But really, the blame fell squarely on Jordan Smith and Sandra Taylor—they’d already burned that bridge.
A faint smile flickered across Mr. Morris’s face, but for some reason, it sent a chill down Jordan’s spine. That smile didn’t feel friendly.
Finally, Mr. Morris spoke, “She’s here tonight, but honestly, there’s no need for introductions. Mr. Smith, I doubt you’d be impressed by her skills.”
“What do you mean?” Jordan shot back, a little too eagerly. “If she’s learned from you, there’s no way her skills aren’t top-notch!”
The guests around them started to buzz with excitement at Mr. Morris’s words.
“So Mr. Morris’s apprentice is actually here tonight?”
“I wonder who it could be. Maybe one of those VIPs at the head table?”
“But they’re all pushing sixty—hardly likely to be his apprentice…”
Some people began whispering about Jordan.
“Why’s he so persistent about getting Mr. Morris’s help? Is he sick?”
“Don’t you remember? Years ago, Jordan had that accident—his legs never fully recovered. The old injury still flares up now and then. That’s probably what he’s here for.”
“That makes sense…”
“But why would Mr. Morris say that his apprentice isn’t good enough for Mr. Smith? If even his own protégé isn’t up to snuff, who would be?”
Sandra Taylor, having regained her composure, leaned in with a sweet smile and said, “Oh, Mr. Morris, you’re just being modest. Your protégé must be every bit as talented as you. We’d be honored. If you’re not feeling up to it, we’d happily accept your apprentice’s help—we’re not picky!”
Mr. Morris’s face darkened completely. It was obvious he was disgusted by her shamelessness.
Only Camila Davis, standing quietly at the back, could see how angry her mentor really was.
Deep down, she knew all this was because of her. If she’d just listened to her mentor and never married Jordan Smith, none of this mess would be happening—he wouldn’t still have to put up with all this nonsense.


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