Love or Die CEO’s Daily Dose of Swoon (Cordelia and Sanderson) novel Chapter 146

Chapter 146 

The painting is too massive, and even if we started copying it now, we’d be cutting it too close!” 

“We can’t even patch it up. Teagan did a number on it.” 

“What are we going to do? Loads of international guests came just for this painting, and Miss Fanny is Just wicked for using it to cause trouble!” 

There was silence.. 

Ballaster sighed deeply, “I knew she was up to no good, and I deliberately didn’t interfere. But when I realized she was using the painting to do harm, it was already too late to stop her. Now we’ve made a huge blunder. I’ve urgently contacted a few people, but they can’t guarantee they’ll get the rest of the replicas here before the gallery opens tomorrow.” 

Lorna furrowed her brow as well. 

When Ballaster said Fanny was out to get her, asking for her cooperation, she never imagined Fanny would go this far, using the painting for her schemes. 

What do they do now? 

Fanny struggled to her feet, looking almost mad, and burst out laughing, “Haha, Lorna, I lost. I totally lost! But what does it matter if I’ve lost? You’re all going down with me!” 

As she ranted, she began to cry. “Why? Why are you always number one? Even though I’m the one who’s been working the hardest. You, with your love–struck brain, you only care about romance. What do you know about 

art?” 

She swiveled to face Ballaster, continuing her tirade, “And Ballaster, why do you favor her? Fine, I screwed up. I’ll resign, compensate for the damages, even quit painting! But what about you? With such a mess at the exhibition, aren’t you responsible? Hahaha… Lorna, in the end, it’s you who have ruined Ballaster! You’re all going down with me in disgrace!” 

Ballaster’s expression darkened, “You’re still refusing to admit fault even when facing the end. Get her out of 

here!* 

Security rushed in and, in front of everyone, grabbed Fanny by the arms and dragged her out of the gallery. She was thrown out, her reputation in ruins, justly deserved. 

In the room, Teagan, witnessing the scene, buckled to his knees and cried out, “It was all Fanny’s doing, she forced me! My art wasn’t making it big, I painted every day, but couldn’t earn a dime. My family mocked me, pressured me to give up. She forced me, she sold my paintings, and I had to give her ninety percent of the profits…. I had no choice. We’re poor, I needed the money… 

lip but tear up as well. 

As he cried, covering his face, many of the other artists couldn’t help but tear 

There are so many artists, but how many of them are truly known? What do the rest live on? The process of chasing dreams is painful, they are human too, they have families. How many wives scorn their husbands for not having a steady income, leading to broken homes? How many husbands grow tired of their wives‘ persistence and part ways? 

The pain of it all was known to no one. Yet it was because of these dream chasers that so many masterpieces 

remain. 

You couldn’t argue that he was in the wrong, but his methods lacked the integrity you would expect from an esteemed artist. 

The atmosphere in the room grew heavy, and someone sighed, “So, what’s the point of our persistence?” 

Lorna spoke up, “It’s about dreams and legacy.” 

Everyone paused. 

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Lorna’s voice was gentle, her speech slow and deliberate, “Watercolor art is becoming less and less noticed. If we don’t stick with it, will it one day vanish from history?” 

Everyone stood a little straighter, a sense of mission kindling within them. 

Lorna continued, “We can’t let life grind down our spirit, but we also can’t abandon life for our dreams, right? 1. think our Art Association should take on some projects, provide some work and income. Ballaster, that video game project surely needs a lot of artwork, maybe everyone could get involved?” 

Ballaster nodded, “I think that’s a good idea.” 

The Art Association members perked up, their spirits lifted, but then a worry crossed their minds, “But what about the painting?” 

Just then, Cordelia spoke up smoothly, “I’ll make a call.” 

After saying so, she picked up her phone and dialed Everard’s number. It was answered promptly, his deep voice coming through, “Kid, it’s rare for you to call me. Miss me?” 

Cordelia fell silent for a moment before saying, “I need to ask you something.” 

“Shoot,” Everard’s every word seemed to flirt effortlessly, “I’m all ears when you need me.” 

Cordelia rolled her eyes and said, “Do you have a replica of ‘Thousand Mile River?” 

There was a brief silence on the other end. 

Cordelia thought for a moment; a replica of that painting would be quite valuable, and it 

painting would be quite valuable, and it was normal if Everard 

didn’t have one. 

She was about to speak again when Everard said, “I suppose I do.” 

Cordelia’s eyes lit up, “Could you lend it to the gallery for a day?” 

“Sure, but it can’t get there until tomorrow.” 

“Fine.” 

Finishing, Cordelia hung up and turned to everyone, “It’s sorted. By tomorrow morning, someone will deliver the painting. It won’t affect the exhibition, don’t worry.”