Mr. Blakely, haven’t we already apologized? Why do we have to—" Colton began, his tone bordering on desperation. Ferdinand silenced him with a raised hand.

"The matter of the competition has already been dealt with," Ferdinand said, his voice chillingly cold. "Apologizing is just words, but disqualification? That's another matter entirely. In my company, there's no room for moral errors."

His words were as sharp as a well-honed blade, yet delivered with the grace of a seasoned diplomat. Still, a chill ran down Colton's spine. He had never imagined the impeccably dressed man capable of such ruthless precision. Ferdinand wasn't just twisting the knife; he was burying it deep.

“Mr. Blakely, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. You can’t just—" Colton's attempt at reasoning was cut short by Ferdinand's dismissive glance.

Without another word, Ferdinand motioned to the security team. Two burly guards materialized, as if waiting for this moment.

"No one but staff is allowed in this room," one intoned gravelly.

Before Colton or Melany could react, they were unceremoniously escorted out, their pride shattered. The indignity felt like a slap in the face.

Out of sight, Ferdinand's lips curved into a knowing smile. "I didn't expect the Scarlet Snake's reputation for cunning and beauty to be so true. Even her companion is extraordinary."

Rebecca rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Remarkable? Are you talking about how I almost pounced on those two idiots a minute ago?”

He chuckled softly. “Miss Green, I was referring to your intrepid spirit.”

“You have a silver tongue,” she murmured, shaking her head.

Allison hadn't expected Ferdinand to be so approachable after the drama. "Now that we've put the competition behind us, why don't we take a breather?" Ferdinand suggested, gesturing toward the penthouse elevator.

The invitation hung in the air, an unspoken promise. The group—now four, with their entourage of guards—ascended to the penthouse, an island of luxury high above the city.

Once inside, Allison sank into a plush couch, her eyes lingering on Kellan across from her. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for stepping in earlier, Mr. Lloyd,” she said, her voice measured.

“Just doing my part against injustice,” Kellan replied, his usual coolness replaced by warmth. His gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, a flash of unspoken understanding passing between them. “Miss Clarke, you’ve surprised everyone. Who would have thought you were a legend in the world of perfumery?” His words held curiosity and admiration.

Allison, equally intrigued, felt the pull of her own questions. She had found him unexpectedly—the man she’d been searching for. But with so many witnesses, she couldn't delve into the mysteries of the Charisma Company or ask about the clues that led her to her mother, not yet.

Kellan’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I wonder if you’ve given any further thought to the proposal we discussed. My niece, upon hearing I was looking for a talented teacher, seemed quite pleased… though she still won’t speak to me.”

His niece, autistic and lost in her own world, found solace in pottery. Kellan hoped a teacher could help her, even briefly. However, something else hung in the air: his interest in Allison wasn't purely professional. Their last encounter at Athton still gnawed at him, and the effects of the poison she'd used lingered. Even his physician couldn't identify the source, let alone treat it.

Meanwhile, Ferdinand smiled, sensing the undeniable chemistry between them.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “So, Mr. Blakely, do you have food here?”

“Of course,” he replied softly. “Shall we visit the kitchen?”

They exchanged amused glances before slipping away, leaving Allison and Kellan alone. Before leaving, Rebecca gave Allison a playful wink.

Allison stifled a laugh, acknowledging the flirtatious energy between Rebecca and Ferdinand.

“You know,” Allison said, leaning forward, “I’m less interested in your niece’s pottery lessons than in how you came to know such an intricate art as Charisma perfume, Mr. Lloyd.”

Kellan didn't take offense. He smiled genuinely. “My grandmother was my teacher.”

“Is she… still with us?” Allison’s brow furrowed, determination in her voice. Giving up wasn’t an option.

“If you’re waiting to meet her, I’m afraid it’s too late,” Kellan replied calmly. “She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s six months ago. She’s forgotten most things and is in a nursing home.”

Disappointment struck Allison, but she maintained composure. "It's a shame. I've always wanted to meet her; I'm passionate about perfumes. It seems that dream is fading."

Kellan’s eyes darkened. “Most people who want to visit her now are looking to rob her or wipe her out entirely.”

His grandmother, Kinslee Lloyd, was revered, but her illness made her vulnerable, attracting opportunists. Some had even plotted to kidnap her.

"As things stand," he continued, "only close family members can see her."

Kellan sensed Allison’s questions held secrets.

Allison smiled weakly, extending her hand. “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Lloyd. After all, as your niece’s future mentor, I’m almost family. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to chat with your grandmother.”