world. Rumor had it that Ms. Pedler acquired it at auction. Who would've thought it was true?"
Ian arched an eyebrow. He lazily pointed a finger at the woman from across the room and asked, "What else do you know?"
The woman replied, "I don't know anything else. I've never actually met Ms. Pedler myself. But she looks regal now."
Ian suddenly let out a cold laugh, his eyes, usually as charming as spring blossoms, now brimming with undisguised mockery.
The others immediately caught on and shot warning glares at the woman who had spoken out of turn.
Trapped inside the display box, Lorraine's breaths came in shallow gasps. Yet every word from outside pierced through with chilling clarity.
Lorraine wondered, 'Why is Ian doing this to me? Is he trying to humiliate me? Then he may be disappointed. With makeup this heavy, no one would even recognize me.'
A guest exclaimed, "Ms. Pedler's grace is truly peerless, and her beauty simply breathtaking!"
All guests assumed Ian and Norah were playing some kind of role-playing game. They thought, 'Rich people and their eccentric hobbies. Sometimes, we just have to play along.'
The others immediately echoed in agreement. One said, "Exactly! Ms. Pedler is truly the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on."
Someone said, "Even celebrities pale in comparison to her."
Compliments fluttered down like snowflakes, as if Lorraine were a princess and the guests merely her loyal subjects.
Lorraine looked down, seeing every detail of the crowd below with painful clarity.
For a woman, praise was as vital as morning dew to a rose. It made her bloom more radiantly and more enchantingly. Yet Lorraine remained motionless, as if completely deaf to the compliments.
She thought, 'All that praise is for Norah, for the Pedler family's power and status. What does any of that have to do with me?'
Ian stood nearby, a cryptic smile playing on the corners of his lips. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers sharply.
At once, an attendant stepped forward and lifted the transparent lid in front of Lorraine.
Lorraine gasped desperately. She tried to wipe her face, only to find her limbs locked in place. She snapped, "Ian, what the hell are you up to?"
She fumed, 'If Norah couldn't make it to the party and needed a stand-in, Ian could have picked anyone else. Why me?'
The moment she spoke, a heavy silence fell over the room. The guests in the hall exchanged puzzled glances and fell silent. They realized it wasn't Norah as they had expected.
One sharp-eyed guest recognized Lorraine and exclaimed, "I remember. She's the one online today. What's it called?"
Another chimed in, "The student from Auretian University?"
The first guest said, "Yeah, that's her. No doubt about it."
Upon hearing this, the crowd's eyes instantly filled with undisguised contempt, as if Lorraine were a walking plague, a virulent contagion that could wipe them out in a heartbeat.
"Mr. Pedler, you'd better steer clear of this woman. She's a real schemer," one guest sneered.
"Yeah, rumor has it she was compromised. So tainted," another whispered with a curl of the lip.
"Trash from some hick family, shameless since her schoolgirl days," another voice scoffed.
At that moment, a torrent of condemnation came crashing down upon Lorraine. Now that her true identity was exposed, the crowd ascended to their lofty seats of judgment, eager to heap disgrace upon her.
One remarked, "She is such a hussy."
Another said, "Shameless."
Someone whispered, "Filthy slut."
Lorraine stood there, her face draining of color with each cruel remark. She never knew people could change their tune so quickly, turning on a dime.
She never realized that the respect or humiliation one received could be so different, all because of a difference in status.
Ian looked down, taking in every flicker of emotion on her face. With a cold smile, he leaned in and murmured, so only she could hear, "Do you see it now, Lorraine? This is the difference between you and my sister.
"Even if you do nothing, just stand here, or simply stand by Eugene's side, you're light-years apart from her."
Lorraine bit down on her lip, the last trace of color drained from her face until she was deathly pale. She shook her head weakly and murmured in protest, "I'm not what you say."
She watched in horror as the mouths of the crowd morphed into countless gaping black holes, each one a weapon ready to strike.
She tried to step back, but her body refused to move. She longed to run, yet escape was impossible. All she could do was keep repeating her words in a trembling voice, but not a single soul was listening.
The onlookers didn't care about the truth, but the sick thrill of kissing up to the powerful and kicking down the weak.
With a regal, downward gesture, Ian silenced the room. Then, in full view of everyone, he asked coldly, "Lorraine, do you finally understand what my sister can bring to the Moore family and what, in contrast, you could offer them?"