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.]

message, she

[I’m heading home now.]

arrived

than tears. As soon as they entered

overheard the voice on the phone, “Lorna, someone wants to buy your

lit up.

he walked in, but he… he…” There was a sigh, “He said, based on Fanny’s comment, that your painting is all technique, no soul. So, he’s offering fifty bucks.”

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

few hundred, not

bucks. It was an insult.

a struggle evident in her eyes.

phone, “Sorry, my mom’s not selling.”

then agreed, “Alright.”

handed the

blow to Lorna’s confidence was too much to hide, she stumbled into her room, bypassing Mathilda, who emerged to speak. Lorna headed

was puzzled, “What

of the exhibition again.

after eighteen years. But Fanny is clearly trying

the work is tied to the artist’s state of

=

belief in herself, what would come

looked upstairs,

and Sanderson strode into the

the studio upstairs.”

Sanderson headed up, “I’ll check on her.”

least noticeable. among your mom’s suitors. Turns out she chose right. Why am I telling you this? Go upstairs and do your homework, Lia. Don’t

letting the breeze flutter the white curtains and rustle the papers on the

desk.

stared at the brushes and paper that had once been her life, haunted by Fanny’s words, “It seems the artist hasn’t painted

indeed been eighteen years since she’d

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

entirely, which is why she put away her brushes forever.