"I have a niece," Kellan began, his voice softening. "She's incredibly bright and charming, though she has autism. Her only passion is pottery."

Allison noticed the fleeting softness in Kellan's usually steely expression. It was a rare display of tenderness from the man known for his cruelty, stirring a complex mix of emotions in her and leaving her momentarily uneasy. As an orphan who had always lived alone, Allison unexpectedly found herself reflecting on her own experiences in light of Kellan's vulnerability.

"I've seen your talent, Miss Clarke," Kellan continued, his tone as cold as a business negotiation. "I'd like you to teach my niece pottery. In return, I can offer you substantial assistance." He spoke with clinical detachment, as if discussing a mere business transaction, not a matter of life and death. "My resources could be of great assistance. As skilled as you are, some things require a more official touch, don't you think?"

Allison frowned. She was well aware of the Lloyd family's considerable influence in business and politics. Their help could open many doors for her.

With a smirk, Allison crossed her arms. "So, is this your roundabout way of begging for your life?"

"Not exactly," Kellan said sharply, his gaze piercing. "You didn't want to kill me, did you? If you'd truly wanted me dead, you would have acted without hesitation. Your moment of indecision gave you away. Since we're both cautious, why not work together? It could be mutually beneficial."

"You really don't know when to quit, do you? What a businessman," Allison commented, her tone indicating grudging agreement.

With a deft movement, he snatched the blade from her and, with a flick of his wrist, ripped the bandages from her hand. "Let me take care of that wound as a gesture of goodwill," he offered.

Kellan looked at the small bottle she handed him and raised an eyebrow. Did that woman carry a full first-aid kit? It was amazing how she seemed to have everything she needed at hand.

"You're a man with an army of bodyguards. Of course, you don't carry these things around with you. But I've always had the habit of being prepared. It's a survival instinct for people like me," he replied with a hint of amusement.

"Open your mouth," Allison ordered, gently grabbing Kellan's chin and placing a red pill in his mouth as she applied ointment and wrapped his hand. Her movements were precise; her intuition seemed almost telepathic, as if she were in tune with his thoughts. Carrying bandages and medicine had become more than a precaution for her; it was a deeply ingrained habit, born of years of survival.

"What is this?" Kellan asked, swallowing the pill. Though he suspected it was an antibiotic, he was curious.

"Poison," Allison said with a mischievous smile, her eyes sparkling.

Kellan started. Allison giggled, noticing his stunned expression as she gathered her supplies. "Have you ever heard the saying, 'an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure,' Mr. Lloyd? How can I be sure your niece exists? What if she decides to send her guards after me when we get out of here? It would be a shame to save you only to be betrayed later."

He gave her a reassuring smile. "That's why I gave you the poison—to add a layer of trust to our deal. Don't worry, I have the antidote."

Kellan leaned back, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "Now that I've been properly poisoned, perhaps you can tell me: who are you?"

He didn't know how many times this woman would amaze him. With her cold, distant exterior, Allison possessed a sharp, unyielding edge. She wasn't just calculating; there was something almost primal about her. Carrying bandages and medicine made sense for someone focused on survival, but poison? That was something completely different. No one had ever dared to take Kellan so far or put him in such a precarious situation. His heart raced uncontrollably, adrenaline pumping through him. It was a thrill that not even the most extreme sports could match. It was fascinating. What kind of life had shaped Allison into the person she was?