Capturing the Young Doctor's Heart: Mr. Big Shot Won't Let Me Go-Chapter 169: Afraid You Wouldn’t Come Back

Keane Lowell’s brow relaxed slightly.

He reviewed the entire case, matched everyone in the video to their names, and confirmed the name of the boy who saved her.

—Chase Chambers.

Within three days.

Keane sent people to beat up and drive out everyone who besieged Claire Prescott that night from Kystral, with the mastermind not escaping either; he even personally went to jail to beat up the person who seriously injured Claire that evening to calm his anger.

The actions of the past few days, due to their ruckus, naturally reached the Lowell Family.

Upon knowing the matter, Shane Lowell called him back to The Lowell Estate that night.

Since Keane was born, the Lowell Family pinned high hopes on him, nurturing him as the successor, and certainly, Keane had never disappointed them.

After taking over the group, even amid numerous doubts, he managed to stay composed and never made any mistakes.

Now nearly thirty years old, he has long passed the age of recklessness, and his actions in the past days are quite concerning.

The hall stood solemn, with the light dispersed from it being enveloped by a chill; grandfather and grandson sat cross-legged playing chess, talking calmly.

It took nearly an hour and a half before the game ended, yet no winner emerged from the match.

Keane came out of the hall with the bright moon hanging high, his brows and eyes deep without waves, appearing even colder than the moonlight.

...

Upon returning to Azure Court.

He paused slightly upon seeing a curled up figure on the couch, somewhat surprised.

The young girl had long hair draped over the sofa armrest, wearing only a slip dress, revealing smooth and tender legs.

The light quietly illuminated her fair and delicate face, her sleeping expression as serene and docile as ever, just, she didn’t even cover herself with a blanket.

Returning here, she hadn’t informed him in advance.

Previously, her willingness to stay here was conditioned on him coming back before ten at night.

Tonight, she was unafraid, alone here, sleeping here waiting for his return.

Keane lightened his steps and lifted her from the sofa.

Claire Prescott woke up, too sleepy to open her eyes, knowing he was back, knowing it was him holding her, she relaxed lying in his arms.

She drowsily greeted, "You’re back."

Keane replied in a low voice, carrying her upstairs.

As soon as she was on the bed, Claire murmured a good night to him and found a comfortable position to continue sleeping.

After washing up, Keane lay down next to her, squeezing over to hold her.

That night, with her presence, he slept very well.

Such that upon waking up the next day, he didn’t notice her absence from beside him.

Going downstairs, she wasn’t seen either.

Keane asked Auntie Susan, "Where is she?"

And just at that moment, a figure appeared at the kitchen door.

"I’m here."

Claire’s clear and delightful voice rang out.

Their gazes then met.

Claire Prescott’s eyes were incredibly clear, flowing with soft, scattered light, looking both spirited and light.

She walked over to him without saying much, holding his hand to sit on the sofa.

The medicine was already prepared on the coffee table; she reached to open the lid, poured medicinal wine on his arms, spreading it bit by bit, and added some pressure, massaging away the bruises.

Last night, she only noted his late arrival home, waking up to find his hand injured.

"Can’t figure out, who again provoked our Young Master Lowell this time, to fight with someone," she voiced yet lowered her head, not looking at him, focusing on his swollen knuckles.

Half a day without his response.

Claire lifted her gaze to him, noticing the slight furrow of his brows, her strength unknowingly lightened.

Her voice earnestly asked, "Does it hurt?"

"No."

...So, if he doesn’t like the question, he won’t answer it, right?

Yet.

Still puzzled, at least from her perspective, he wasn’t impulsive, not someone to easily hit others.

Since he didn’t want to talk, she didn’t force him, tending to wherever he was injured.

"Weren’t you scared being alone here?" Keane asked.

Claire’s movement of rubbing paused a bit.

Not seeing him for three days, she inexplicably missed him dearly, couldn’t hold back and came over.

"Afraid you wouldn’t come back." She replied lightly.

About three minutes later, she withdrew her hand, asking him, "Anywhere else hurt?"

"No."

His voice still deep.

From the last meeting until this reunion with him, it all felt heavy to her.

Suddenly she reached out to him, palm touching his chest over a layer of shirt at the position of his heart, "Is this okay too?"

Upon her words, it seemed like electricity coursing through his heart, burning fiercely.

Keane couldn’t help holding her slender hand, leaning over to kiss her, yet she dodged.

Images of Chase holding her flashed in his mind.

The more she avoided, the stronger his possession over her, directly encircling her slender waist, securing her nape, kissing her lips.

Claire Prescott’s fingers nervously curled up, couldn’t resist trying to push him away.

Yet being held tighter, she was forced to endure his fiery breath, bit by bit, swallowing.

In the end.

She dared herself, leaned in, comfortably sat on his lap and kissed him.

After the kiss ended, even with a flushed face, she had to face him.

His gaze blazed, seemingly speaking through his eyes, but she couldn’t read it, opted to bite his lower lip, then relieved.

"I made soup for you, now it should be ready for serving, I’ll go get you some." She spoke.

Keane asked, "When did you learn to do this?"

"Making soup doesn’t require much skill, just simmer like medicine." She replied.

With Septima doting, she hadn’t cooked since young, the only expertise she had was preparing medicine, making soup followed the same principle, besides, Auntie Susan was there to help keep an eye, ensuring the soup wouldn’t taste bad.

Though she added herbs into the pork bones, perhaps making it slightly bitter.

As Claire Prescott walked towards the kitchen, Auntie Susan timely came out, setting today’s breakfast on the dining table.

Claire directly approached the soup she carefully prepared, stirred with salt after tasting, satisfied, took a bowl cautiously to serve.

"Miss, be careful of the heat." Auntie Susan reminded.

"Alright."

She only served one bowl, the soup appeared very appealing, emitting a fresh fragrance and had lotus seeds, yam along with some herbs floating atop.

She carried the soup out, placed it before Keane, "Try the liver-soothing, mood-relieving soup I made for you."

Her voice was light and melodious.

Yet.

Liver-soothing, mood-relieving... soup.

Seemed no different than implying he was ill.

Keane’s expression slightly stiffened.

Yet the young girl’s face still flushed, charmingly smiled, her clear and bright eyes firmly gazing at him, awaiting his tasting remarks.

He moved the spoon, took a sip of the soup, said, "Very sweet."

"You’ve worked hard, darling."

The endearment spoken in broad daylight immediately gave her goosebumps; she pursed her lips, finally couldn’t resist his enticing gaze, and sat down beside him, quietly took a sandwich to nibble on.

But her peripheral vision would inevitably glance at his swollen knuckle from time to time.

Since noticing his injury, she felt uneasy inside; he was a distinguished Lowell, high and mighty, pampered and comfortable, any injury appearing on him just seemed wrong.

No matter how angry, didn’t he have bodyguards, why did he need to act personally?

"After drinking my soup, you need to be well, can’t let yourself get hurt again."