On Saturday, Allison arrived at the Lloyd mansion, ready to begin her new role as a tutor. Looking around, she joked to Kellan, “What a magnificent house you have, Mr. Lloyd. Honestly, any butler could have shown me around. I’m just a tutor; you don’t need to roll out the red carpet for me.”
“For an ordinary tutor, perhaps,” Kellan replied, pausing. “But you are anything but ordinary. Besides, Lorna is shy around strangers. My presence will help her feel more at ease.”
Lorna Lloyd, the little princess of the Lloyd family, had her sculpture room next to Kellan’s bedroom. The room’s layout spoke volumes about the time Lorna devoted to her craft. The window opened onto a rose-filled garden, where a swing swayed gently in the breeze. Every detail reflected meticulous planning. As Allison pushed open the door, she saw a little girl with a bow in her hair, crouched in a corner, diligently working on a mold amidst an array of sculpting tools. Lorna was so engrossed that she didn't notice the door creaking open.
“Is your niece on the spectrum?” Allison asked softly.
“No,” Kellan replied, his expression momentarily somber. “Lorna is my younger brother’s daughter. He passed away, causing her psychological trauma. Doctors diagnosed her with reactive autism.”
At the mention of his brother's death, a flash of anger crossed Kellan's face, quickly masked by stoic calm. The change was brief, but Allison noticed it.
“I understand,” Allison said thoughtfully. She knew Kellan's brother had been a business prodigy, a tragic victim of the Leswington mob—a heartbreaking chapter in her family's history.
Children who develop autism due to trauma tend to be more sensitive than those born with the condition. Allison realized she had to tread carefully. She couldn’t afford to trigger Lorna’s emotional barriers; her educational efforts might backfire.
“You’ll only have to come on Saturdays and Sundays. I’ll pay you eight thousand a month,” Kellan said, seemingly eager to avoid thinking about his brother’s death. He absentmindedly turned the ruby ring on his finger and gestured toward the room. “Please, Miss Clarke.”
"Eight thousand for just eight days a month? Mr. Lloyd, you certainly don't skimp," Allison joked, though pay wasn't her main concern.
Kellan, however, looked at her seriously. “You were Mr. Welsh’s teacher, and even your sculpture lessons are priceless. You certainly deserve this fee.”
Unlike Colton, who often doubted her, Kellan, though cautious and skeptical, was quick to trust once he recognized someone's worth. He not only had faith in Allison's ability to teach Lorna but also held her in high regard, as reflected in his generous pay.
“Don’t worry, I’ll teach her well,” Allison replied, nodding, her gaze drifting to the silent girl in the corner. She slowly approached Lorna, crouching beside her and silently observing the pottery in Lorna’s small hands.
When Allison felt Lorna was comfortable with her presence, she found a nearby pottery utensil, picked up a small piece of clay, and began working on it. Kellan watched them silently from his wheelchair. Sunlight streamed into the room, carrying the faint scent of blooming roses from the garden. The atmosphere was calm and peaceful.
Kellan hadn't set his sights too high. He just wanted Lorna to connect with others, to take her time, and to feel less indecisive around people. But Allison was already exceeding his expectations.