Love or Die CEO’s Daily Dose of Swoon

Chapter 132

Fanny’s face darkened. She had never imagined that a mere painting would prompt Naylor to invoke the name of B Aster, but she quickly regained her composure, saying, “Well then, if Mr. Aster is available But isn’t he in a meeting right now?”

The current exhibit was meant to celebrate the culture of the Superiority Country, so the Art Association was taking it very seriously, with endless meetings to discuss the details.

Navlor coughed and glanced at his watch, “About another half–hour, I reckon.”

Fanny hummed in response, then added with a pointed tone. “I’m curious, does Mr. Finegan know the artist of this painting?”

Her question made the underlying message clear to everyone present.

Someone spoke up. “Why would a nobody’s work be critiqued by a giant of Watercolor Painting? What’s the story behind this artist?”

Lorna’s face turned even paler. She looked to Cordelia, “Lia, I want to go home.”

Cordelia supported her, her eyes clouded with confusion and helplessness.

It seemed Lorna was hurt, but Cordelia, ever the awkward comforter, could only nod, her voice unexpectedly gentle, “Okay”

She helped Lorna to the exit.

Mrs. Brown tried to console her, “Mrs. Delaney, your painting is quite impressive; don’t take it to heart.”

Lorna mustered a weak smile and staggered out.

The car ride home was steeped in silence. Cordelia didn’t know how to break the quiet. She fiddled with her phone and sent a message. [Hey, are you free?]

Mr. All–Round replied, [What’s up?]

LearnLover said, [My mother’s painting was criticized today, and she’s feeling down. How do I comfort her?]

Mr. All–Round replied,I suggest you say nothing.)

Cordelia paused, then after a moment, a longer message arrived.

Mr. All–Round said,[Your mother always aims to maintain the image of a good mother in front of you. She wouldn’t want to show her vulnerability and frustration. Any comfort you offer might only add to her sense of shame.]

was convinced, [Okay] After sending the message, she recounted the incident

[I’m heading home now.]

arrived

as they entered the living

voice on the phone,

lit up.

as he walked in, but he… he…” There was a sigh, “He said, based

mass–produced artists‘ works commanded more, particularly for a bold landscape

at least a few hundred, not to mention the cost of framing.

was an

tightened, a struggle evident

“Sorry,

paused, then agreed, “Alright.”

hanging up, Cordelia handed the

hide, she stumbled into her room, bypassing Mathilda, who emerged to speak.

puzzled, “What

of the exhibition

eighteen years. But Fanny is clearly trying to break

is tied to the artist’s

=

herself,

looked upstairs,

up outside, and Sanderson

studio upstairs.”

headed up, “I’ll

and Cordelia exchanged glances, and she sighed, “Back in the day, your dad was the least noticeable. among your mom’s suitors. Turns out she chose right. Why am I telling you this? Go upstairs and do

open, letting the breeze flutter the white curtains and rustle

desk.

frame wrapped in a lilac dress, which only highlighted her growing frailty. She stared at the brushes and paper that had once been her life, haunted by Fanny’s words, “It seems the artist hasn’t painted in years… the brushstrokes are hesitant

had indeed been eighteen years since she’d last

and became engrossed. By the time she snapped back to reality, the nanny had vanished, and the sleeping baby in the crib

one knew how guilty she felt, she blamed herself entirely, which is why