Chapter 120

Lorna replied indifferently. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

Fanny chuckled, “What do you mean what’s it to me? Have you forgotten who I am? I’m the chairwoman of the Greenmeadow Art Association. You want to sell your paintings, you’ve got to go through me.”

The Greenmeadow Art Association was a community organization, but in Greenmeadow, all the painters and artists would show Fanny some respect.

Lorna got the message in an instant, “Are you behind this?” she asked.

Fanny’s voice turned icy. “So what if I am? Yesterday, you played your little game, made Calvert block my daughter on social media, now don’t blame me for not playing nice with you.”

Lorna’s fingers clenched.

Her paintings had been up for sale for a long time without a buyer. Considering Calvert’s incident happened just yesterday, it was clear Fanny had been targeting her for a while.

What grudge could last eighteen years?

Fanny sneered again, “I didn’t do much, really. But you, thinking you’re some kind of top artist? One painting and you expect to rock the watercolor world? Honey, you haven’t touched a brush in eighteen years. Have you even seen the mess you’ve been painting?”

Truth be told, Lorna felt a bit shaky. She felt her recent works were on par with those from eighteen years ago, perhaps even more mature, but that was just her opinion. She didn’t know what the world thought of her art.

Fanny’s words shattered her regained confidence, and her fork dropped onto the plate with a clatter.

She took a deep breath, asking, “Is there anything else?”

Fanny scoffed, Seriously, in our field, who’s to say who’s a superstar and who’s a dud? It all comes down to who gets the big desk. Cross me, and you’ll get nowhere in Greenmeadow. I’ll enjoy watching you fall!”

Lorna, trembling with anger, didn’t wait for another word and hung up.

Tears welled up, catching the attention of Sanderson, who inquired, “What’s wrong?”

Lorna glanced at him and shook her head, “It’s nothing.”

and an artist’s reputation was often hyped up. The Delaney family

that.

painting again not for Sanderson to pay her way, and besides, even though they had recovered that fifty million, Sanderson had reinvested it into the business, putting a strain on their finances for the past couple of months. She didn’t want to add to his stress.

art world and the business world; other than throwing money to promote someone, there wasn’t much else he

reticence, Sanderson

Her grandfather, battling with mental issues and mobility problems, lived with her grandmother in

eyes lit up as she

teased her, “Miss

Cordelia hesitated, “…Yeah.”

Chapter 120

sighed, “Is it me you missed, or my collection of

“…Both.”

me or the books?”

bit childish. Was her grandmother treating her like she was eight instead of eighteen?

alright, no more jokes. Let’s see what books I’ve

and followed her

moving in, so they had installed a spacious suite on the ground floor, with an

were yet to be shelved on the study

edition of “Elemental Chemistry,” a book that probably only someone like Mathilda

book, her grandfather, Lacy Wilson, also

was different from typical mental patients, very quiet, sometimes mute and introverted, other times appearing quite

looked at Cordelia closely, then smiled and said, “Lorna, dear!”

with resignation, “He’s

but he gestured for silence, “Lorna, come here. I’ve got

to the bookshelf, searching for a while before handing her

it was a scientific

smiled and cherished it like a treasure, “This could be worth a fortune in patent fees. It’ll

been like this. Take it,

book out just as Sanderson arrived from work. He greeted her

looked over, confused, and to her surprise, she saw a familiar figure following Sanderson into

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