The Bigshot Married Himself to the Heiress-Chapter 523 - 524: The Hero’s Failed Attempt at Saving the Beauty
On the riverbank, Aaron Faber, holding a towel wrapped in ice, arrived at the spot where Samara had just been, only to find her gone. He looked around—at the slowly flowing moat, the willows planted on both banks—but Samara was nowhere to be seen.
Where did she go? Did she go home by herself? Aaron Faber scratched his head, frowning. So disobedient. Didn’t I tell her to wait for me?
Worried, Aaron Faber took out his phone to call Samara. He had always kept her number; she was the first contact in his list.
My angel! That was Aaron Faber’s private name for Samara. In his heart, she was an angel, albeit one not yet his.
But that’s okay, he mused. The angel will be mine eventually. I just need to wait patiently for her to grow up and become an even more beautiful woman.
Aaron was nervous about calling Samara for the first time. What if she asks how I got her number? he wondered. What should I say?
I’ll just say she left without a word, and I was worried, so I asked Adrian Desmond for her number, he plotted.
Aaron Faber felt quite pleased with this brilliant excuse. But as the sound of mellifluous piano music—a ringtone—drifted from the bushes, his heart suddenly clenched.
He ended his call, redialed, and the renewed ringing from the bushes confirmed it: the abandoned phone was Samara’s.
He hung up and picked up the cellphone. A pretty keychain with a cartoon doll he didn’t recognize adorned it.
How careless, leaving her phone behind.
The phone was very feminine, clearly the type a young girl would like—pink, its case adorned with rainbow and cloud-shaped rhinestones. He sighed. Samara, when will you ever grow up?
Time has never passed so slowly, he thought.
In three more months, Samara Johnson would turn fifteen. She would be eighteen, an adult, in another three years and three months.
In fact, in Abyanabad, girls could marry and have children at sixteen. But the laws here were absurd; women had to be at least twenty to marry. Aaron Faber couldn’t wait that long for Samara.
At eighteen, I’ll marry her and make her my woman! he vowed to himself.
He imagined the conversation: Samara, your big brother found your phone. You have to thank me properly. Treating your big brother to a meal is the least you can do.
He tossed the phone playfully in the air, happy to have found an excuse to ask Samara out for a meal.
If she agrees, it’ll be our first date! he thought, a thrill going through him. On a first date, you’re supposed to give the girl a gift, right? What should I get her?
He walked a few more steps, and his foot hit something. Looking down, he saw a pair of girl’s shoes. Aaron Faber’s expression changed instantly.
He squatted and picked up the pink, low-cut, flat-soled leather shoes from the ground. He recognized them; Samara had been wearing them today.
Losing her phone might be understandable, but who would just leave her shoes behind?
"Samara!" he shouted.
He spun around, but there was no sign of Samara.
Aaron Faber clutched a shoe tightly, his eyes scanning the surroundings. This area was somewhat secluded, with few pedestrians. His usually sharp mind felt like it was short-circuiting.
She’s so beautiful... A sense of panic, one Aaron Faber had never felt before, rose in his heart.
He broke into a run, searching the vicinity.
He’d only been gone for seven or eight minutes; they couldn’t have gone far. They had to be nearby.
"Samara! Where are you?"
"Uncle Aaron!" It was Samara’s voice.
Overjoyed, Aaron cried, "Samara, where are you?" But no one answered.
"Samara!"
Aaron Faber followed the direction the voice had come from. It led toward a Forest. The Forest, though not large, was dense with branches and leaves. As he walked deeper inside, the light grew dim.
"Samara..."
Aaron Faber spotted the girl he was looking for. Before he could get a better look, a heavy blow struck him from behind. Someone tripped him, and he fell to the ground. Then, more blows rained down on him from sticks.
Aaron Faber was highly intelligent, but he possessed no Martial Arts skills. Under such a brutal assault, he was utterly defenseless. Aaron had always looked down on Adrian Desmond’s brutish underlings, but at this moment, he realized how truly useless he was.
"Well, well, Uncle. Fancy yourself a hero, here to save the beauty?" one of the attackers sneered.
"Hero? More like a coward!" another jeered.
"...Hey, coward! Crawl between my legs, and I’ll let you both go," a third one taunted.
They were a group of young thugs. All of them had tattoos on their exposed arms and sported outlandish, dyed hair—some yellow, some red. With cigarettes dangling from their lips, they were clearly uneducated street punks.
"Let her go!" Aaron choked out.
A thug stepped on Aaron Faber’s face and said arrogantly, "Uncle, you’re so old, still trying to rob the cradle? An old bull like you—think you can still manage?"
"..."
"Seventh Brother, he definitely can’t manage! HAHAHA..." another one cackled.
"Hey, old geezer!" the one called Seventh Brother barked. "This woman is my girlfriend now. Stay away from my girlfriend, or... I’ll beat you every time I see you!"
"Let her go! Otherwise..."
"Or what?" Seventh Brother struck Aaron across the face with a stick. "Don’t spoil my fun! Get lost, you hear? Or I’ll make you ****!"
"If you have guts, come at me! She’s just a child!"
Being bullied like this by a group of young punks was an utter humiliation for Aaron Faber, especially in front of the girl he liked.
"A toad lusting after swan meat! As if swan meat is for an old geezer like you to eat! Get him! Beat him hard! I refuse to believe we can’t kill him!" Seventh Brother roared.
"Seventh Brother, just teach him a lesson. What if we actually kill him?" one of his lackeys asked nervously.
"We’re all minors! Killing him isn’t illegal for us!" Seventh Brother spat.
"..."
"So what if he really dies? We’ll just pay some compensation. It’s just a worthless life, anyway! Not worth much money!"
"Uncle Aaron, run! Don’t worry about me..." Samara cried.
"..."
"Stop beating him! You’ll kill him..." Samara pleaded tearfully.
Aaron Faber was powerless. He looked at Samara. Her clothes were torn, her hair was a mess, and her face was smudged with dirt... She had clearly been assaulted. Aaron felt like he was going insane.
This girl, he seethed internally, I’ve patiently watched over her, never even daring to touch her. But these bastards... With a surge of adrenaline, Aaron Faber scrambled to his feet, snatched a stick from one of the thugs, and began swinging it wildly, striking out with desperate, reckless abandon.
"Alright, so you want to die, huh? I’ll grant your wish!" The thug with yellow hair pulled out a dagger, brandished it, and lunged, stabbing toward Aaron Faber.
Samara screamed, "No!"
