Chapter 158: Which Man Doesn’t Get Hit?

Chapter 158: Chapter 158: Which Man Doesn’t Get Hit?

"How’s your wrist?"

When Lynn picked up the inkstone earlier, its weight had clearly made her hand dip, and her wrist had been trembling ever since.

Lynn shook her wrist for him to see, smiling. "It’s nothing. The inkstone is heavy, so of course it’ll tremble when I lift it."

Ian Sterling felt a pang of guilt. With the butler standing nearby, he couldn’t speak openly. He leaned in and whispered in Lynn’s ear, "I won’t use your hand next time."

Lynn rolled her eyes at him and gave him a swift, unapologetic kick.

The butler happened to look up just in time to see it. He choked on his spit, then quickly averted his gaze and turned his back, pretending he hadn’t seen a thing.

Mr. Powell was upstairs for a long time. Lynn could guess what he was doing—he was surely cradling the inkstone and admiring it.

When he came down, Lynn asked with a smile, "Grandpa, are you done admiring it?"

Mr. Powell nodded, insisting that Lynn play chess with him. Lynn froze for a moment before quickly shaking her head in refusal and pushing Ian forward.

"Let him play with you. I’m not worthy."

Ian stifled a laugh at her words. He stood up and said to Mr. Powell, "Mr. Powell, I’ll play with you."

Seeing Ian’s smile, Mr. Powell more or less guessed the reason. He nodded and said, "Alright. Lynn, you come too. Sit next to me and watch."

Lynn got off the sofa and followed them to the chessboard by the window. When she saw the tea set next to the board, she moved to make tea for them.

Mr. Powell remembered how her fingers had been scalded bright red by hot water last time. He frowned and was about to stop her, but Ian beat him to it. "Don’t you mess with that stuff again. Your fingers were all red from the burn last time."

Lynn let out a little "Oh!" and blinked. "I won’t do that. I’ll just make you two some tea."

"Alright then." Ian was still worried, so he added a warning, "Just don’t do it like *that*, you hear me?"

Lynn pouted and nodded reluctantly. ’Am I a child? Does he really need to say it twice?’

’She really is a child,’ Ian thought, watching her as he played chess. Whenever he saw her looking eager to try something, he would cough to remind her. But there were times he missed it, and during those moments, Mr. Powell would shoot her a glare.

"You’re all so annoying. I’m done waiting on you," Lynn huffed. She stood up, walked back to the sofa, and flopped down to play on her phone.

Ian watched her with concern, worried she was actually upset. But Mr. Powell just chuckled. "Don’t worry. Our Lynn isn’t petty. She won’t stay mad at you."

Hearing this, Lynn raised her arm into the air and said languidly, "I heard that, you know. No bad-mouthing me."

"We know," Mr. Powell called back, his voice a mixture of exasperation and affection. Ian lowered his gaze and smiled, too.

The time for the lunch Cecilia Powell had been so eagerly awaiting with her daughter was almost here. After getting the call from the butler, a nervous Cecilia stood before the mirror, smoothing the hem of her clothes. She took a deep breath before heading over to the Powell residence.

The villa she and Wyatt Winslow had bought was right next door to the Powells’, just a few steps away. When she arrived at the entrance, Cecilia still hadn’t mentally prepared herself. She paused, trying to calm her thundering heart before heading inside.

The door opened, and a rush of cool air washed over her, somewhat easing her anxiety.

Lynn was standing beside Mr. Powell and Ian, watching them play chess. At the sound of the door opening, her hand tightened, but she still lifted her head to look at Cecilia Powell.

"Lynn."

"You’re here." Lynn smiled and greeted her graciously before lowering her gaze back to the chessboard. However, the hand resting on Ian’s shoulder tensed up—a detail easily caught by Ian, whose attention had been entirely on Lynn from the moment Cecilia Powell arrived.

He looked up at her and raised his own hand to gently squeeze hers.

Lynn gave him a cute little look in return, letting Ian know she was mostly okay. He then stood up and said gently to Cecilia Powell, "Hello, ma’am."

Cecilia watched their small interaction and knew they must have a wonderful relationship. She pulled her attention away from her daughter and said softly, "Hello, Finn."

"Let’s eat." Mr. Powell couldn’t stand the sight of this. He rose, his expression unreadable, and headed toward the dining room.

Cecilia hesitated for a moment before following Mr. Powell, leaving Ian and Lynn standing where they were.

"Are you feeling uncomfortable?" Ian was still worried. He reached up, tucked a strand of Lynn’s hair behind her ear, and murmured, "Don’t force yourself."

Lynn shook her head and said softly, "I’ve already thought it through. At the end of the day, they’re the parents who gave me life. We’ll never have the kind of relationship you have with your mom, but some parents and children just aren’t close. I suppose I’ll just have to be one of those."

Ian ruffled her hair, deliberately messing it up.

"What are you doing!" Lynn swatted his hand away, hissing, "You’ve messed up my hair."

But Ian simply mimicked how Mr. Powell had walked to the dining room, clasping his hands behind his back and drawling, "Alas, our love isn’t deep enough. I merely messed up your hair, and already you despise me."

Lynn watched his seemingly grief-stricken back with amusement. She jogged to catch up and linked her arm through his. "The fact I haven’t hit you already proves my love."

"You’re going to hit me?" Ian feigned disbelief. Lynn nodded calmly. "What man out there doesn’t get hit by his partner? You should be grateful you’re with me. The most I’ll do is look at you with a little disdain."

With that, she looked up at Ian’s face with a wicked grin, then let go of his arm and strode toward the dining room.

Ian stood stunned for a moment before chasing after her. "Where did you learn all that?"

"None of your business."

Lynn tossed her head. ’I’m not telling him. I just learned it from a video I was watching. I was looking for a chance to use it on him, but I didn’t think one would come up so fast.’

"Fine. I’ll let you hit me. And as soon as you do, I’ll report you for domestic abuse," Ian said with a shrug, calmly taking up her challenge. "Then you’ll be the one forced to apologize to me."

"Ha! Who’s going to believe that a guy who’s six-foot-three could get beaten up by a delicate little woman like me?"

"What if I’m fragile? Is that a crime?"

They bickered and bantered, their short walk to the dining room full of stops and starts. By the time they entered, the butler was already directing staff to serve the food.

Mr. Powell had Cecilia sit on the right side of the table, further down, while Lynn and Ian sat on the left. This was arranged so Lynn wouldn’t feel awkward.

After sitting down, Lynn kept her gaze lowered. She would smile and respond when Mr. Powell or Ian spoke to her, but that was it. Cecilia knew her place and didn’t say a word throughout the meal, merely watching Lynn with gentle eyes.

"Speaking of which, it’s been a while since I’ve seen your grandfather," Mr. Powell remarked, some topic having reminded him of Elder Winslow. He sighed. "At our age, who knows how many more times we’ll get to see each other."

Lynn was immediately displeased. This was the last thing she ever wanted to hear. She frowned and said, "Grandpa, how can you say that? You’ll see each other many, many more times."

Mr. Powell looked up at her and saw the rims of her eyes quickly turning red. "Oh, dear," he said, apologizing again and again.