Chapter 289: A Week Later, at the Charity Gala
The event was still some time away, Kellan observed, watching Allison stand with her arms crossed, lost in thought. She gazed out at the churning, dark sea, her eyes distant. The night air was sharp, and the wind whipped around them, reddening the tip of her nose. He stepped forward, offering her his suit jacket. His voice was steady and magnetic.
"Ms. Clarke," he said, "it's a bit chilly out here. If you don't mind, I'd be happy for you to wear my jacket."
Allison's surprise flickered across her face at his unexpected presence. She paused for a heartbeat, then accepted the jacket without hesitation, draping it over her shoulders.
"Thank you, Mr. Lloyd," she said, as the sea breeze grew colder. She tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and smiled, her eyes lighting up. "How did you know I was out here?" Truth be told, the past few days had been a rollercoaster. After taking that photo of the necklace from Kellan, she'd asked Gordon to investigate, but their search had hit a wall; the trail had gone cold. Her only remaining hope lay with Kellan's grandmother, Kinslee, who suffered from senile dementia.
Kellan casually offered her a glass of tequila. "I was just wandering around and happened to spot you here."
"Is that so?" Allison accepted the tequila and clinked glasses with him. "Since we have some time, why not enjoy the fresh air instead of being cooped up inside?" Compared to the bustling social scene indoors, the crisp air outside felt far more soothing.
Kellan nodded. "Sounds good to me."
As their glasses clinked, the sound resonated like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through Kellan's heart. He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on Allison, not bothering to take a sip of his drink.
Most of the gala's guests had clearly made a significant effort with their appearance, donning custom gowns and carefully chosen accessories. Kellan had seen an array of beautifully dressed attendees in the banquet hall earlier. Allison, however, had opted for a more understated look. She hadn't worn the lavish gown he had sent her. Instead, she wore a simple purple fishtail skirt. Though not a designer piece, its unique cut set it apart. The smooth fabric clung to her figure, highlighting her beautiful curves. With her slightly curled, long hair cascading down, she resembled a carefully crafted glass of red wine, exuding an enchanting charm.
"Ms. Clarke, you look stunning in that dress," Kellan said earnestly. His gaze lingered on her, admiring the fit of the waistline and the lace detail on the back. "It looks like it was tailor-made for you." His discerning eye never missed a detail. While curious about why she hadn't worn the gown he'd gifted, he didn't ask. What caught his attention was the craftsmanship of her dress. It wasn't from a renowned designer, but the quality suggested a skilled tailor, and that intrigued him.
"It is handmade," Allison replied, pleasantly surprised by his appreciation. She had designed the dress herself. "I received the gown you sent a few days ago," she continued, her voice softening with a hint of regret, "but unfortunately, a severe rainstorm hit the day before yesterday, ruining the gift box and causing mold. By the time I opened it, the dress was already spoiled. I had no choice but to find something else to wear." She had seen the stunning black-and-white gown inside the box—an exquisite LV couture piece, over a year in the making, one of a kind. Allison had felt it resonated with her style—mysterious yet elegant—and believed it would have made her feel like royalty. But fate had other plans. The storm had turned her dreams into a soggy mess.
"I've done my best to recover from that loss," she said, handing him a card. "Also, this card contains one million. It's my apology to you, as it was my fault." She genuinely wanted to ensure she wasn't indebted to him.
However, Kellan gently pushed the card back into her hand. "Whether it's a couture dress or the one million, it doesn't matter to me," he said firmly, though his touch remained gentle.
As the night wore on, the space between them seemed to shrink. The air thickened with the intoxicating scent of tequila, and the moment stretched between them, charged with unspoken words.