Chapter 3

Indeed, Pierce immediately took a liking to my painting.

"Work number 29 is highly polished. Though it appears to depict only two figures, there are actually three, aren't there?"

Seeing me nod, the host quickly chimed in:

"Oh? How did Mr. Prescott notice that?"

He smiled slightly, using his mouse to circle the screen:

"If I'm not mistaken, what we're looking at is the perspective of the third person."

"In this painting, I sense the artist's feelings of inferiority and resignation upon witnessing their first love with someone else."

"This delicate expression of emotion is the essence of this piece."

As if struck by a thought, he paused briefly before making his request:

"If you're willing, I'd like to purchase this work."

Of course I was willing. I threw out an outrageous price, intending to put him on the spot.

To my surprise, he waved his hand dismissively and immediately agreed: "Fine."

Watching Pierce come home one day after work, carrying a large picture frame, I felt a strange sense of pride.

[That's what you get for firing me. Now you're buying my painting at a premium!]

For the first five rounds of the finals, regardless of the theme, I tailored my work to Pierce's tastes.Indeed, the paintings he brought back grew more numerous.

This month alone, my earnings from him could be described as a windfall.

For the final round, I habitually steered my subject choices towards Pierce's preferences.

However, this time, Pierce didn't buy my painting. Instead, he towered over me in the mansion and interrogated me:

"Hey, Number 29 is you, isn't it, Archer?"

That evening, I was once again punished by kneeling in the family shrine to apologize to Seraphina.

"Ridiculous! Trying to imitate Cadence, you're not skilled enough yet!"

After saying this, Pierce burned the four paintings he had previously bought at high prices right in front of me.

But I wasn't sad at all.

Whether it was the total score or the online votes, I was undoubtedly in first place.

Pierce couldn't prevent me from entering the finals.

The finals were held in person, with many renowned "masters" gathering to exchange ideas while wearing masks.

I was surrounded by reporters and photographers, but beyond the crowd, I seemed to catch a challenging gaze.

It was from Number 8, the dark horse who had fought their way through this competition.

My sixth sense was right. Number 8 stood on the stage, introduced themselves, and loudly announced in front of numerous cameras:

"I want to report that Contestant Number 29 has plagiarized!"The scene unfolds as Number 8 directly presents her artwork previously shared on social media, displaying it on the big screen.

"Number 29's work, both in style and brushwork, completely plagiarizes my art," she declares.

As I watch the paintings that should bear my name scroll across the screen, I'm left utterly speechless.

"I trust the judges will draw their own conclusions," Number 8 states, bowing with an air of righteous conviction.

Pierce, driven to a frenzy, rushes onto the stage and incredulously removes Number 8's mask.

"Seraphina?"

"It's me," she whispers, rising on her tiptoes to kiss Pierce's cheek. Leaning close to his ear, she adds, "Pierce, I'm back."

Witnessing this unfold before me, I stand frozen, unable to utter a word.

Three years ago, she was the one secretly plotting in her room;

She was the one who begged me to keep her elopement a secret, going so far as to knock me unconscious and start a fire to cover her tracks;

And now, she's the one trying to snatch away the few straws of hope I have left.

Seraphina approaches me, deliberately leaning into the microphone as she says:

"Little sister, have you been using my things all these years with such a clear conscience?"

In an instant, my online supporters turn against me.The reporters waiting at the entrance swarmed onto the stage towards me.

"Are you two sisters?"

"Miss Seraphina, what did you mean by 'my sister's things' just now?"

"You've been profiting by imitating your sister all this time. Have you ever considered how your supporters feel?"

As soon as the news broke, I became the target of public criticism.

Seraphina moved into the mansion.

The first thing she did was throw my belongings out the window.

The pristine white rose branches in the pots below were instantly snapped, their flowers scattering into the mud.

Seraphina smiled, but her eyes looked like they wanted to kill me:

"Archer, you've stolen my things for so long. It's time to give them back."

Before I could open my mouth to question her, Pierce rushed over after hearing the news.

Seraphina immediately covered her face and broke into tears: