Chapter 92:

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Allison had given a lot of thought to her decision to live near Muisvedo. If she truly wanted to reignite the hacker network, that was the place to be. However, with all the danger and shadows clinging to that world, the last thing she wanted was to drag Rebecca into it. The smartest move was to rent somewhere nearby, preferably from someone she trusted, ensuring no word of her presence would slip out.

Kellan’s brow arched. “Muisvedo? Sure, it’s lively, but it’s also a madhouse. Not exactly a safe haven.”

Muisvedo was Ontdale’s liveliest district, filled with laughter and music by day, but transforming into a playground for all types by night. The sheer mix of people, especially those with ties to the underworld, turned it into a breeding ground for danger and unpredictability.

“But,” Kellan added with a smirk, “I do have an apartment there. Security’s top-notch, so your safety is covered. If you’re interested…”

“And the rent?” Allison quipped, grinning playfully. “Gotta see if I can afford it.”

Kellan shrugged casually, almost theatrically. “Three hundred per month. Going rate.”

Allison didn’t know the apartment’s specifics, but she was well aware that any property Kellan owned would be worth far more. The favor was glaringly obvious, but she took it in stride, smiling as she replied, “Thank you, Mr. Lloyd. Looks like I’m lucky enough to afford it.”

Kellan smiled back, but his expression carried layers.

“You’re worth it, Miss Clarke.”

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Beneath her calm demeanor, Allison was like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, her capable nature hidden behind an innocent façade. Both she and Kellan were fully aware of the unspoken game between them, each carefully masking their true motives. Meanwhile, Lorna remained lost in her little bubble, oblivious to the shifting dynamics around her. The elderly butler stood wide-eyed, caught between awe and disbelief.

Kellan had just made a staggering offer—30% of Charisma Company, a venture he had poured blood, sweat, and years into—but Allison had politely declined it. Yet now, Kellan had upped the ante, offering her a fortified apartment in one of the most perilous neighborhoods for an absolute steal.

But the butler quickly grasped what was stirring in Kellan’s heart.

“Ms. Clarke, you might not realize it, but Mr. Lloyd is quite the catch. He’s been a gentleman since the cradle, and he could cook before he could even spell. Whoever marries him will never know hardship,” the butler chimed in with a knowing smile.

“Mind your own plate,” Kellan cut in, clearing his throat with mild irritation. “There’s no need to go around saying things like that.”

Allison, amused, decided to tease him. “So, Mr. Lloyd, your kitchen skills aren’t just a rare talent? You’ve been working on them since you were barely out of diapers?”

She couldn’t help but imagine a pint-sized Kellan, barely able to see over the kitchen counter, standing on tiptoe to cook. What kind of look would he have had on his face back then? Could he have been as aloof and distant in childhood as he seemed now?

Kellan shook his head. “It’s really not a big deal.”

But just as the words left his lips, a sudden jolt of familiar agony stabbed through his head like lightning splitting the sky. His hands balled into tight fists, his knuckles white from the pressure, and the veins on his forehead stood out as if trying to escape his skin.

“You all… carry on without me… I just need…” Before he could finish, the pain hit harder, his fists clenching as though he could physically crush the migraine. Sweat began to bead on his brow, and his breathing turned sharp and ragged, as if his body was battling some unseen force.

The butler, in his shock, dropped his fork with a clatter. “Mr. Lloyd!” he gasped.

“What’s happening?” Allison shot to her feet, her earlier playfulness giving way to genuine concern. Kellan had seemed perfectly fine just moments ago, so this sudden change left her rattled.

“Mr. Lloyd suffers from severe neurogenic migraines,” the butler explained, his voice trembling as panic set in. “He’s had them for years, and nothing seems to help.”

The condition had long defied any medication, and even the private doctors could only administer temporary relief through sedatives. Seeing Kellan in the throes of pain tore at the butler’s heartstrings, and he stood frozen, eyes wide with terror.

Lorna, though silent, sensed something was terribly wrong. Her eyes grew large with worry, and she stared at Kellan, her hands hovering in helpless uncertainty. Though she couldn’t find the words, her tears made her concern for him unmistakable.

Allison, seeing the distress in Lorna, gently stroked her back to soothe her. Then, with a firm but calm voice, she turned to the butler, Jim Pierce. “Please take Lorna upstairs and call for the doctor. I’ll stay with him.”

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