“Little girl, you’d do well to watch that sharp tongue of yours.”

    “I’m letting you name your price–that’s already showing you some respect. If I called Karen in here right now, she’de running.” Knowing Alessia wouldn’t be easy to pressure, Hamilton brought up Karen as leverage.

    Alessia’s eyes turned cold, her smile curving downward.

    “And if I refuse to sign?”

    “A dying lion still bites harder than a healthy dog. If I let the press know about this, what do you think the headlines will say?”

    “Quite the schemer, aren’t you?” Alessia let out a bitterugh and gave a mocking round of apuse.

    “Young people should learn to take the easy way out. Don’t push your luck.”

    Alessia set her ss down. “Shame for you–I’m allergic to alcohol. There’s no drink I’d ept.”

    “As for public opinion? Go ahead, stir the pot if you want. The PR team at A&C Entertainment is worth every penny, and let’s not pretend the Quincy family hasn’t pulled more than a few strings to build up that ‘artist‘ of yours. Need me to list every backdoor deal and let the public decide?”

    Hamilton’s face darkened, clearly caught off guard by how much Alessia knew.

    He pped his hands, and soon the butler appeared, carrying several rolled canvases. The servants unfurled them, holding up the paintings for disy.

    Alessia nced at them, a sneer tugging at her lips.

    “Tammie started art school in Paris when she was five, studied for five years. Even Ivan, who barely spoke a word as a child, got in–so why wouldn’t Tammie? Her work’s been guided by the best tutors money can buy, some of the most renowned art teachers in Europe. She’s certainly a cut above your little brother, who never even took a proper art ss.”

    “So what?” Alessia kept smiling, though her voice grew icy. Hamilton was still gazing at the paintings, lost in admiration, oblivious to the shift in her mood.

    “Even if the Morton family had a miracleeback, they’d never outshine the Quincys. We’re ready to wee you back into the family, make you Tammie’s sister–fame, fortune, the works. Doesn’t sound like a bad deal, does it?”

    b09:59 /b

    Hamilton finally turned to her, face serene, but his calctions were written all over it, as if Alessia should be grateful for all his ‘generosity.’

    “Fame and fortune?” Alessia’s eyes lowered, her smile growing sharper.

    A momentter, she stood up.

    “Let’s not even talk about Ivan–he’s doing just fine. But even his absent–minded sketches have more life than these so–called masterpieces your experts churned

    out.”

    Hamilton’s repeated jabs at Ivan had finally crossed the line. If Cole were here, he’d know Alessia had reached her breaking point.

    “Second, I’m Ivan’s sister–by blood. I have no interest in being used as some convenient connection. I don’t need the baggage.”

    She held up three fingers, and Hamilton’s face turned a shade paler.

    “Third, don’t bother selling me fantasies about the future. I’ve always been lucky with my bets, and I never miss. But this-”

    Alessia paused, pointing at the paintings, flicking her finger dismissively.

    Her contempt was crystal clear; she didn’t need to say more.

    “As for the tea, I think I’ll pass. And those paintings? If you really think they’re so brilliant, why not take them to Principal Linden’s office at Berlington Elementary and see what she thinks? Art isn’t just a few random strokes. It can be abstract, but it can’t ibe /isoulless. It’s no wonder thé Quincy family’s fallen as far as it has.”

    “And onest thing–the Morton family is under my protection now. So you go ahead, let’s see if iyour /i‘dying lion‘ can really run the show, or if you’ll just get swept away like yesterday’s news.”