Chapter 60

Leyla's breath caught for a moment as her gaze swept over Tristan's tall frame and chiseled features.

He was the sort of man she had never dared to imagine for herself.

Yet the warmth in her chest chilled when she recalled the sight of him shielding Eliana that day.

She couldn't make sense of why he had chosen to stand on Eliana's side.

The thought made her avert her eyes, not wanting to draw his attention and risk stirring memories of the welcome-home banquet.

But before she could quietly fade into the background, Davin's voice broke in, smooth and deliberate."Leyla, let me introduce you to today's host," he said, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "He's a friend of mine-perhaps the two of you will find some common ground."

Leyla's first instinct was to turn him down, but the thought stalled when she recalled the deep-rooted ties between the Murray and Pearson families.

It occurred to her that Tristan's defense of Eliana that day might not have been about Eliana at all, but simply loyalty to the Murray family's nạme.

If she could sway Tristan's view of her, the Murray family might lose their final pillar of support.

With that in mind, she set her pride aside and gave a small nod of assent.

Her friend made a move to follow, but when Davin offered no invitation, she faltered. Forcing a casual smile,she excused herself. "You go on ahead, Leyla. I'll just take a little stroll."

"Alright," Leyla replied, her voice light but her eyes already fixed on the opportunity ahead.'

Meanwhile,Tristan stood before a large canvas, his gaze lingering on every brushstroke. The oil painting, titled "Cold Moon", glowed softly under the gaflery lights. In the upper left corner, the neat signature read Riley.

Riley's name was well-known in alite oil painting, yet the artist's identity remained an enigrna. No one could say for certain whether Rlley was a man or a woman-though whispers in the art world favored the assumption of a teolusive, male genius. The belief had been rooted in the bold strokes and sweeping grandeur of the paintings-styles many in the art world still insisted women couldn't master.

Tristan had long held Rlley's work in the highest regard. Years ago, he had bid fiercely at an auction, paying an extravagant sum to claim every piece Riley had ever put up for sale. The painting now featured in the charity gala was one of his personal favorites, and under any other circumstance, he would never have parted with it. Yet for the sake of the cause, he had reluctantly allowed it to go under auction.

As Tristan's gaze lingered on the artist's signature, a sudden memory flickered-Eliana's neat handwriting on the prescription she had prepared for Miguel.

The handwriting bore an uncanny resemblance to Riley's, making Tristan's chest tighten for a beat.

Then, with a wry, self-deprecating smile, he shook his head. He was clearly losing his grip-seeing traces of Eliana everywhere, even in a few lines of ink.

They had barely known each other a week, yet she occupied far too much of his thoughts.

A troubling thought flickered through himn: when the blurred screenshot from the surveillance footage was finally sharpened, what if the figure he'd been holding so dearly in his heart turned out not to be Eliana at all?

Perhaps he told himself to keep his emotions in check until the restored screenshot gave him certainty.

But he had overlooked one truth-some impulses in life simply refused to be reined in, sneezes and feelings chief among them.

Tristan had been seconds away from calling to see if Eliana had arrived when Davin's voice carried from behind.

This charity exhibition bore Davin's mark in more ways than one-he had donated a number of his paintings without asking for a cent.

Turning with an easy smile, Tristan's expression shifted the instant his gaze landed on Leyla at Davin's side the warmth in his eyes icing over in a heartbeat. "And who might this be?"

Davin, oblivious to the frost in Tristan's gaze-likely because Tristan's expression was almost always unreadable-tilted his head with a friendly smile. "Do my teacher's paintings appeal to you?"

Tristan's brow arched in faint surprise. He cast a brief glance over his shoulder at the artwork, then turned back to ask, "Riley is your teacher?"

A proud smile lit Davin's face as he nodded. "Yes. It's been an honor to learn from Riley. My painting had stalled for a while, yet thanks to my teacher, I pushed past that block and improved dramatically."

Davin's eyes lit with open admiration at the mention of Riley, but the warmth faded quickly as he remembered why he'd come. Turning back to Tristan, he gestured toward Leyla beside him. "This is a remarkably gifted artist I met at a recent oil painting competition. I invited her here especially to take part in today's event."

Leyla tilted her chin ever so slightly, summoning what she believed to be her most dazzling smile.'"Nice to meet you, Mr. Pearson," she greeted, her voice honeyed with practiced charm.

Inwardly, she reasoned that even if Tristan still resened her for past incidents, he wouldn't risk embarrassing her in front of Davin-a man who held considerable sway in the oil painting world.

To her astonishment,Tristan didn't even grant her the courtesy of a glance.

His sharp eyes stayed on Davin, his voice calm yet cool as polished steel. "Mr. Gordon, Lknow you prize artistic talent," he remarked, a faint arch to his brow. "But there are times when it pays to be far more discerning."

Leyla's smile faltered, her expression turning rigid as if the muscles in her face had locked in place.

Davin,standing close by, stiffened as well, his surprise flashing openly across his features.

Before he could press Tristan for an explanation, Tristan's voice cut in, cold and measured. "I have business to handle. Please enjoy the event."

Without another glance, he strode past Leyla, his broad shoulders brushing the air beside her as though she weren't there at all, heading straight for the entrance.

A new message from Eliana lit his phone screen-she'd just arrived.

Davin's gaze followed Tristan's retreating figure, a faint frown creasing his brow before he slowly turned his eyes back to Leyla. "Do you have something against him?"

Tristan's reputation for cool detachment was well-known, but even then, he was unfailingly courteous.

This was the first time Davin had ever seen him treat someone with such blatant frostiness-and judging by his tone, Tristan even had an opinion about him as well.

That shift in manner made Davin's own warmth toward Leyla fade, his expression cooling.

Leyla dropped her gaze, putting on an air of innocence. "We don't have any issues-it's only because of my sister that he dislikes me."

Davin's brows drew together. "Your sister?"

Leyla gave a small, almost pitiful nod, her lashes lowering as if to hide a flicker of hurt. "You've probably heard bits about me. Because my sister hates me, he's likely taken on her dislike."

Davin did know her story-how the Murray family had cast her aside once they'd found their true-born daughter.

His frown deepened."And why would she hate you?"

With a dainty swipe at imaginary tears, Leyla sighed, "Because the whole Murray family has always favored me over her. She's convinced I stole them from her, so she pushed them into choosing between us."

Her voice came out ragged, trembling as though she might shatter at any moment.

Davin's brows knit even tighter. "That's absurd! You were a child-being adopted wasn't your choice. The Murray family took you in of their own-will. How can she hold that against you? That's petty beyond reason." Leyla curved her lips in a faint, joyless smile. "Don't let it rile you. I've already made my peace witn it. ve learned to stand on my own since leaving the Murray family."

Davin's chest tightened with sympathy, yet he knew it was still a matter between family-one he had no right to step into.

After a thoughtful pause, he made up his mind. "Leyla, how would you feel about becoming my student?"

A spark of exhilaration lit up in her eyes.

She had lied to salvage her reputation and undermine Eliana's, but instead, she'd stumbled upon an unexpected stroke of fortune.