Chapter 29:

🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙

“Interested in pottery, are we?” Kellan scoffed, glancing up at Melany. The coldness in his dark eyes seemed to seep into the space, making the air feel even colder. Melany’s fists clenched reflexively, and she quickly looked away from his gaze.

“You claim to appreciate pottery but can’t even tell that this piece was crafted by Allison. It seems pointless for you to hang around here. Besides, I’m sure Allison has no desire to see you either!”

There it was again — the sharpness of Kellan’s tongue.

“And let me make one thing clear: I have no patience for people who pretend.”

His words cut through Melany’s composure, the heat rising to her cheeks as her expression shifted between embarrassment and anger. Inside, she was boiling, but she swallowed it down, forcing a bitter smile.

“Oh, Mr. Lloyd, you’ve got such a way with words,” she said, feigning innocence. “I didn’t realize this was one of Allison’s creations. She was always so busy with housework at the villa. Colton’s mother never stopped praising her, saying how different she was from those shallow women parading themselves in public. I guess I just assumed she wasn’t the type to dabble in something like this. Who knew she had such hidden talents?”

Feigning surprise, she shot a glance at Colton. “Colton, darling, if you knew Allison was so skilled, why didn’t you ever mention it to me? You’ve made me look like a fool in front of Mr. Lloyd.”

Colton’s eyes grew even colder. “Well, there’s a lot I didn’t know about her.”

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the pottery — a piece so meticulously crafted, so masterfully formed. It was flawless, as though created by the hands of an expert. How could Allison possibly have such a skill in ceramics? In Colton’s mind, she had always been nothing more than a housekeeper, always managing the home, never expressing interest in anything else, especially something so refined and artistic.

A knot of unease twisted inside him.

For years, he had believed Allison’s world revolved around him, but now it seemed as if she had been living an entirely separate life, one he knew nothing about. And seeing her sitting beside Kellan only deepened his discomfort.

Uncover new tales on gⱯlnσν𝓮ℓs․çom

They sat there, under the soft sunlight, absorbed in their work like two pieces of the same puzzle, seamlessly fitting together.

Colton had always seen Allison as a shallow woman, fresh off their divorce and already parading around with some gigolos. Even worse, she had somehow managed to cozy up to Kellan, CEO of the Lloyd Group.

Colton’s expression darkened as he pulled Melany closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Mr. Lloyd, I’ve heard a lot about you. My grandfather always speaks highly of your leadership and your brilliance in business. But even the best of us can be deceived. No one’s infallible, not even those who seem to have it all together.”

Kellan didn’t even flinch. His attention remained on the clay before him, as though Colton’s words had never reached him. He dipped his brush into water, smoothing the edges of the piece, completely uninterested in the conversation.

“Do you think thinning this section would make it more elegant?” Kellan asked, directing the question toward Allison. “Ignore the barking dogs outside. Emanuel’s eager to see this finished.”

Allison, engrossed in her craft, responded without hesitation. “No, thinning it here would ruin the balance. Hollow carving requires a completely different approach, and this clay isn’t ideal for that technique.”

Colton stood there, momentarily struck silent. The two of them continued their quiet discussion of the pottery, entirely indifferent to Colton and Melany’s presence.

For Colton, it was an unfamiliar and unsettling sight. In the past, Allison’s eyes had always been on him. Even during their worst arguments, her gaze never wavered from him. Now, it was as if he had faded from her world completely.

His grip tightened around Melany’s waist, the tension in his fingers matched by the growing chill in his expression. Melany winced slightly at the grip.

.

.

.