?Chapter 84:


    Once heposed himself, Clement turned to Elliana, his posture crisp, voice steady. He bowed his head slightly and said, “Rosa, thank you for gracing the Starry Oil Painting Competition with your presence. It’s an honor—for this museum, and for the art world.”


    His deration echoed like a final verdict. There was no room left for debate. No cracks left to pry open.


    The crowd didn’t erupt this time. Instead, they murmured with quiet awe, heads nodding as though they’d known all along.


    “Knew it. No way a panel like that would mess up.”


    “Since even Clement confirmed it, Luciano’s got nothing left to say.”


    On the sidelines, Paige’sst flicker of hope died. Jealousy burned like acid in her chest. Elliana was actually Rosa? She couldn’t ept it—it felt like a cosmic joke. But there was nothing she could say. No move left to make. Her voice would only betray the panic rising in her throat.


    Meanwhile, Luciano looked like a man who had aged a decade in a minute. Gone was the bluster, the pomp. Hisplexion was ghostly, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. The fall from power had stripped him bare, and the crowd could see it—how small he truly was beneath the titles and bravado.


    Luciano stumbled backward, like the weight of the moment had knocked the breath out of him. Then, with onest gasp of pride, he raised his head and spat venom toward Elliana. “You hid who you were on purpose, didn’t you?” he shouted. “You couldn’t stand me basking in your glory, so you strung me along just to humiliate me. Some legend you are, Rosa—petty and vindictive!”


    Elliana, mid-conversation with Clement, slowly turned to Luciano. Her smile was razor-thin and cold as frost. “Luciano,” she said, her voice calm butced with steel, “whether you were a fan or a parasite doesn’t matter to me. I’m not here to cater to egos—or clean up your mess.” Her voice wasn’t raised, but it struck like a hammer—measured, controlled, and unshakably firm.


    “What bothers me,” Elliana said, her eyes locked on Luciano, “isn’t that you climbed thedder. It’s how you did it. Pretending to understand art, rigging awards, and then shing those credentials to secure the top spot in the Calligraphers and Painters Association.” She took a step forward, unblinking. “You’ve used that position to crush fresh talent, silence innovation, and polish your ego with other people’s work. Normally, I wouldn’t care. Your dirty games didn’t…”


    “Touch me. But then you picked a fight you couldn’t win. And I can’t just let that slide.”


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    Luciano’s pride wouldn’t let him stay silent. Even with his back to the wall, he bristled. “So what if I’m not your fan?” he snapped. “Yeah, I pulled some strings and yed the system. Who hasn’t? Don’t you dare say I don’t know art, I’ve won awards!”


    Elliana arched an eyebrow, amused at his defiance. “Oh, right—Golden ins, wasn’t it?” she said coolly. “That was your magnum opus. How about you recreate just a portion of it? Nothing fancy. Just enough to prove you painted it.”


    Luca chuckled, sensing blood. “Excellent idea. Let’s see those legendary brushstrokes in action, Mr. Scott. We’re all eager for a little live demonstration.”


    Clement, catching on, gestured to the crew. In moments, a fresh canvas, oils, and brushes wereid out center stage. It was checkmate.


    Luciano stiffened, his pulse thudding in his ears. He hadn’t seen thising—how quickly the tide had turned. Surrounded, exposed, and under the spotlight. Every award he’d ever unted was the work of hired talent. If he so much as touched that canvas, the farce would copse in front of the entire art world.


    Luciano didn’t move. Seconds dragged like hours.


    Luca tilted his head with mock concern. “What’s the matter? You were so proud a minute ago. Cat got your brush?”


    And then—just as the silence thickened—a figure in a ck hoodie stepped calmly onto the stage.


    Elliana’s expression shifted. Recognition red in her eyes. Back during the afternoon’s livestreamed workshop—right after Luciano had stormed off in a rage—this same man had returned, like he wanted to reveal some secrets to her, but something had stopped him. He’d vanished again before saying a word.


    But now, with the spotlight burning and the stakes sky-high, the man strode onto the stage with purpose in his steps and something heavy in his eyes.


    The moment Luciano caught sight of the man, his expression curdled into panic. “Ethan! You better think twice. You open your mouth, and you’ll regret it.”


    Ethan Brooks halted mid-step, caught in the heat of Luciano’s re and threat. His lips parted, but no words came. He looked like a man wrestling with a decision that could crack his entire world open.


    Clement stepped forward with practiced calm. “And you are?”


    Before Ethan could answer, someone in the crowd blurted, “That’s Luciano’s protégé!”


    Ethan’s face twisted in disgust. “I am not his protégé!” he snapped, his voice cracking with emotion. “He used me. Forced me to go along with his scams. Everything about him is a lie!”


    The words exploded across the room, sending shockwaves through the audience. Whispers erupted instantly.


    Clement offered Ethan a mic, his voice steady. “You’ve got the floor now. No one here’s going to silence you—not with the whole art world watching. Say what you came to say.”


    Luciano’s face turned to stone. “You want to ruin your life, Ethan? Go ahead.”


    That venomced threat made Ethan visibly recoil. For a breathless moment, it looked like he might fold. But then—slowly—Ethan raised the mic. His hand was trembling, but his eyes had hardened with resolve.


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