Love or Die CEO’s Daily Dose of Swoon (Cordelia and Sanderson)
Love or Die CEO’s Daily Dose of Swoon Chapter 137

Chapter 137 

Ballaster stepped into the auction house, his tailor–made suit fitting him like a glove. Naylor followed closely behind, both moving with an understated elegance that barely rippled the buzz of the event. The staff led them through a labyrinth of corridors toward the heart of the action. 

They had barely taken a few strides when Mrs. Collins approached, her smile warm and welcoming. “Mr. Aster, what an unexpected pleasure to have you grace our charity auction. We are truly honored.” 

Ballaster offered a modest grin. “Just here to have a look around.” 

Mrs. Collins nodded and escorted them to the lounge. “I heard you’re looking for a painting? I must say, tonight we don’t have any masterpieces getting auctioned.” 

Once settled into the plush sofas of the lounge, Ballaster leaned forward. “I’m actually interested in a piece by an artist who isn’t widely known. The name is Lorn. Any chance you have one of this person’s works here?” 

“Lorn?” Mrs. Collins paused, her brow furrowing as she shook her head. “There’s only one painting up for auction tonight. It’s by a Mrs. Delaney, titled “Lone Bluff. We don’t have anything by the artist you mentioned.” 

“Mrs. Delaney?” Naylor interjected, his voice a mix of surprise and recognition. “As in Cordelia’s mother?” 

Mrs. Collins seemed puzzled by their familiarity with Cordelia, but she confirmed, “Yes, that’s her.” 

Naylor coughed, a series of harsh, abrupt sounds. He turned to Ballaster, saying, “I’ve seen Mrs. Delaney’s piece ‘Frostfall‘ at an exhibition. It was quite remarkable. But if Fanny’s critique was anything to go by, calling it inexperienced and stiff… Could it be that Cordelia has dragged you here under false pretenses?” 

It certainly seemed like a possibility, especially since Cordelia had invoked the name ‘Lorn‘ to pique Ballaster’s 

interest. 

Ballaster felt a twinge of annoyance, but considering Cordelia’s connection to someone important in the community, he swallowed his irritation and spoke up, “Well, I did promise to take a look. It wouldn’t be right to break that commitment.” 

He sighed inwardly. Renowned for his impartiality in the art world, Ballaster seldom critiqued work these days. Financially independent, he was beyond pandering for profit. 

He vowed to himself that his judgment would be fair and unbiased, even if it was for Cordelia’s sake. He wasn’t one to compromise his integrity. 

As their conversation unfolded, Mrs. Collins was inwardly taken aback. What sort of influence did Cordelia wield to get B. Aster here for her mother’s painting? 

She had a feeling tonight’s auction was going to be far from ordinary. 

Lorna, oblivious to Ballaster’s presence, had already delivered her painting and returned to the main hall with Cordelia. The attendees were a mix of invitees and serious collectors drawn by the auction items. The crowd was more substantial than the one at Hackett’s birthday soiree, a gathering that had only included Greenmeadow’s elite. 

Lorna and Cordelia stepped out to a sea of whispers and pointed fingers: 

“That’s Mrs. Delaney?” 

“She seems decent enough, not like the rumors at all.” 

Their murmurs were a confusing babble to Lorna until a familiar voice broke through, “Mrs. Delaney.” Cordelia turned to see Mrs. Brown, who had once accompanied her to a gallery. The woman’s expression was stern, her voice barely above a whisper, “Mrs. Delaney, I need to clear something up. I did not spread the word about Fanny’s critique of your painting. I may be outspoken, but I truly admire your work. Your expertise in watercolor is something I could never match. Please don’t think ill of me.” 

12.07 

Chapter 137 

Lorna was taken aback by Mrs. Brown’s forthrightness but nodded her understanding. 

Mrs. Brown seemed relieved. “I’ve always been straightforward, which often leads to misunderstandings. I’m glad you know I meant no harm.” 

As others continued to gossip, Mrs. Brown sighed and took her leave, unwilling to draw the ire of the crowd. Cordelia, used to solitude, was unfazed by the lack of greetings. Lorna, meanwhile, suggested they grab a bite, “We’ll have a proper meal once we get home. Let’s just get something small.” 

Having come straight from school and changed in the car, Cordelia was indeed hungry. She picked up a slice of tiramisu and began to eat. 

Suddenly, her gaze was caught by the entrance of Sanderson, who was accompanied by a young, strikingly handsome man in a well–fitted black suit. It was Everard, exuding a regal presence even as Sanderson’s companion. 

Everard’s eyes swept the room and locked onto Cordelia. His stern features softened into a smile at the sight of her, and she froze mid–bite, surprised to see him there. 

They were separated by a crowd, and Sanderson was busy mingling, preventing Everard from approaching. He quirked an eyebrow, then playfully pressed two fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss across the room. Cordelia blushed, flustered by his brazen display. Intent on avoiding further attention, she focused on her dessert. But before she could take another bite, a piece of black forest cake appeared before her, offered by a man in a crisp white suit who had quietly approached. 

He still looked impeccable, his white suit accentuating his gentle demeanor. Sporting a new pair of glasses, his features appeared even more refined. 

Cordelia’s eyes lit up. “Louie? What are you doing here?” 

Louie nodded, reaching out to tenderly stroke her head. And he replied, “Got an invitation, so I thought I’d drop by. Never expected to bump into you.” 

After saying this, he brought a plate with a slice of Black Forest cake close to her lips. “This cake is delicious, want to try a bite?” 

With the cake already so close, it would be awkward for Cordelia to take it from him. She leaned forward, intending to take a bite directly from Louie’s hand, when suddenly- 

The cake got whisked away by another slender hand. Cordelia followed the hand up the arm and then to its 

owner. 

Everard stood there, his deep eyes fixed intently on Louie. 

The two men, one clad in black, the other in white, one exuding a frosty aura, the other warmth, were now facing off. Although neither had spoken a word, just a single glance exchanged between them sent sparks flying, as if lightning crackled in the space between. 

After a tense moment, Everard wrapped his arm authoritatively around her shoulders, his voice low and resonant. “Sweetheart, if you want cake, let me feed you.” 

Chapter 138 

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