As soon as Alessia disappeared into the backyard, Hamilton hurled his teacup across the room. It shattered, fragments scattering over the hardwood floor.

    The staff all lowered their heads, eyes fixed on their shoes, barely daring to breathe. The butler pressed his lips into a thin line and gestured for a few of them to take down the painting and leave. No one dared dawdle–they quickly gathered their things and hurried out.

    “That little brat has quite the attitude!” Hamilton mmed his hand against the table so hard that everything on it rattled.

    “Please, sir, try to calm down.” The butler poured a fresh cup of tea and set it in front of Hamilton. After all these years of service, he knew Hamilton wouldn’t vent his anger on him.

    “Didn’t the young master just enter apetition? If he wins a prize, his painting could be shown at Dale Reeves’s gallery. Then, if we get Dale Reeves to write a

    letter of rmendation-”

    The butler’s words trailed off, but Hamilton seemed to regain hisposure.

    “You’re right. Instead of relying on someone ungrateful, it’s better to… Prepare everything. Find out who’s on the selection panel this year. We need to make sure Tammie makes it to the final round. And look into what Dale Reeves likes.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    The butler withdrew, leaving Hamilton alone in the room.

    From Hamilton’s generation onward, the Quincy family hadn’t produced a single true artist. Music, painting, literature–all of it remained superficial, unable to withstand any real scrutiny.

    It wasn’t forck of talent–on the contrary, he’d been so gifted and praised so much that it left him arrogant, unable to settle down and refine his craft. To maintain his reputation, he had to constantly mingle with the right circles, buying other people’s works and passing them off as his own at exhibitions.

    His parents, disillusioned by all this, had chosen to retire to the countryside and never returned–not even in death.

    Maybe it was fate’s revenge: none of his children showed any real promise. Karen had a bit of talent, but her health was so poor that she probably wouldn’t survive

    b09-59 /b

    Chapter b325 /b

    long even with training. He’d sent her off to live with his parents in the country, thinking it was pointless–only for her to grow up healthy, but lose even that small spark of talent along the way.

    Now, finally, there was Tammie–a child he cherished above all else. Whether the Quincy family could reim its former glory rested on Tammie’s shoulders. Hamilton spared no expense, sending him to the best art schools abroad, staging exhibitions, building up his reputation as a child prodigy.

    But instead of improvement, Tammie became paralyzed by all the praise–unable to paint anything at all.

    With Tammie on the verge of bing a second Hamilton, and the Quincy fortune not what it once was, Hamilton had no choice but to bring Tammie home.

    Berlington Elementary–this was his best shot. Really, hisst.

    Determination burned in Hamilton’s eyes.

    He snorted. “You think you can outy me, little girl? You’re far too green.”

    He thudded his teacup onto the table, sshing tea over the rim, unconcerned.

    Then he dialed a number.

    “Hamilton.” The voice on the other end was young.

    “I ept your offer.”

    ***

    Outside, Cole saw Alessia emerge and immediately got out of the car to meet her.

    She slipped into the passenger seat without a word. Cole could tell from her silence that the conversation hadn’t gone well.

    It wasn’t the right time for questions, but Cole didn’t rush to drive off. Instead, he turned, gently cupped her face and kissed her softly, then tousled her hair.

    “What’s wrong? You look like you could sour milk with that frown. Want your boyfriend to storm in there and cause a scene for you?”

    Alessia’s anger, so carefully built up, dissolved at his teasing words.

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