Chapter 181 Riverton Art Exhibition (4)

• “What’s that look on your face? Don’t tell me you know this painting.” Cold Shuangyan arched a brow. Marc Egerton waved a hand. “No idea.” “Then why are you shaking your head? Acting like you’re some expert.” Han Rui rolled his eyes. A useless bodyguard, pretending to be cultured—give me a break. Cold Shuangyan folded her arms across her chest, chin lifted at Marc. “If you really know something, let’s hear it.” “If you can’t explain it, quit making weird noises.” “You’re my bodyguard. Know your place—what you can do and what you can’t.” Marc nudged his glasses and said evenly, “Since you insist, I’ll just say a few things.” He pointed at the oil painting in front of Cold Shuangyan and spoke clear as day: “This oil painting is by Picasso. It’s called Boy with a Pipe, painted in 1905.” “This piece is basically his soul on canvas. There’s a feeling wrapped inside it, a poetic vibe—mysterious, melancholic, beautifully restrained.” “It’s also one of the most iconic works of his life.” “But here’s the thing…” Marc’s tone shifted. “The original has always been kept by a wealthy Jewish collector. So this one is most likely a high-end replica.” His voice was calm and steady. With a voice-changer implanted under his tongue, it came out hoarse yet deep, the kind that sticks in your ears. Iris Coke heard him and didn’t think much of it. Still, seeing a bodyguard with this kind of depth, she couldn’t help giving him a second glance. A flicker of surprise crossed Cold Shuangyan’s eyes. “Not bad. Everyone says you’re trash. Didn’t expect you to have this kind of insight.” “What else do you know? Go on.” Marc paused, then gave a faint smile. “There’s a story behind this painting. Part of why it’s so famous is tied to that story.” “Oh yeah?” Curiosity lit Cold Shuangyan’s gaze. She smiled. “What story? Tell us.” Han Rui saw Marc hook his girlfriend’s interest in just a few sentences. His face went sour. He curled his lip and sneered, “You’re a freaking nobody, acting like you’re our professor.” “Who said you could talk?” Then Han Rui noticed the sunglasses on Marc’s face and snapped, “Why the hell are you wearing shades indoors?” “What are you, a fortune-teller? Trying to make us look bad?” With Han Rui pointing it out, Cold Shuangyan also clocked the sunglasses. She frowned. “Yeah, what’s with the shades? Take them off.” “Your image represents the Cold family. Got it?” Marc looked awkward. If he took them off, Iris Coke would probably recognize him. Thinking fast, he said to Cold Shuangyan, “Miss, I’ve got keratitis. Doctor said I should avoid strong light. Let me keep them on.” Han Rui muttered a curse under his breath and snapped, “Did a dog bite you? I heard rabies patients avoid light. You got rabies or what?”