Taken By My Fiancé's Uncle - Chapter 31: Chapter 31

At the golf course, Eugene took his swing and sent the ball flying in a perfect arc.
The crowd cheered, and even the clients watching couldn't hide their admiration. But Eugene only wore a faint, composed smile.
Isaac handed him the phone. "Mr. Eaton is on the line," he said.
With a polite nod to the clients and a brief apology, Eugene stepped away to answer.
"Your little bunny just ran off with her little bunny," Lorenzo said, his tone casual.
"Is that so?" Eugene replied calmly. He wasn't surprised. She had never been the obedient type, of course she'd check herself out of the hospital again.
"And she's in trouble!" Lorenzo added quickly. "Some woman named Sheila—claims to be her best friend—called me. Said she found my number in Lorraine's contacts..."
Lorenzo had made Lorraine save his number earlier that morning during his hospital rounds. Surprisingly, it turned out to be her saving grace when danger struck.
Eugene remembered the way Lorraine had looked at him when he left her room—like he was a ticking time bomb.
'To her, I'm probably the worst kind of trouble. Can't argue with that, though. I did keep her up all night. Even in a hospital bed, I couldn't keep my hands off her.
'But she asked for it when she made that dig about my performance. She knew exactly what she was doing,' Eugene thought to himself.
Lorenzo's voice crackled through the phone again. "They're now under an abandoned overpass. I'll send the location to your phone. The Shaw family's staff must be closing in on her."
Under the overpass, Sheila sat rigid, her sweat-slick fingers clamped around a brick she'd grabbed in panic.
The men had formed a loose circle around Lorraine. Sheila couldn't tell what Lorraine had said to them, but they were keeping their distance for now. Any moment, that fragile restraint might break, and they'd be on Lorraine like starving wolves.
Sheila's pulse pounded in her ears, and she barely registered her phone vibrating until it had rung several times. The number was unfamiliar, but its conspicuously exclusive combination made it clear—this wasn't just any caller.
She answered quickly, pressing the phone to her ear. "Who is this?"
"It's me," a male voice replied.
He hadn't given his name, and Sheila had never met him before, yet she recognized that voice instantly—that effortless confidence could only belong to Eugene.
Sheila's eyes brimmed with tears. "P-please, Mr. Moore... save Lorraine."
"Put her phone on speaker and bring it to her side," Eugene replied, his relaxed stance against the golf course railing belying the faint smirk on his lips.
"Oh, okay," Sheila stammered, scrambling toward the group on unsteady legs.
The press of bodies around Lorraine was so thick that Sheila couldn't even spot her. With fumbling fingers, she managed to activate the speaker function.
"It's done, Mr. Moore!" Sheila's voice shook as she shouted.
A hush fell as "Mr. Moore" hung in the air. The name alone made them hesitate—this might be the Mr. Moore from those whispered warnings.
Uneasy glances darted between the men as several instinctively stepped back, putting more space between themselves.
Sheila slid easily into the narrow gap and pressed her phone to Lorraine's ear, keeping it on speaker.
For now, Lorraine was safe—curled into a tight ball, clutching a shard of broken glass she'd scavenged from the ground. Sheila guessed that might be why the crowd kept their distance.
"Lorraine." Eugene's voice crackled through the speaker, deep and gravelly.
Lorraine turned her grime-streaked face toward the phone, eyes brimming with tears. Her response was barely audible, just a faint, trembling "Mm."
An eerie silence hung over the area, broken only by the moaning wind.
Then Eugene spoke again, his words crisp and commanding. "Don't be afraid." The line went dead before either could respond.
Lorraine's gaze settled on the battered blue flip phone in her hands. A mix of disbelief and relief washed over her. Her lips quivered before she finally whispered, "That was Eugene."
"Yes!" Sheila sprang to her feet, her voice rising. "You all heard that, right? Eugene is coming. I suggest you leave while you still can."
The heavyset man gulped. "And if he's not who you claim?"
"Then let's wait," Sheila shot back, planting herself in front of Lorraine like a human barricade, arms crossed. "Either way, you'll find out soon enough. And if he is who I say he is, you're toast."
The crowd shuffled backward, caught off guard by Sheila's sudden show of defiance.
The heavyset man's glare hardened. "If this turns out to be fake, neither of you walks away."
Sheila gave an icy laugh. "We'll see about that."
Ten minutes later, the roar of engines filled the air. Two black Range Rovers pulled up side by side, their bright headlights forcing the crowd to shield their eyes.
When Eugene emerged, a collective hush fell over the Shaw family's staff.
Nervous swallows rippled through them—working for the Shaws meant playing with fire. One misstep, and they found themselves in the Moores' crosshairs.
Without a word, Eugene cut through the parted crowd. He scooped Lorraine into his arms, her small frame disappearing against his broad shoulders.
The smell of woodsmoke reached Lorraine, and she relaxed. She knew she was safe now.
"Take care of this. I don't want to hear a word from them," Eugene said to his men tonelessly.
"Understood." Isaac gave a curt nod before moving to execute the order.
As Eugene helped Lorraine into the car, piercing screams tore through the night air behind them. She instinctively tried to turn and look.
Eugene raised a hand to shield her eyes. "Don't look," he murmured.
"Alright," she whispered, turning her face away and sinking into the seat.
The screams intensified, reaching an almost unbearable pitch. At the distinctive snap of bone, Lorraine winced. "That sounded like a forearm breaking," she remarked quietly.
Eugene guided her into the passenger seat, his gaze lingering on her with quiet concern.
Sheila slid into the backseat without a word.
Another sharp crack rang out, then a pained scream that made them all flinch. Lorraine nodded, sounding more sure of herself now. "That one was the knee, right?"
With every crack, she muttered under her breath, listing injuries like a grim checklist. "Broken finger... dislocated shoulder... gut wound... torn ligament..." She kept her eyes fixed ahead, never turning around, but the cold, detached tally didn't stop.
Every diagnosis had been pinpoint accurate. Eugene couldn't help but give her a surprised look. Facing forward again, he couldn't hide his interest. "How'd you know all that?"
"I'm in med school," Lorraine replied, finally glancing his way. A professional curiosity broke through her calm demeanor. "Can I look now? I don't get many chances to study trauma cases up close."
Eugene shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't understand her reaction at all.
He'd expected her to be frightened—that was why he'd told her not to look. But instead, she'd watched with the eager attention of a student observing a classroom demonstration. It was baffling.
Leaning across the seat, he buckled her seatbelt and gave her a light tap on the head. "Sit still," he said.
"Okay," Lorraine chirped, wiping at her mud-streaked face as she wriggled into position. With a careless motion, she tossed aside the glass shard she'd been clutching.
As Eugene slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, he couldn't help asking, "Why medicine? With your personality, I'd have guessed you'd study art."
He'd only skimmed her file enough to know she was in college—medicine was the last thing he would have expected.
Lorraine crossed her arms, defiance coloring her voice. "Medicine's not so bad, really."
She'd always been timid. Medical school with its blood and dissections had seemed unimaginable at first. But she never had a choice.
After her father's punishments when she was small, no one in the family ever bandaged her wounds or gave her medicine for the pain. Her body's strength was the only treatment she had, but the injuries never healed properly.
With every new bruise, her resolve hardened—medical knowledge might be her only way to undo the damage.
But now she finally saw the truth. Healing herself would take more than just studying medicine.
Eugene pressed his lips together, saying nothing.
Lorraine pointed to the small cage in the back. "There were some benefits too. If I hadn't studied medicine, I never would have met Coconut. I rescued it from our lab."
The rabbit's eyes had reminded her of her younger self—scared but stubborn. On impulse, she'd slipped it into her bag without anyone noticing.
Eugene sank back into his seat, unusually quiet. He knew for certain now—she wasn't like those girls who pretended to be helpless. For once, no sarcastic comment came to mind.
As the car rolled forward, a comfortable silence settled over the front seats. Sheila's eyes darted between them before a knowing grin crept across her face.
The car rolled to a stop at Silverlake Villa. Lorraine climbed out, hauling a rabbit cage behind her, and stood waiting by the curb.
Though Sheila had twisted her ankle too, she made no move to enter the house. As Eugene parked, she caught Lorraine's arm and pulled her close. "Look," she murmured, "you've never had luck on your side. If Eugene wants to use you, just let him."
Lorraine blinked. "Seriously? Are we still besties or what?"
"What other option do you have?" Sheila counted on her fingers. "Face it—you're broke, vulnerable, and he's your only protection. Plus, let's be real—he's hot and loaded. That's luck you don't throw away. So stop whining and take it."
Lorraine nearly snorted. "Wait, what you're saying is his looks make up for everything else?"
"Absolutely," Sheila answered without hesitation. "With a face that perfect, a little attitude just adds character. And hey, maybe he's not as bad as he seems. Just stay here with him. I'll come get you once I can walk properly again."
Lorraine sighed, knowing she was out of options.
Sheila gave her a playful shove. "Go on then. I'm heading out."
"At least have a doctor look at your ankle," Lorraine suggested.
"Yeah, yeah," Sheila muttered, rolling her eyes as she watched Lorraine disappear inside. Then she turned and walked away.
As she crossed the courtyard, she spotted Eugene walking back from the parking lot. With an easy smile, she greeted him, "Hello, Mr. Moore."
Eugene studied her, his expression unreadable. "Why were you stopped on the highway?"
Sheila shrugged, completely at ease with the man who'd saved them. "We were on our way to the train station."
"The train station?" His eyebrow arched.
"Making our escape. Seeing the world," Sheila blurted with a laugh that sounded too loud. The moment the words left her mouth, her hand flew up to cover it.
Her gaze darted to Eugene's face—now stormy and dark. A sharp twist of fear clenched her gut. 'Oh crap,' she thought. 'That was exactly the wrong thing to say.'