Love or Die: CEO’ s Daily Dose of Swoon (Cordelia) novel Chapter 123

Chapter 123 

The contract was handwritten, in strokes defiant and sharp–clear signs that the girl who penned it wasn’t in the best of moods. 

Everard’s initial thought was that the kid had pretty good handwriting, not too delicate, but with a certain firmness to it. Then he focused on the content. 

1. Hold hands once a day. If I don’t initiate, you keep your hands to yourself. 
2. One kiss per week, on my terms. Other than that, don’t even think about it or dream about it. 
3. No inviting yourself over to my place for dinner. 
4. Don’t call me unless it’s absolutely necessary! 
5. TBD. Will add more rules as I think of them. 

Everard raised an eyebrow. Holding hands was already a daily routine; the kissing frequency seemed a bit low–surely exceptions could be made. As for dinner, a nod from her dad would sort that out, and for phone calls, “necessary” could be quite subjective. 

As he mentally critiqued each rule, he looked up to see the girl staring at him seriously, her dewy eyes filled with solemnity, like a cat on the verge of a hissy fit, ready to pounce at any hint of bargaining. 

He chuckled softly and answered, “Fine by me.” 

Her tension eased at his agreement, and she picked up the breakfast she’d prepared and set it on the counter. 

Everard, feeling proactive, took it and arranged the spread on the dining table. 

Cordelia ate with grave seriousness and held his hand with even greater solemnity, making him too wary to tease her. A few minutes later, she released his hand and asked with a deadpan expression, “Is your shirt made of synthetic fabric?” 

Everard was bemused. “I guess so, why?” 

Who pays that much attention to their clothing material? 

Her relief was palpable. Synthetic fabric could cause static when rubbing against skin, which explained the tingling sensation during their hand–holding. She advised seriously, “You might find cotton more… comfortable.” 

“Right,” Everard replied, finding the conversation odd but knowing that the girl often had her own unique logic, which she seldom shared. 

m off to school.” 

Without further explanation, she grabbed her backpack and headed out, saying. I’m 

As she ambled toward the school gates, she noticed Yates with his fiery red hair bent over his phone, and Flame No.1 engrossed in what seemed to be a language arts textbook. Something felt off. 

Cordelia followed them curiously. 

Yates, noticing her, put away his phone. “I hired a martial arts instructor yesterday,” he announced with a lift of his chin. 

Cordelia was puzzled. 

Yates cleared his throat. “Give me some time to train, and then I’ll be ready to challenge you again.” 

Cordelia offered a noncommittal “I guess good luck?” 

Yates felt her encouragement lacked sincerity and suddenly kicked Flame No. 1, who was still pretending to study: “Watch where you’re going!” 

Flame No. 1, indignant, opened the textbook to reveal a comic book hidden inside. “Lia, do you read this?” 

Cordelia was stunned. “I thought it was an actual textbook.” 

Flame No.1 laughed. “See, I can read during class, and the teacher thinks I’m studying.” 

Cordelia felt enlightened. 

Later, at school, Merry was sobbing over a math book, mistaking it for a tragic novel, while Little Parrot dabbed at her tears. Cordelia returned to her thoughts of Everard, wondering if he too used books as a facade, and what secrets his reading might hide. 

After school, Cordelia returned home to the Delaney residence. A white Mercedes in the driveway signaled Louie’s visit. 

Inside, Mathilda and Lorna chatted on the couch while her grandfather’s therapy session took place behind closed doors. Cordelia joined them, discussing the artwork she had chosen, and the painting Lorna had failed to sell–a matter of little consequence to Mathilda, who valued the nobility of art over commerce. 

When Louie emerged, indicating Lacy was finally sleeping, he prescribed some sleep medication and promised more frequent visits. 

As they stood in the yard under a dimming sky, Cordelia looked up at Louie, still the picture of elegance in his white attire, unchanged from two years ago.