?Chapter 1709:


    “Don’t you dare drag Christina through the mud!” Gillian shot Alban a furious look. “Christina is not some copyist like you keep iming. She’s genuinely good-hearted!”


    They were all clueless. None of them understood Christina’s decency — all they knew how to do was twist facts and hurl baseless usations. Alban most of all. He was revolting beyond words.


    Catching the undisguised revulsion on Gillian’s face, Alban felt a strange, unfamiliar pang tighten in his chest. His forehead creased without him realizing it. What on earth was wrong with him?


    “You’re despicable!” Gillian snapped. “Youbel someone a thief without a shred of proof!”


    She didn’t care how closely Christina’s artwork resembled any famous painter’s style. She stood squarely on Christina’s side, without hesitation.


    Alban steadied himself and let out a mockingugh. “Her rose painting is proof enough.”


    “So what if it looks simr?” Gillian fired back. “Who made that illegal?”


    His smirk deepened. “Simrity alone might be excusable, but she crossed the line by presenting it at a public auction, attaching wagers, and disguising it as a charity piece.”


    Just as Gillian found herself briefly at a loss for words, Christina finally spoke.


    “Mr. Martel, I can state this without the slightest doubt — my painting is more than worthy of an auction. It is suitable for charity, and its true value exceeds what you see now.”


    A faint smile curved her lips, her voice carrying an unshakable calm. The crowd’s attention shifted back to her, nowced with unmistakable surprise — some stunned by herposure, others by her sheer boldness.


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    “And where exactly does this confidence of yourse from, Miss Jones?” Alban asked, his mouth tilting as interest flickered in his eyes.


    “Wyvena,” Christina replied evenly. “That is where ites from.” She said it without the slightest change in expression.


    The entire room froze. Guests exchanged stunned looks.


    “What does she mean by that? Could she have ties to Wyvena?”


    “The style matches perfectly. Could she be Wyvena’s student?”


    “No chance. If Wyvena had epted a student, word would have spread long ago. Besides, no student’s work would mirror the mentor’s so exactly.”


    After a brief, breathless silence, Violette recovered first and scoffed. “Are you seriously implying you’re Wyvena’s student?”


    With countless eyes fixed on her, Christina answered softly, “Of course not.”


    Violette let out a chillyugh. “At least you’re honest about that.”


    “I am not Wyvena’s student,” Christina said, her smile gentle and unhurried. “I am Wyvena.”


    The moment the wordsnded, the room plunged into dead silence. Everyone stared at one another in disbelief. Secondster, murmurs erupted in every direction.


    “Did I imagine that? What did she just say?”


    “I must have heard wrong — did she really say she is Wyvena?”


    “Either I’ve lost my sanity, or she has. How could Wyvena, the greatest painter alive, be that young? It’s impossible.”


    No one could ept that Wyvena was the youthful, striking woman standing before them. At her age, how could she possibly be the legendary master everyone revered? When Wyvena first rose to fame, how old could she have been — seventeen? Who would believe that a girl so young could already stand at the pinnacle of the art world? Even now, the idea seemed inconceivable. She was merely skilled at imitation. There was no way she could truly be Wyvena.


    Bain stood frozen, shock etched across his face, his eyes glowing with awe and pride. His sister was astounding beyond reason — a true prodigy. The thought that the world’s greatest painter was his own flesh and blood felt utterly unreal, yet filled him with an indescribable, swelling joy.


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