From a young age, Paige had turned manipulation into an art form, wearing manufactured innocence like a tailored gown. Her tears weren’t just convincing—they were a performance, expertly crafted to tug at every heartstring in the room.

Whispers of sympathy began to stir, and one by one, the crowd leaned into her side.

“Mr. Wilde, personal disputes with Mr. Scott are one thing, but dragging them into this competition is unfair. As a judge, you’re expected to critique with impartiality, not grudges.”

“Mr. Wilde, even if something’s gone sour between you and Mr. Scott, know that Paige doesn’t deserve the fallout. She just became Mr. Scott’s disciple today—don’t let your conflict overshadow her chance.”

Seeing the atmosphere shift in her favor, Paige’s heart danced with satisfaction, though she kept her expression wounded and gently touched her damp lashes with the edge of a tissue.

Luca, who had never compromised his principles, could barely contain his fury. His jaw clenched, and a line of veins flared up his temple as he stared Paige and Luciano down. He gave Luciano a hard, frigid stare and said in a steady, low voice, “I don’t care for you. But that doesn’t mean I’m here to pick a fight or twist the truth just to spite you. If you’re curious about why I chose Ms. Marsh’s painting, then go see it for yourself.”

With that, Luca shifted to the side, making space for Luciano, and pointed at Elliana’s painting. “Didn’t you say Rosa was your muse? Then go on. See it for yourself.”

The mention of Rosa’s name hit Luciano like a cold wind. He didn’t know where Luca was going with this, but his gut told him it wasn’t headed anywhere good. Still, with eyes watching from every direction, he couldn’t afford to flinch. He stepped forward, forcing composure, and turned his attention to Elliana’s Lonely Sunset.

Back during the live class, Luciano had barely given Elliana’s work a glance. It was decent, maybe even impressive—but he’d mocked it anyway, hiding behind the excuse of being honest while really just playing to the cameras. But this time, Elliana’s painting was a finalist. It wasn’t some throwaway display anymore. He had to show at least a pretense of serious critique.

Luciano pretended to admire the artwork for a moment, then straightened up with the smug confidence of a self-proclaimed expert and said with exaggerated flair…

сρ αν﹒

“Elliana’s piece has its strengths, sure, but when placed beside Paige’s, it clearly doesn’t measure up.”

Once he laid down his critique, he turned to Elliana, wearing the kind of expression meant to pass as wise and well-meaning. “Elliana, I did call you out during the live session this afternoon, but it wasn’t without cause. You treat your instructor and the craft itself too lightly. Without genuine respect for both, even a good painting won’t take you very far. What I said wasn’t meant to tear you down. It was simply guidance, one artist trying to steer another in the right direction. There’s no need for resentment, is there?”

Elliana couldn’t hide the amusement curling at her lips. If he wanted to keep up the charade, she was more than happy to let him. The further he went, the harder he’d fall.

A scornful laugh escaped Luca before he could stop it. He no longer had doubts—Luciano clearly knew nothing about oil painting. Anyone with real knowledge wouldn’t compare Paige’s Riding the Waves to Elliana’s Lonely Sunset, let alone call the former superior.

Another truth settled in Luca’s mind—Luciano’s admiration for Rosa was nothing but an empty claim. If Luciano genuinely admired Rosa’s work, he wouldn’t overlook the distinct traces of Rosa’s influence in Elliana’s Lonely Sunset. Even if he couldn’t name the artist right away, he should’ve at least noticed how closely it mirrored Rosa’s style. Luca’s disdain deepened with every breath. To think that the president of the Calligraphers and Painters Association was nothing more than a fraud—it was both ridiculous and revolting.

“Tell me, Luciano. Did you actually look at Ms. Marsh’s Lonely Sunset, or were you just pretending again?” Luca asked, his voice sharp.

The moment Luca pressed him, dread clawed at Luciano’s spine. He hated being cornered like this—under scrutiny, with sweat trickling down his back, terrified of slipping up in front of a crowd that wouldn’t miss a beat.

Wanting to avoid further scrutiny, Luciano pulled a long face and snapped, “Mr. Wilde, must you insist on challenging me like this?”

“Ha!” A single, biting laugh shot from Luca’s throat.

With a chilling smirk, Luca said, “Luciano, a hypocritical scoundrel like you isn’t worth my time!”

“You!” Luciano was seething, his chest rising sharply as his face contorted with fury. “Mr. Wilde, I’ve held back out of respect for your reputation and seniority in the art world. But don’t test my patience, or I won’t bother with pleasantries next time!”

“I’m not interested in your so-called pleasantries,” Luca retorted. “You think Paige’s piece deserves praise? Fine. Let’s see what the rest of the panel thinks.”

As sparks flew between the two titans, the host stood frozen—caught between awe and panic, unsure whether to interrupt or let the storm play out.

Snapping out of his daze at Luca’s cue, the host scrambled to regain control, ushering the other judges forward to cast their votes.

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