?Chapter 830:


    Emboldened by the rapt attention of judges and onlookers, she pressed her case. “Realism isn’t about weaving sentimental tales or plucking heartstrings. It’s about precision, the meticulous rendering of a living subject’s truth.” Her voice crescendoed,manding the room. “Who among you has seen the woman in Maia’s painting? Can anyone attest to its fidelity? Who can verify that every contour, every nuance, mirrors a real person?”


    The hall fell into a stunned hush, her words hanging like a guillotine’s de.


    Her eyes swept over the judges, sharp and admonishing, as if scolding wayward pupils. “So, tell me — on what grounds do you crown her the winner?”


    Her rebuke stung, and several judges who had favored Maia shrank, their faces flushed with chagrin, shifting uneasily in their seats.<fn201f> ???? ????s? ???????s ?? find?novel</fn201f>


    A murmur rippled through the audience, swelling into a chorus of debate.


    “Mariana’s got a point,” one voice conceded. “Portrait realism demands likeness. None of us know the woman Maia painted.”


    Another added, “Mariana’s portrait of Kiley, who stands before us, is a wless mirror of her. It’s undeniable.”


    A third questioned, “How can we judge Maia’s work? She painted a deceased woman she never met. Can that even qualify as realism?”


    Yet not all were swayed. Defenders of Maia pushed back.


    “Why shouldn’t she im victory? Realism isn’t just mimicry. It’s about capturing a subject’s essence, their living spirit. Maia’s portrait breathes with such vitality, it’s as if the woman could step from the canvas.”


    Another added, “Yes, and Maia’s subject’s gaze pierces the soul, vivid and haunting. If that’s not mastery, what is?”


    A third voice championed, “Art thrives on beauty and impact. Maia’s work captivates in a way Mariana’s cannot match.”


    The crowd erupted into a cacophony of shing opinions, factions forming like storm clouds.


    ???????? ???????? ????????????????????????


    “The veil in Maia’s painting is striking, but this is portrait realism!” one detractor countered. “The focus must be the person, not an essory. Mariana’s work adheres to the theme.”


    Another insisted, “Unless Maia’s portrait can be proven identical to its subject, Mariana deserves the crown!”


    The tide of public sentiment swayed under the weight of Mariana’s and Kiley’s calcted words, fueling a heated sh of convictions.


    Kiley stepped forward, her smile a de of cruel calction. In a voice soft yetced with venom, she addressed the judges who had dared favor Maia. “Will you judge with integrity? Or have bribes clouded your impartiality, leading you to such a tantly unjust verdict?”


    Her usation detonated like a spark in dry tinder, igniting an uproar that roared through the crowd.


    Kiley refused to give Maia the slightest chance of winning. Setting someone up had alwayse easily to her.


    With a sly glimmer, she nced Maia’s way. That look practically announced to the whole room that Maia had gotten to the judges.


    Calling Maia out so boldly could have easily backfired on her. Still, letting the opportunity slip by and failing to rally support would mean defeat for Mariana — something both she and the Cooper Group simply would not allow.


    Silent now, Kiley swept her gaze across the judges’ table. One by one, her piercing stare lingered on them, each re a silent threat of what would follow if Maia walked away with the prize.


    .


    .


    .