Their eyes met, both surprised to see each other.
Vernon stared at Briony, stunned.
It was a long moment before he finally stood up, looked at her, and asked, “Are you the owner of this gallery?”
Briony approached, eyeing the boy’s serious expression—so mature for someone so young. After a pause, she said, “You’re still a minor. If you want to sign up for classes, you’ll have to bring a parent or guardian.”
“My mom doesn’t care about what I do.” Vernon looked straight at Briony; although he was only eight, he spoke with the composure of an adult. “I can make my own decisions. Sunday afternoons are mine to spend however I want.”
For a boy his age, he already had an air of authority about him.
To put it plainly, he seemed far too grown up.
But he was Xenia Cooper’s son—Stewart’s stepson.
Briony didn’t much want to take him on.
“I’m sorry,” she replied, her tone strictly professional. “Our gallery doesn’t admit minors without parental consent. That’s the policy.”
“Is it because my mom is Xenia Cooper that you don’t want to let me in?”
Briony paused. “Yes. So let’s not force this. I run a business, but I don’t have to take every client.”
“But your sign out front says that gifted students could represent the gallery in international competitions,” Vernon shot back, lifting his chin. “I think I could do that.”
Briony was left speechless. For someone so young, he spoke with remarkable confidence.
She pressed her lips together and took a slow breath, then decided to be blunt. “You’re the Cooper family’s heir. You have all the opportunities you could want. My gallery is for kids who truly need support. Please, go home.”
Vernon froze.
He looked at Briony, a flash of disappointment in his eyes.
Was being the Cooper family’s heir really such a curse? Did it mean he couldn’t even have the chance to compete on a level playing field, like any other kid?
He hated being the Cooper heir.
He didn’t like it one bit.
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