Charismatic Shoemaker Lloyd

Chapter3

*Charismatic shoemaker Lloyd*

“Worthless fool!” Tyson spat, pushing him hard. “You will never be more than a failure, give up already and accept the divorce while we’re being nice!”

“I need to hear it from Avery.” Benton dismissed and drove his Sedan to the Tysons family mansion.

She pushed open the door to his room as exhaustion clung onto him like a second skin. Thoughts of the attack from his in-laws were aggravating.

Benton's consciousness began slipping away and his gaze lingered on the shoe. Something was happening on it, something he couldn't explain. A strange almost indiscernible hum filled the air and the pair of shoes seemed to be filled with energy then everything went blank.

In an hour he jolted awake, heart pounding from a strange, vivid dream. He grabbed the mysterious shoe, stuffed it into his bag, and bolted out of his room. The elite man from yesterday was supposed to meet him at the shop. Why that vision? Benton muttered, his mind racing as he tried to piece it together.

He barely made it to exit when Avery and her father, Tyson approached, flanked by two burly security guards. One of them shoved Benton, forcing him to his knees on the pavement.

“Avery,” Benton gasped, looking up at her. “You just got back from abroad. You wouldn’t betray me like this, would you?”

Avery’s eyes flickered, avoiding his. She bit her nails, avoiding eye contact with Benton. “Benton, I’m sorry. We need to divorce.”

The word hit like a sledgehammer. “Divorce?” Benton’s voice cracked. “Avery, don’t play games. This isn’t funny.”

She thrust a document into his hands, still avoiding his gaze. “Here’s the divorce agreement. Sign it.”

Benton’s fingers trembled as he took the papers. He had expected a warm reunion after her time abroad, not this cold betrayal. Yesterday’s argument flashed in his mind, her distant tone, her cryptic words. He hadn’t believed she meant it. “Why, Avery? Why now? I dedicated my years to creating the shoe design for your sake, you think I’m stupid?”

She sighed, her voice tight. “Stupid? You’re just… pathetic you think we need your ideas? Harris been working on landing this important client for a month.”

“Months? "Months?" Benton snapped, holding up the sketch.

"This is dated last year, Avery. My signature's right here. You can't lie your way out of this."

Margaret, Avery’s mother, waved her hand like she was chasing a fly. "Oh, stop whining, Benton. You're lucky we even let you stay in this house. You should be grateful, not accusing us."

Benton's face burned, but he didn't back down. "I trusted you, Avery. I showed you my sketches because you said you believed in me. And this is what you do? Steal them and give them to your brother?"

Avery rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Believe in you? Benton you're nobody, we’re from different worlds now.”

“Different worlds?” Benton’s laugh was bitter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The family burst into laughter, their voices overlapping. Mr. Tyson slapped his knee. "A nobody! That's a good one, Avery!"

“Things have changed,” Avery said, pain flashing in her eyes for a moment. “Our family is elite now. The news has been everywhere since yesterday’s stock meeting and design launch. A powerful group is investing in the city, and if I’m married to… to someone like you, my family will be a laughingstock. We’ll lose everything.”

The words stung worse than the blazing sun overhead. Benton felt a chill settle into his bones. Avery gestured to Roselle, her assistant, who handed over a sleek folder.

“There’s a bank card inside,” Avery said, her voice flat. “One million dollars. Enough for a lifetime. You can open a small store, start over. Sign the papers, and it’s yours. If you need more, just ask.”

Benton stared at her, searching for the woman he’d loved. This cold, calculating stranger was unrecognizable. “So that’s it? Our love’s worth a million bucks?” He scoffed, his voice thick with hurt. “Quite the price tag.”

Avery’s shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t respond. Her father, Mr. Tyson, stepped forward, his face twisted with disdain. He kicked Benton’s knee, forcing him to steady himself. “Sign it. Know your place. Avery’s worth billions now. She’s engaged to Aaron of the Bamboo family. You’re nothing but a worthless shoemaker.”

“Worthless shoe maker that landed you a deal.” Benton’s hands shook as he gripped the cheque. Rage and heartbreak battled inside him. He tore the cheque to pieces, letting the scraps flutter to the ground. “I don’t want your pity money,” he spat. “But mark my words, Avery. You’ll regret this.”

Avery flinched, her composure cracking for a split second, but she turned away. Her father sneered, shoving the divorce papers closer. Benton’s heart screamed to fight, to beg her to reconsider, but the weight of her rejection crushed him. He scrawled his signature, each stroke feeling like a betrayal of his own heart. “Fine. I will sign it.”

Without another word, Avery walked away, her father and the guards trailing behind. Benton stood alone, the weight of the divorce and Avery’s decision heavy in his head.

---

Benton checked his battered watch, he realized he was late for his appointment, he can’t afford losing his wife and getting arrested the same day, instead he stuffed his few belongings into a worn bag: shabby clothes, a couple of tools, and the strange shoe from the old man. He trudged to his old shop, hoping to find the man waiting. Instead, he found a group of local thugs lounging outside, their mocking laughter cutting through the air.

“Look who’s back!” one sneered, eyeing Benton’s small bag. “The street dog, spit out by the elites!”

Benton clenched his fists, rage simmering. He had one goal: return the shoe to the old man, no matter what. “I’m not here for your games Thomas.” he said, voice low and dangerous.

“Oh, what’s the street rat interested in then?” another thug taunted. “That old gentleman from yesterday? Face it, Benton, you’re nothing. You’ll never be anybody.”

They raised their fists, ready to strike, when a sharp voice cut through the air. “Enough!” A tall, imposing man stepped forward, grabbing the thug’s arm mid-swing. He turned to Benton, eyes sharp. “Where’s the shoe?”

Benton blinked, caught off guard. “I… I have it right here.” He fumbled in his bag, pulling out the shoe. “It’s ready, but these idiots wouldn’t let me through.”

The man’s brow furrowed. “Ready? You mean you fixed it?”

Benton shrugged, trying to play it cool despite his racing heart. “You didn’t expect me to hand it over broken, did you?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, skeptical. He gestured to two burly guards, who swiftly pinned the thugs against the wall. “Let me see it,” he said, his tone calm but commanding.

Benton handed over the shoe, watching as the man, older than he’d first thought, with a weathered but sharp gaze examined it. He traced his thumb along the rim, inspecting every stitch, every detail. His expression shifted from doubt to awe. “This… this is perfect. The flaw’s gone. No professional shoemaker in the city could fix this.”

Benton raised an eyebrow. “Told you I’d get it done, besides it’s a minor scratch.”

The thugs, now restrained, snickered. “What? are you going to make him your errand boy like his in-laws did? Street rat’s just waiting to be used again!”

The old man’s face darkened. “Silence them,” he barked. The guards didn’t hesitate, delivering swift punches to shut the thugs up. The man pulled out his phone, his voice urgent. “Madam Lisa, I’ve found him. It’s him.”

Before Benton could process the words, the man and his guards turned to him, bowing deeply at a perfect ninety degrees. “Young Master,” the old man said, his voice reverent. “We’ve been searching for you. At long last, we’ve found you.”

Benton froze, his mind spinning. “Young Master? What are you talking about? Who are you?”