CHAPTER 5 – A FUNNY TENSION

Even now, with the beautiful blonde woman standing directly in front of him, Liam still found it difficult to believe that someone like Chatrine Madison had recklessly come all the way to a tiny countryside town just to work at a small gallery on the outskirts of Canterbury.

And somehow, at barely half past six in the morning, Chatrine already looked perfectly prepared. Elegant. Stylish. Immaculate. As though she were about to lead an executive meeting in the center of the financial world.

The perfume she wore drifted softly through the morning air, fresh and delicate without being overpowering. Liam forced himself to focus on the conversation instead of the dangerously intelligent woman standing before him. For what felt like the thousandth time, he reminded himself not to entertain reckless thoughts.

“What time are we leaving?” Chatrine asked. She looked completely ready already, professional, energetic, and far too enthusiastic for this hour.

“The gallery opens at nine,” Liam answered flatly. “It’s only six-thirty.”

“Oh.” Chatrine frowned slightly. “You people start the day very lazily.”

The criticism slipped naturally from the lips of a woman who had spent her entire life operating under strict schedules.

“Can’t we begin earlier?” she asked immediately. “Waiting around wastes too much time.”

“No.” Liam rejected the idea instantly. “I’m the one in charge here.”

Chatrine’s eyes widened slightly.

“Time is too valuable to waste carelessly.”

“I don’t care,” Liam replied. “I’m the boss here. If you seriously want to work for me, then follow my rules.”

Chatrine inhaled slowly, visibly restraining herself from arguing further.

“Fine,” she said at last. “So what exactly should I do while waiting for my boss to prepare himself?”

“Do whatever it is you usually do,” Liam muttered without interest.

“I usually arrange Aron Loghan’s breakfast schedule,” Chatrine replied matter-of-factly. “I organize his diet plans, prepare his clothes, select his accessories, coordinate all of his fashion choices.”

Then she added smoothly, “I could do the same for you.”

“I absolutely do not need that.” Liam rejected the suggestion so firmly it almost sounded offended. “I can take care of myself.”

Chatrine tilted her head slightly.

“At the very least, you should allow me to improve your wardrobe. You dress far too simply. A more professional appearance would attract better clients.”

“I work in a wood warehouse,” Liam snapped, already irritated by her obsession with his clothing. “I don’t need any of that. I’m not some oversized child who requires a fashion manager.”

“Even a man like Aron Loghan never argued when I went shopping for him and selected his underwear.”

This time Liam nearly glared at her.

Before he could respond, however, the front door suddenly opened.

His mother stepped outside onto the porch, dusting flour from her hands after preparing bread dough in the kitchen.

The morning sunlight was still soft and pale. Liam stood beside his pickup truck holding an oily cloth while Chatrine remained perfectly poised in front of him.

The moment Isabel saw her, her eyes widened in shock.

“Liam… who is she?” Isabel asked, sounding both startled and curious.

Chatrine reacted instantly.

As though she had trained for moments exactly like this, she stepped forward gracefully and took Isabel’s hand politely.

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Chatrine Grace Madison,” she said confidently, her voice smooth and refined. “Starting today, I will be working at Liam’s gallery, specifically in managing strategic marketing and gallery development.”

Her tone sounded less like a casual introduction and more like an elevator pitch delivered to investors.

Isabel blinked several times.

Then she looked at Liam.

Then back at Chatrine.

“Marketing… what? Development… what?” she asked honestly, completely unfamiliar with Chatrine’s polished corporate language.

Chatrine maintained her professional smile.

“In simpler terms, I’ll be helping manage promotion, branding, and long-term strategies so the gallery can compete within the international art market.”

Isabel stared blankly.

In her entire life, the word gallery had simply meant a room filled with wooden chairs, antique dining tables, and handmade pottery.

“Liam,” she asked innocently, turning toward her son, “what kind of job is that exactly?”

Liam sighed internally.

He already knew his mother would never understand the complicated phrases Chatrine casually tossed around. So he instinctively chose the fastest possible lie.

“Mom, she’s just… doing field study practice,” he answered carelessly while pretending to wipe grease from his hands. “For her university art program.”

“Oh.”

Instantly, Isabel nodded in understanding, her face brightening.

“So you’re still in college? You’re a student?”

For a fraction of a second, Chatrine froze.

She wanted to glare directly at Liam. She wanted to immediately throw a sharp protest into his face for introducing her as a student.

But Isabel’s smile was too sincere to ruin.

So instead, Chatrine merely curved her lips politely.

“Yes… something like that.”

Isabel beamed happily.

“You’re so beautiful. You look like a supermodel.”

“Oh, thank you, Aunt Isabel,” Chatrine replied with flawless politeness.

Isabel leaned slightly closer, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

“So where are you staying?”

“At Eva’s house,” Chatrine answered without hesitation.

Isabel’s eyes widened even further.

“You know Eva too?” she exclaimed excitedly, sounding almost like a child hearing the name of a favorite celebrity. “Eva is practically like a daughter to me.”

“Yes,” Chatrine answered smoothly. “We’re close friends.”

Across from them, Liam suddenly felt nauseated.

The phrase close friends sounded absurdly sweet coming from a woman who had once considered “collaborating” with Eva’s husband in order to have a child. Liam still had not forgiven that detail.

But before his irritation could fully surface, his mother spoke again.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet? Liam hasn’t eaten either. Come have breakfast with us.”

Isabel warmly patted Chatrine’s arm, already inviting her inside.

Liam immediately stepped forward, nearly panicking.

“Mom, that really isn’t necessary.”

But Chatrine simply smiled politely and nodded with delight.

“Thank you, Aunt Isabel. I’d love to.”

“Just call me Isabel. Don’t be shy.”

“Thank you, Aunt Isabel,” Chatrine repeated sweetly, adding a smile soft as silk.

A smile Liam was absolutely certain was not genuine.

Whatever game Chatrine was playing now, Liam already disliked the fact that she was charming his mother into submission.

Meanwhile, Chatrine had already followed Isabel inside the house.

Liam remained standing beside his pickup truck for several seconds, emotions twisting together inside him. Irritation. Exhaustion. Disbelief.

And yet he could not deny one obvious truth.

Chatrine had managed to win his mother’s heart in less than five minutes.

The moment they stepped inside, the warm aroma of toasted bread and black coffee welcomed them. The dining room was simple but comfortable, centered around an old carved wooden table. The chairs creaked softly whenever they moved, while the faded floral tablecloth remained clean despite its age.

Chatrine scanned the room instantly with sharp professional eyes, almost as though evaluating the interior design of a future luxury boutique.

Her attention even lingered briefly on the striped green curtains.

Liam had just entered behind her when she commented quietly,

“If these were replaced with plain white linen curtains, the natural lighting would improve dramatically.”

Liam nearly choked on air.

The woman had not even spent five minutes inside the house before attempting to redesign his mother’s interior decor.

“You’re free to leave if you’re uncomfortable,” Liam whispered sharply beside her.

Apparently unaware that her comments might offend the homeowner, Chatrine continued observing the room thoughtfully.

“I’m more concerned that the mold and dust in this house might trigger your allergies,” Liam added dryly.

Fortunately, Isabel seemed completely oblivious to the silent war unfolding between the two young people in front of her. She remained genuinely delighted to have a guest.

“Please sit down, Chatrine. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”

“Not at all, Aunt Isabel,” Chatrine replied warmly.

She sat with flawless posture, knees together, hands folded elegantly on her lap. She looked less like a guest in a village home and more like a model posing for a luxury coffee advertisement.

Meanwhile Liam dropped himself into his chair with the exact opposite energy. Exhausted. Slouched. Avoiding eye contact.

Isabel placed a plate of warm bread onto the table.

“I baked this whole wheat bread myself. It’s wonderful with butter.”

“Oh wow.” Chatrine leaned closer and inhaled the aroma appreciatively. “That smells incredible. Even world-class bakeries would lose against this, Isabel.”

Isabel laughed shyly, visibly flattered.

“Oh, I’m just an ordinary housewife. No one has ever praised my bread like that before.”

“Then allow me to be the first,” Chatrine answered with a smile so sincere-looking that it nearly made Liam ill.

Liam watched the interaction with growing suspicion.

This was not breakfast anymore.

This was political strategy.

His mother was being complimented. His mother was happy. And at this rate, his mother would probably hand Chatrine both the house and the gallery before lunchtime without asking Liam for permission.

Isabel poured coffee into their cups.

“Drink, Chatrine. You do drink coffee, don’t you?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Chatrine accepted the cup gracefully. Even the way she stirred her spoon sounded elegant somehow.

Meanwhile Liam simply grabbed his own cup without ceremony, swallowed a mouthful too quickly, and instantly grimaced from the heat.

Chatrine hid a small laugh before leaning slightly toward him.

“Would you like me to cool your coffee down for you first?” she whispered teasingly.

Liam answered only with a sharp stare that practically screamed, Please stop smiling so sweetly at my table.

Isabel looked back and forth between them with obvious amusement.

“You two are adorable together,” she said cheerfully. “So different, but strangely suited for each other.”

“No, Mom,” Liam interrupted immediately, nearly choking on his coffee again. “We are absolutely not suited for each other.”

“Oh, relax,” Isabel replied with a mischievous smile toward her son. “I was only teasing.”