Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

Ivy Sherwood quickly briefed Quentin Blackwood on the situation and gave him the name of the hospital.

Quentin rushed over immediately. When he arrived outside the emergency room, Ivy was still pacing the hall, waiting anxiously.

“Ivy!” Quentin immediately went over and pulled her into his arms.

He had been terrified. When he first received her call saying she was at the hospital, his heart had dropped, assuming something terrible had happened to her.

“Quentin.” Seeing him, Ivy finally breathed a sigh of relief.

If anything fatal happened to Ovillette, even jumping into the Siltflow River wouldn’t wash away the suspicion on her. No matter what she said, no one in power would ever believe her side of the story. He was the King, after all. What if they accused her of orchestrating an assassination?

“It’s fine. I’ll have someone pull the security footage,” Quentin said, his tone grounding her. He, too, wanted to know exactly what had transpired.

“Actually, the exact same thing happened last time. When I was out shopping with Moira, we bumped into the King. He passed out just like this. Do you think he’s sick?”

Quentin led Ivy over to a seat. He patted her shoulder soothingly, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the wall ahead. He didn’t think Ovillette was necessarily ill. Perhaps it had something to do with Ivy’s face? It seemed Winter Mercer’s secrets ran deeper than they initially thought. Perhaps everyone involved was hiding something.

“Don’t worry. Let’s wait for the doctor’s diagnosis.”

“Should we let Ayre know?” Ivy asked. After all, Ovillette was married to the Princess. Ayre and the Princess were his true family.

“Not yet.” Quentin still wanted to investigate further. He figured he might learn more once Ovillette woke up.

“Huh?” Kept in the dark, Ivy naturally didn’t understand why Quentin wanted to keep Ayre out of the loop. “But Ayre is bound to find out sooner or later,” she pointed out.

It was a massive deal for Ovillette to visit Aethelgard. Government officials and insiders surely knew he was here; the moment he lost contact, they would launch an investigation. Besides, once Ovillette woke up, he would undoubtedly call Ayre himself.

“Yeah, but there’s no rush.” Quentin had his own plans. For now, he intended to suppress the news of the King’s collapse.

The airport security footage was quickly retrieved. Since the incident occurred near the restrooms—an area with strict privacy restrictions—the camera angles weren’t entirely clear. Only the peripheral view from a nearby camera had captured the scene. However, the footage confirmed that Ovillette had frozen the moment he laid eyes on Ivy. Shortly after, he collapsed, visibly terrifying her.

Quentin watched the recording several times, trying to decipher any hidden details. Coupled with Ivy’s claim that the same thing had happened before, it was highly unusual.

Quentin turned to her. “This wasn’t your second time seeing Ovillette, was it?”

“I saw him at Ayre’s house before. He came to pick up the Princess.”

“How did he react back then?”

Ivy shook her head. “He didn’t react at all.”

Quentin frowned. That was even stranger.

“But the first time I saw him, I was wearing my old disguise. Are you saying he passes out because he sees my real face?” Ivy’s first thought was of her mother. Did her mother somehow know Ovillette? But that was impossible. How could her mother possibly cross paths with a foreign king?

“It’s hard to say right now. Let’s wait and see what the doctor finds,” Quentin replied.

The medical staff conducted a comprehensive full-body examination on Ovillette. When the results came back, the lead doctor declared that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him physically. Aside from potential exhaustion and a significant, sudden spike in his heart rate, everything was completely normal.

If there was no medical issue, it seemed only Ovillette himself knew the true cause of his collapse.

Ovillette regained consciousness an hour later. Quentin asked Ivy to wait outside while he entered the private ward alone.

“Mr. Ovillette.”

Quentin strode confidently into the room. Ovillette looked up at him, disoriented. “You are…?”

He spoke in Calypsian, and his command of the language was surprisingly fluent.

“I am Quentin Blackwood.”

“Quentin Blackwood? I know of you. You are a highly formidable entrepreneur from Calypsos.” DG’s corporate empire now spanned the globe, making Quentin’s name practically known to all. Even Ovillette had heard of the renowned business magnate.

“You collapsed at the airport. My wife was the one who brought you to the hospital.”

Ovillette propped his head up with a hand. A sharp, drilling pain pounded in his temples, feeling as though needles were twisting into his brain. He had no idea why this was happening; he had never suffered from migraines before.

“Then, I must thank you both.”

“Your Calypsian is quite impressive, Mr. Ovillette. When did you learn it?” Quentin took a seat near the bed, speaking to the King with a casual, conversational tone. Despite sitting in the presence of a foreign monarch, Quentin showed absolutely no fear or deference. He met Ovillette’s gaze squarely, neither of them backing down.

Prompted by the question, Ovillette genuinely pondered it for a moment. To his dismay, he realized there was a strange blank spot in his mind regarding the subject. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the specifics.

“My maternal grandmother was from Calypsos,” Ovillette finally said. He was a quarter Calypsian by blood and had studied the language as a result.

Quentin nodded. That much made sense. Though Quentin didn’t know the exact psychological triggers, Ovillette couldn’t shake the feeling of a void lingering in his mind—an emptiness that seemed to echo deep within his chest.

“The doctors have already given you a full check-up. Physically, you are perfectly fine,” Quentin said. “However, there is something I’d like to ask you, Mr. Ovillette.”

Although they had only exchanged a few sentences, Quentin observed that Ovillette didn’t put on the haughty airs typical of royalty. Perhaps because he was a seasoned national leader, he presented himself with an easygoing, non-aggressive demeanor.

“Go ahead.”

“Are you acquainted with Winter Mercer?” Quentin asked bluntly. The moment the question left his lips, his eagle eyes locked onto Ovillette’s face to catch any micro-expression.

“Winter… Winter Mercer?”

It was such an unfamiliar name, yet… why did it evoke a strange, phantom sense of familiarity? He scoured his memory but found nothing tied to that name. He was certain he had never heard it before. So why was his heart suddenly aching with such intense sorrow? It felt as if his body had developed a subconscious reflex, automatically triggering a visceral, agonizing pull at his very veins the moment he heard the syllables.

Ovillette shook his head. “I don’t know her. I haven’t really heard that name before.”

Judging by his demeanor, Quentin concluded he wasn’t lying.

“Then have you ever seen this face?”

Quentin pulled out his phone, brought up a photo he had taken of Ivy, and held the screen directly in front of Ovillette’s eyes. Having the chance to speak with Ovillette alone like this was a rare opportunity. Once the King’s entourage or other officials arrived, a private interrogation would be impossible. Quentin needed to extract as many answers as he could within this limited window of time.

In the photograph, Ivy wore a radiant, happy smile.

But as Ovillette stared at it, a sharp, stabbing pain violently pierced behind his eyes.