Married My Cheating Fiancé’s Uncle

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Chapter 2

Isabella's POV

In that moment, my shock and confusion crashed directly into his deep gray eyes.

By the faint light spilling from the ballroom, I finally saw his face clearly—

Ash-gold hair, dampened by the rain mist, clung in scattered strands across his forehead.

A faint line at the corner of his eye, like a mark carved by time itself, made him look both unfamiliar and dangerous.

Adrian Hawthorne.

The Hawthorne family's most notorious black sheep, and Julian's youngest uncle.

Compared to our crumbling, decrepit Kensington Manor, he looked more like a ghost crawled out from the grave.

I still remembered the last time there was news of him—it was at Julian's eighteenth birthday celebration.

Supposedly, that very night, he'd broken into his father's private collection room to steal a violin for an opera singer twelve years his senior.

Not only did he make off with that expensive Stradivarius, but he also snatched the diamond-encrusted pocket watch gifted by the Queen herself!

Old Hawthorne's face had turned iron-gray with rage, nearly suffering a heart attack as he pointed at the door and swore to disown his son entirely.

Later on, when my parents gossiped about those scandalous tales over tea, they'd spoken with both disdain and relief:

"That sort of person—he's only lucky enough to be born into a nouveau riche industrialist family. No matter what chaos he causes, a few stinking pounds can cover up the shame."

"If he'd been born into a truly noble family like ours, he'd have been stripped of his inheritance rights long ago for disgracing the family name."

"Though I heard his mother was some impoverished French aristocrat, nearly twenty years younger than old Hawthorne. Died quite young, unfortunately. The boy clearly inherited none of her noble upbringing."

Brawls, fights, a dissolute private life.

Yes, that wastrel everyone assumed would die in some foreign land—

Adrian Hawthorne.

Was now standing right in front of me!

"What? Frightened?"

He caught my instinctive step backward, his lips curving into an almost mocking arc.

Those deep gray eyes reflected the dim twilight from beyond the corridor, and also reflected my own disheveled image.

I could feel it—he was mocking me, but also mocking himself.

"Seems my reputation is indeed sufficient to scare off most ladies like you, raised from birth within the prison of propriety."

His tone carried a weary laziness, as if he'd long grown tired of all those defining judgments from his past.

I lifted my eyes and met his gaze directly. The rain seemed colder now, but that small flame in my heart—watered by alcohol and grievance—flared up once more.

"Not at all."

I shook my head. "In my view, you're at least far more genuine than a shameless hypocrite like Julian."

"Is that your stamp of approval, Miss Kensington?"

He laughed softly, no longer advancing. Instead, he leaned his body against the cold corridor pillar, watching me with amusement.

"Or should I understand this to mean you're willing to accept my proposal?"

"Proposal?"

Before I could respond, he proceeded to introduce himself unprompted.

"Adrian Hawthorne. Thirty-two years old. Currently a penniless insurance broker earning £4,000 a month. With proper social insurance coverage."

He shrugged, water droplets rolling off his shoulders. "I suppose that while I can't offer you a life of luxury, I can at least guarantee three meals a day without worry, and I can rent a flat near the hospital where you work—one that doesn't leak wind or rain, with stable heating and hot water. Of course, most importantly, even as the most worthless descendant of the Hawthorne family, I still have the chance to inherit certain irrevocable trust funds established by my ancestors. Especially when..."

His gaze swept meaningfully across my eyes, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "When I marry the legitimate aristocratic daughter of the Kensington family, whom our family has always held in such high regard."

"Wait." I drew a breath, rainwater choking my throat with a slight ache. "So between us... this is actually a transaction?"

"Of course. You can understand it that way. If you're concerned, we can sign the most detailed prenuptial agreement. Your manor, your surname, everything that's yours—none of it will change because of me."

I truly found it absurd.

Apart from this collapsing Kensington Manor and the heavy yet utterly empty title behind it, what else did I have that was worth his scheming?

Just then, my phone began vibrating frantically in my pocket.

It was Julian.

"Darling, where did you go?"

His voice carried an excessively polished anxiety and deliberateness that made me nauseous.

"I'm not coming back, Julian. Please tell my parents I'm not feeling well."

"What's wrong, darling? You're not upset because I didn't answer the phone earlier, are you?"

"Don't be childish, Isabella. You know my work keeps me busy at all times."

"Come quickly, I'll introduce you to Professor Philip—Oh, no! Where did this stupid dog come from!"

The phone erupted with chaotic noise—Julian's scolding, a woman's shriek, mixed with fierce barking.

I looked down in surprise to find that Lucas, who had been staying close to Adrian and me, had vanished without a trace!

I raised my head in shock, staring into those gray eyes before me.

Adrian spread his hands helplessly. "I told you—Lucas follows where his heart leads. He won't get lost."

Good God!

When I lifted my skirts and rushed to the ballroom, it was already in complete chaos.

Clara clutched at her torn dress hem, the decorative silk scarf she'd used to cover her neck long gone, exposing a large patch of dark red love bites.

Most ridiculous of all, Lucas held a purple-black garter stocking in his mouth.

I imagined that any guest present who hadn't left their eyes at home could clearly see—

The matching one was still on Clara's left leg.

"My God, how did this woman get in here? Why would the Kensington family invite such a disreputable woman?"

"No, she must have come with Dr. Hawthorne. I think she's his assistant physician."

"So when they left one after another earlier, then returned one after another, they probably weren't playing word puzzles, were they?"

Seeing me standing at the ballroom entrance, Julian's expression immediately turned ugly.

"Isabella, don't misunderstand. It's this stupid dog that came out of nowhere—it attacked Clara—"

Just then, a clear whistle sounded from behind me.

Adrian clapped his hands twice in full view of everyone, and Lucas immediately bounded over with joy.

"Good boy!"

He patted Lucas's head, then grabbed the leash attached to his collar.

"Hold it, Isabella."

Adrian handed me the leash, those deep gray eyes carrying a certainty that struck my chest with reassurance.

"Lucas will take you where you want to go."

Before I could steady myself, the leash suddenly jerked with tremendous force.

"Wait! Lucas!"

I was dragged along by the dog, half-running all the way out of the ballroom!

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