Chapter 1551 - 1538: Stay and Be My Little Wife

When Atan woke up, she looked at the unfamiliar surroundings, felt momentarily dazed, then caught her breath, struggled to get up, and was overjoyed.

What she saw was four concrete walls, a concrete floor, no windows; it looked like a basement. The space was large, and inside the room was very simple, with only a bed, a wooden table missing a corner, and a chair. In the corner lay a black suitcase.

This place was even worse than the farmer’s house she stayed at before, but Atan cried out with joy. She cried for a while, wiped her tears, and struggled to get out of bed.

This body is really too weak. She supported herself down from the simple iron bed, looked at the pair of men’s slippers in front of the bed, and paused for a moment before becoming nervous again.

The water and electricity worker saved her. She knew nothing about him, not even clearly seeing his face. All she remembered was that he was very strong, and there was a fierce scar on his face.

As soon as Atan got down, the door was opened, and the man’s tall figure entered, making the whole basement suddenly feel a bit cramped.

Atan trembled all over, nervously looking at this strange man.

He went straight to place the black tool bag in the corner, the metal tools clanging dully against the concrete floor, then put the take-out food he brought back on the table, and without a word, he went into the bathroom.

If she hadn’t heard him speak, Atan would have thought he was mute.

She opened her mouth, ready to thank him for saving her life, only to see the man take off his undershirt, turn on the tap to wash his hands.

The bathroom door wasn’t closed either. She stared blankly at his broad back, the bulging muscles on his arms, the smooth lines of his back, and the shallow and deep scars, suddenly blushing: Why was he taking off his clothes?

Marcus Quinn washed his face, wiped his hands, turned around and saw the thin, wind-blown girl standing at the door, shaking with nervousness, his tall figure suddenly shuddering; he just remembered there was a woman in the room.

Afraid she might be scared, he lowered his eyes, his gaze slipping past her snow-white, petite toes, and found a clean vest from the suitcase in the corner to put on.

"Eat." The man’s voice was stiff, pointing to the takeout on the table.

Atan’s small body shivered, quickly paced over, sat down to eat, then remembered there was only one chair in the room.

She stood up uneasily, even if her body was so weak she could faint at any moment, she still remembered he saved her, he could send her back at any time, her life was in this man’s hands, this man could probably crush her with one hand.

Marcus Quinn silently opened the takeout boxes, took a box of rice, added some dishes, and squatted on the side to eat.

The man’s eating was fast, taking big bites, without looking at her, even squatting there; his shadow was like a mountain, exerting pressure.

Only then did Atan timidly sit down, looking at the takeout; the man ordered home-cooked dishes, hot and sour shredded potatoes, braised carp, and a bowl of chicken soup. He didn’t touch the carp, took half a bowl of shredded potatoes, squatting on the side eating.

Atan hadn’t had a proper meal for a week, perhaps afraid she’d have the strength to run once she recovered, the farmer’s wife only gave leftovers, sometimes just sending her away with buns. Every day she saved half a bun, ready to eat on the road when she ran; as it turned out, the man rescued her, she barely brought anything.

Looking at the fragrant food, her eyes reddened, but her stomach was too weak, the carp tasted delicious, but one bite almost made her vomit. Eventually, she could only drink a little chicken soup, eat a few bites of rice, then uneasily stand up, indicating she was done eating.

The man had already finished a bowl of rice, seeing almost untouched dishes on the table, the little girl with her slender, snow-white neck hanging, looked faintly dizzy standing by the side, his brow furrowed once more, as he swept the remaining food into his stomach like the wind.

Atan saw him even finish the chicken soup, not a drop left, stunned for a moment: Is he a big eater?

After eating, the man cleaned the table, took the takeout boxes out to toss, returned with a bag of toiletries, bought a new towel, toothbrush, women’s slippers, and some medicine and fruit.

The man handed all the items to her, then took out a wad of cash from the suitcase, roughly took half and handed it to Atan, his voice a bit hushed, "It’s too late today, go out tomorrow and buy some stuff for yourself."

Atan didn’t dare take it, biting her colorless lip, her voice trembling slightly, "I can’t take it, I want to make a phone call."

She wanted to call home, she wanted to see her father.

Marcus Quinn frowned and said, "I don’t have a phone."

No phone? Atan’s eyelashes lightly trembled, staring down at the man’s faded pants, pockets flat as well; no wonder the room had no decent furniture, living in a basement that never sees sunlight, he’s really poor.

The man thought for a while, stuffed the remaining half of the money into her hands, said, "I’ll give it all to you."

Atan looked at the money in her hands, quickly estimating roughly over 2,000; she wondered why he’s so poor, giving her all his money? Atan remembered what she previously said to him; if he saved her, she’d do anything, suddenly her tension tightened again.

Marcus Quinn gave her money, took a sheet from the suitcase, spread it on the floor, then went to shower and directly slept on the floor, saying nothing more.

Atan stared blankly at the man who fell asleep, just like that?

She cautiously went to the bathroom to shower, wearing her previous clothes, then wrapped in a quilt, curled up on the bed. The bed is the simplest iron frame type, making noise with any movement, she dared not move, nor sleep, just kept her eyes open, watching the man sleeping on the floor in the dark, his sleeping posture good, hardly moving, not snoring, grinding teeth, or speaking in dreams.

It was just that she was too exhausted, her body too weak, unknowingly falling asleep.

Once she slept, her breathing was steady, lying there, the man finally opened his deep eyes, flipped like a carp, skillfully rising without making a sound.

The man didn’t turn on the light either, walked to the bed, watching her sleep curled in the corner, as if sitting.

His eyesight was good, even in the dark he could see things, seeing her petite face sleeping in the quilt, reached out and touched her forehead. The girl’s forehead was smooth, her skin delicate, softer than the most tender tofu he’d ever eaten.

Seeing she didn’t have a fever, the man withdrew his hand, contemplating what to do with her?

Anyone could tell she’d been imprisoned in that remote Suburban Outskirts house, neither kidnappers nor for money, surely for her life. Going back is certain death.

Glancing at her delicate, flower-like face, ivory skin, his cold visage contemplating, he gave her all his money; if she ran away without a word, he’d pretend nothing happened; if she stayed...

The man’s gaze darkened, then she could be his wife.