?Chapter 1211:


    “If someone brings it up at the g, I’ll present these drafts first. Since they’re unfinished pieces, I can always im the ws are part of the process. Even if Kiley runs Radiant Jewels, she won’t immediately detect anything suspicious.”


    Her n was already set: slip out of Wront and catch a flight the moment the g ended.


    The praise and attention had been sweet, but she wasn’t naive. She knew perfectly well that every step she took was built on deception.


    Still, vanity had its ws in her. Once she’d tasted its rewards, turning back felt impossible.


    She understood the lies would eventually copse. And for that reason, she decided she would wring everyst benefit from this borrowed identity—“the founder of Annie Crystal”—before the truth finally caught up with her.


    With enough money in hand, she could vanish into a new city, take on another name, and build a life where no one knew her past.


    Beforeing to Wront, she’d imagined something very different. She’d thought she would need to endure endless gs, carefully weave connections, and wait—patiently, painfully—until she could finally turn a profit.


    But everything had gone far more smoothly than she’d expected. She hadn’t even set foot in the charity g yet, and she already had five million dors in her grasp. In her mind, it barely felt like fraud at all.


    “You want drafts? Fine. I’ll give you drafts,” she muttered, a sharpugh slipping out.


    Right then, her phone began to buzz. The caller ID shed her mother’s name.


    “Anti, what nonsense have you gotten yourself into?” her mother shrieked the moment she answered.


    Her voice was ragged, as if she’d been crying. “Did you steal money from the family to buy a ticket to Wront? Do you want your father to tear me apart?”


    Anti’s mother screamed, the sound slicing through the line like a de.


    Anti’s brows knit sharply. She jerked the phone away from her ear as if the noise could scorch her skin. The smile she’d worn moments ago vanished, swallowed by a surge of raw fury.


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    “What are you screaming for?” she bellowed, her voice jagged and unrecognizable. “How many times do I have to say it? That man is no father of mine. He’s a drunk, a gambler, and an addict!” She twisted her tone into a cruel imitation of her mother’s usual voice and sneered, “How could taking money from home possibly count as stealing? I refuse to rot in that suffocating hellhole. I’m seventeen—practically an adult. So don’t call me again!”


    “Anti!” Her mother’s voice burst out, drenched in desperate anguish. “I’m your mother. We share the same blood. You have to give me the money! If your father finds out you took it and never came back, he’ll kill me!”


    Anti let out a bitterugh. “Then go to the police! Leave that godforsaken house, abandon that wretched man, and disappear to another city. I can’t understand you.” Her voice sharpened, venomous. “Look at how brilliant I am. How could I possibly be the daughter of someone who can’t even understand a simple bill? Sometimes I think you stole me from my real parents.”


    She hurled the words with such ferocity her chest heaved, her breathing spiraling out of control.


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