?Chapter 824:


    Chris stared at the painting, a feeling of familiarity scratching at the back of his mind. Why did Maia’s painting seem so familiar to him?<fn266c> Updates are released by </fn266c>


    Kiley’s eyes, on the other hand, widened in disbelief when she saw the painting. As the CEO of Radiant Jewels, she had never shown such an expression anywhere. She looked as though she had just seen a ghost—and in a way, that was true. She recognized the woman Maia was painting.


    It was none other than Nic Glyn, Chris’ long-deceased birth mother. How could Maia have seen Nic, and how was she painting her?


    Raegan stood rooted beside Kiley, her jaw ck, words trapped in her throat. Her eyes locked onto Maia’s canvas, where colors danced with a life that stole her breath. A tightness gripped her chest, each inhale a struggle against the weight of awe.


    Never had she encountered such a breathtaking work of art. Envy, sharp and familiar, surged through her veins.


    Maia was just a painter, nothing more, Raegan told herself, her mind scrambling to reim confidence. In a fight, she’d have Maia outmatched in seconds — brushstrokes could notpete with fists. The Mask’s leader needed a warrior, not some delicate artist with a knack for pretty pictures. Besides, Raegan’s talents stretched far beyond a canvas. That thought steadied her, easing the storm in her heart.


    While the crowd marveled at Maia’s masterpiece, Mariana hunched over her own work, oblivious to the murmurs swirling around her.


    Silence cloaked the venue, the audience spellbound by Maia’s art. No one dared disturb the sacred hush, as if a single sound might shatter the moment’s magic.


    A voice sliced through the stillness. “I am done!” Mariana dered, her tone brimming with assurance. Sheid her brush down with a soft clink, her shoulders loosening as she exhaled.


    Cameras swiveled toward her, lenses glinting in the light.


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    Mariana’s smile widened, and she gestured to her canvas. “This piece is called Contemtion. Please, take a look.”


    Her painting captured Kiley with uncanny precision — a thoughtful pose, one arm propped on an elbow, the other hand cradling her chin. Kiley’s eyes gleamed with a vivid spark, each stroke infused with emotion that seemed to pulse off the canvas.


    It was a masterpiece, no question.


    Mariana’s gaze lingered on her work, pride swelling in her chest. She hoisted the canvas higher, eager for the judges and crowd to drink it in.


    But the air felt wrong.


    No thunderous apuse greeted her. No eager eyes met hers.


    Even the cameramen, moments ago focused on her, now turned toward Maia’s corner.


    A frown creased Mariana’s brow. What was happening? Unease coiled in her gut. Her gaze darted to Kiley, usually a pir of calm, but her sister’s face was a mask of fury, fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles whitened.


    “Kiley?” Mariana’s voice wavered, tentative.


    Kiley did not answer, her stare fixed forward, unyielding.


    Mariana followed her sister’s gaze. In the next moment, she froze as if she had seen a ghost.


    Maia’s painting loomed before her — a portrait of a woman, gentle yet regal, her eyes brimming with a love so profound it seemed to spill from the canvas.


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