?Chapter 1712:


    The room buzzed with low, secretive chatter as people clocked the thundercloud on Ronald’s face.


    “The Jones family is about to be disgraced in front of everyone.”


    “They even tried throwing their weight around to pressure Ronald, but he’s not the type to bend.”


    “From the way Bain is behaving, that woman can’t be the real Wyvena.”


    The hushed talk vanished the second Bain swept the room with a frost-bitten stare. No one had the nerve to keep speaking. No one wanted to provoke him.


    Ronald maintained a cold, unreadable expression as his keen gaze passed over Christina and Violette with restrained disapproval. In a heartbeat, every eye in the room snapped to him.


    “Mr. Burton, she’s the one impersonating Wyvena,” Violette said, extending a finger straight at Christina. “You must expose her before she deceives anyone else and damages Wyvena’s reputation.”


    “Mr. Burton, this painting is mine,” Christina replied, a faint curve at her lips as she gestured toward the artwork.


    Ronald’s expression did not soften. He made no move to examine the painting right away. Instead, his focus lingered on her steady, unflusteredposure. Christina’s calm was striking — clearly marking her as someone out of the ordinary. The quiet assurance she carried eased his initial doubts just slightly.


    Still, he struggled to ept that someone so young could have created a work on par with Wyvena’s. Wyvena had been renowned for a long time, and judging by the years involved, this woman would have been barely into her teens when Wyvena first gained fame — an age far too young to convey the depth and subtlety found in Wyvena’s art. Even now, matching that level seemed improbable. Without a wealth of lived experience, such mastery was unattainable, even for seasoned artists. To Ronald, Wyvena’s talent stood alone on the world stage. Others might mimic the methods, but the spirit would always be missing, leaving only a hollow copy. He firmly believed that no one in his lifetime could ever eclipse Wyvena’s brilliance.


    Wearing a severe expression, Ronald atst stepped closer to Christina’s painting. Only then did the roses on the paper reveal themselves fully. Unlike Rosewind Expanse, which had been painted in oils, this piece had been executed with colored pencils — yet despite the shift in medium, the roses were just as vivid and arresting.


    Ronald’s eyes red wide as he examined the artwork, drawn irresistibly into its allure. Forcing his surprise down, he took out his instruments and began a thorough verification. With every closer look, his excitement and disbelief intensified — though to those watching, his solemn face gave nothing of the storm raging within.


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    He was utterly engrossed, recognizing the unmistakable style — undeniably Wyvena’s, a signature no one else could reproduce.


    The spectators had no idea what was unfolding in Ronald’s mind. Noticing the flush creeping across his face, they assumed he was burning with anger over Christina’s audacity.


    “Ronald looks furious. He must have confirmed it’s a forgery.”


    “Like I’ve been saying — Wyvena is the greatest painter alive. How could someone as young as this woman have created works like that?”


    “The Jones family haspletely disgraced itself by backing an impostor. Just look at him — his face is red with fury.”


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