Chapter 190 Competition
Quentin and Dorian were deep in a strategic huddle when an unexpected knock interrupted their concentration. They exchanged a quick, measured glance before Dorian cautiously approached and opened the door.
A figure cloaked in black waited outside. "We'd like this lady to come with us to Quentin," the stranger stated, their English clear and direct.
Without hesitation, Quentin stepped forward, bypassing Dorian. "I'll go with you," she declared firmly.
Dorian instinctively wanted to follow but was blocked by the somber envoy. "Quentin only requested the lady. Please, sir, stay here," the figure insisted, the hint of a threat in their stance, a gun casually visible at their side.
The sight of the firearm sparked a wave of irritation in Dorian, and for a fleeting moment, he looked as if he would challenge the situation head-on. Yet it was Quentin's reassuring presence that tempered his rising anger. "It's alright. I'll go. If they wanted us dead, it would have happened by now," she said with quiet confidence, easing the tension as she left with the mysterious visitor.
Dorian slammed his fist against the wall, frustration coursing through him as he realized the direness of their predicament. Should their enemy wish them dead, they'd have little chance of escape. Steeling himself, he declared, "Fine, if you're not back in thirty minutes, I'm coming after you."
Quentin proceeded to follow the figure shrouded in dark clothing to the end of the hallway on the upper deck of the cruise ship. As they approached, she noticed the door slightly open, the guard gesturing for her to enter. Stepping inside the stateroom, Quentin found it deserted except for the sound of water cascading in the ensuite.
The stateroom was a haven of luxury, with a grand bed positioned at its center. Surrounding the bed was a lounge area adorned with plush sofas, a flat-screen TV, and tastefully arranged decor.
Quentin's observations were abruptly interrupted as the bathroom door swung open, capturing her attention. A woman with golden locks and piercing blue eyes stepped out, clad in a terrycloth robe. Seeing Quentin, she offered a simple command. "Take a seat."
"Thank you," Quentin responded, moving to sit on one of the couches.
The woman glided across the room with two glasses of fizzing champagne and offered one to Quentin as she settled it on the table before her.
Quentin nudged the glass slightly forward. "Thanks, but I don't drink."
Taking a sip from her glass, the woman eased back into the plush sofa and asked flawlessly in English, "You're Quentin?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Quentin's face. Sensing his bewilderment, she filled in the gap, "Matthew insisted I start learning when I was young."
"I see. You speak very well," Quentin said, offering genuine praise.
"Do I? Thanks." She dismissed the compliment with an air of indifference that Quentin found familiar; this quality had been embedded in him since childhood. Her confidence was magnetic, and her presence was dominant.
Quentin met her gaze squarely. "Was there something you needed from me?"
Circling his question, she pondered aloud, "So Caius had a taste for these kinds of gatherings. You're Quentin?"
"That's me," she affirmed, a blend of humility and self-assurance in her voice.
"So you’re Quentin who’s related to Caius?" she asked, her eyes locking onto his with an unspoken intensity.
"Yes," Quentin asserted confidently. Even if Matthew had amnesia, they were still legally married. She was indeed his wife.
The woman smirked and took another sip of champagne before slowly asking, "Do you want to know why Matthew can't remember you?"
Quentin was taken aback but quickly gave a firm nod. "I want to know," she said, desperate to uncover the truth, understand the reason, and learn everything about what happened during his absence.
The woman shifted her position, the epitome of elegance. "I saved him. I pulled him from the waves. He was badly injured and on the brink of death. I got the top doctors and used the best treatments to bring him back. But when he woke up, his memory was gone. I told him he was Matthew, my aide, someone I grew up with."
She stopped for a moment, then added with a hint of a smile, "Though I guess a part of him never quite believed that story."
Tears pooled in Quentin's eyes as she pictured the agony Matthew must have endured. She struggled to maintain her composure and her voice even as she spoke, "I'm very grateful to you for saving Matthew."
"Matthew? Interesting, that was Caius before? Sounds good," the woman replied casually.
Quentin nodded. "Yes, that's his name, Matthew."
But before Quentin could feel a sense of relief, the woman snapped, "Hold off on the gratitude. I haven't said I'll hand him over to you," leaving Quentin stunned into silence. Was it possible that they had no choice but to use force as Dorian had suggested?
The woman burst into laughter at the sight of Quentin's fear-stricken face, taunting her, "You look so frightened and ghostly!" Quentin bristled at the mockery. Only someone of Quentin's high standing could exhibit such poise under distress.
Quentin stood up straight, enunciating each word with precision, "It’s not funny at all. Matthew is my husband and the father of my child. I'm grateful you saved him, and I'm sure that once Matthew gets his memory back, he'll be just as thankful. But your actions, keeping him from me, that's inexcusable."
The woman's expression turned solemn. "Okay, we're about to dock, and I bet you've got folks waiting for you at the harbor. I really don't want any drama. Let's put it in Caius's hands. Let him choose. If he opts to leave with you, I won't stop him. But if he chooses not to, then I'm taking him back home with me. And just like that, your Matthew will be my Caius."
Caught off guard by her challenge, Quentin sank onto the couch, a wave of numbness washing over him.
The woman gazed at Quentin with unwavering confidence, certain that Matthew would choose to stay with her rather than leave with Quentin. She goaded her, "What's the matter, scared to let Matthew decide for himself? Afraid you don't hold much place in his heart?"
Quentin's gaze was steady and determined. "Agreed. I hope you'll be true to your word and allow Matthew to leave with me when the time comes."
"Absolutely," the woman replied, lifting her glass in a toast. "Once the cruise ship reaches Lunaria, we'll spend a few days there, and then we'll see who truly wins his heart." She motioned for Quentin to join her toast, their glasses meeting with a celebratory clink as the unofficial start of their competition.
After leaving the confrontation behind, Quentin headed back to her room, where Dorian anxiously awaited her return. As she stepped into the room, he bombarded her with a flurry of questions. "What went down? What did she want from you? I was this close to barging in there if you had stayed any longer."
"It's fine. She proposed a fair challenge. If Matthew decides he wants to stay with me, she'll let him; if not, she'll bring him home with her," Quentin explained with a composure that defied the storm brewing beneath the surface.
Dorian cursed loudly. "Man, what's the deal with her? Matthew's got amnesia; he can't even remember you. It's clear he's going to side with her. We ought to snatch him and bring him back, like I suggested."
Quentin wasn't brimming with confidence, but she chose to trust her instincts. She had recently stopped by Matthew's room to see him, and the look in his eyes suggested that he didn't entirely distrust her. She believed that Matthew wasn't going to forget about her so easily, so she decided to go all out to convince him to come back to Horizon City with her of his own accord.
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