?Chapter 1711:


    Violette burned with shame, certain Christina had aimed every word straight at her dignity. But Christina had a knack for deflecting attacks with effortless ease.


    “Don’t tter yourself!” Violette hissed through clenched teeth. “Mr. Burton will be here any minute, and I seriously doubt you’ll keep that smug grin for long.”


    “Oh, really?” Christina answered lightly, her voice steady and entirely untouched by the tension.


    Violette’s fury spiked at being sopletely dismissed. This woman was unbearable beyond measure. Seeing how unshaken Christina appeared, several onlookers judged her as overly conceited, assuming her boldness was propped up by the influence of the Jones family.


    The minutes dragged until atst the crowd caught sight of Ronald making his entrance.


    “That’s him — Ronald Burton! He’s a famous art appraiser. There’s no way a fake will get past him.”


    “The Jones family is about to be disgraced, letting someone brazen enough pose as Wyvena, the greatest painter alive. It’s absurd!”


    “If someone like that were rted to me, I’d cut ties immediately just to save my reputation.”


    Low murmurs spread through the gathering as Alban stepped forward and offered his hand. “Mr. Burton, thank you foring such a long way. I would be honored if you’d join me for dinner tomorrow evening.” Their handshake was brief and formal.


    Ronald’s face stayed rigid. “That can wait. Where is the impostor you were talking about?” He was impatient to face the person daring enough to steal Wyvena’s name. His reverence for the legendary painter ran deep, and the nerve of anyone masquerading as Wyvena sent his temper surging.


    “She’s standing right on the stage,” Alban said pleasantly.


    Before Ronald could locate Christina, a towering figure stepped forward.


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    “Mr. Burton, I’m Bain Jones. I hope you’ll judge this fairly.” Bain flicked a nce toward Alban as he said it. After all, Ronald hade at Alban’s invitation and might lean his way regardless of the facts.


    “Are you implying something?” Ronald snapped, visibly irritated. He took Bain’s remark as a veiled usation — as though Bain suspected him of shielding a fraud to appease a powerful patron.


    “Rest assured. Influence means nothing to me. I won’t yield, and I answer only to the truth.” Ronald cast Bain an icy look. The notion that the Jones family could pressure him into excusing a forgery was simply ridiculous.


    His most treasured piece, Rosewind Expanse, had been painted by Wyvena, and he adored it — often losing himself in its depth, beauty, and artistic vision. Within that painting, Ronald felt the subdued grief and quiet yearning Wyvena had poured into the canvas. The work wasn’t merely strikingly realistic; it carried the painter’s emotions, pulling viewers into its world. Wyvena’s roses fascinated him more than anything else — beneath their mncholy flowed a calm, hopeful force that lifted the spirit of anyone who studied them. That level of artistry surpassed even many acimed masters. On a global scale, Wyvena’s approach stood entirely alone.


    Noticing Ronald’s severe expression, Bain finally rxed. His obvious displeasure was enough to confirm he would judge the painting’s authenticity withplete objectivity.


    Bain trusted Christina’s words without hesitation. No matter how bold her assertions sounded, he epted them without doubt. If she imed to be Wyvena, then she unquestionably was.


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