Chapter 951:
Magnus meant it as a warning against reckless decisions. If Christina wasn’t an expert, she’d better consult someone who was—unless she wanted to walk straight into the blazing furnace of public disgrace.
“Rest assured, I’m completely confident,” Christina replied in a calm whisper, her tone carrying the measured certainty of a master restorer at the peak of her craft.
“Your confidence—give me a percentage,” Magnus demanded without thinking.
“Eighty percent.”
Christina’s smile remained as serene and unfathomable as dawn mist lingering over an ancient mural.
But Magnus’s composure shattered. His voice swelled suddenly, like a tidal wave slamming into the bronze bells of a forgotten temple. “What?”
While the others didn’t catch their whispered exchange, Magnus’s abrupt “What?” cracked through the air like a whip, snapping every head toward them. The instant they caught Magnus’s expression, realization hit—Christina’s confident claims might have been empty bravado. Now, with no room left to retreat, the air grew heavy, as fragile and tense as porcelain poised to topple from a high shelf.
Countless eyes turned toward Christina, some wide with disbelief, most glinting with schadenfreude.
The next moment, Magnus’s voice splintered under the weight of disbelief, his words tumbling out like shards of shattered porcelain. “Eighty percent?” His eyes flew wide—round as ancient bronze mirrors reflecting an impossibility. Magnus had seen the mural in Jasgow himself, and in his mind, its chance of restoration was less than thirty percent. Yet, Christina claimed eighty. That meant if she took on the work, there was a very strong likelihood it would succeed. Others might not grasp the magnitude of “eighty percent” in this context, but to him, it was monumental.
“Exactly. For restoring the mural in Jasgow, I’d say the chances are eighty percent—no more, no less,” Christina stated.
𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓽: 𝓰⍶𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀﹒𝓬𝓸𝓶
The room collectively froze in shock.
“Eighty percent? Impossible!” Magnus wouldn’t even dare claim fifty—and she’s this sure of herself?”
“Wow! I’ve never seen a woman this brazen. If her skill matches that mouth, I’d eat my hat on the spot—no questions asked!”
“If that mural can be restored, the heritage site could reopen, drawing crowds and pumping life back into the local economy. Eighty percent is already incredible—and she is this confident.”
Her boldness was staggering. From the way she spoke, one would think anything less than absolute certainty wasn’t even worth mentioning.
Brendon stared at Christina, unable to see anyone else in the room. She seemed bathed in a soft, golden radiance, every curve and line of her figure dissolving the air between them into glimmering dust. His heart skipped a beat—then pounded against his ribs like a bird freed from its cage, each frantic thump tangled in his own emotions. Even Yolanda had never made his heart race like this.
A faint curve ghosted across Dylan’s lips, that usually icy face now betraying the smallest flicker of satisfaction. Christina was born to be the brightest light in any crowd.
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