Chapter 105
In the VIP section, Dahlia's hand froze mid-air, her juice glass suspended.
She stared at Allegra's face—twisted with rage—and her brow twitched. A flicker of mockery crossed her eyes, the kind reserved for watching fools.
No matter how disgraced Lucinda might be, she was still the heiress of the Douglas family, the wealthiest in the country.
And Allegra just accused Lucinda of "crawling out of some backwater," "unable to adjust to poverty," and "cozying up to sugar daddies"?
The Douglas family? Poor?
The Douglas family? Needing to cozy up to anyone?
This woman—did her brain get slammed in a door?
'If you're going to smear Lucinda, could you at least make it believable?'
Dahlia lowered her head and took a sip of juice, but her eyelid wouldn't stop twitching.
Not because she was worried about Lucinda.
Because she'd just realized: Lucinda was Amy.
Amy.
That name—legendary in the design world. The one she'd studied endlessly, copied countless times, dreamed of reaching. That person was the one she hated most.
Her hand trembled. Juice nearly spilled.
Onstage, Ollie's face had gone pale with fury.
He stepped forward, both hands gripping the edge of the podium, eyes blazing as they locked onto Allegra. His voice shot up several notches. "Ms. Wipere, you think you can slander someone here and get away with it? Let me tell you—every single one of the hundreds of people in the Jewelry Design Association has Amy's back. Every piece she's made, every achievement she's earned—it's all on record. You stand here spouting nonsense? You're picking a fight with our entire industry!"
The murmuring in the crowd dropped.
People exchanged glances. The suspicion in their eyes slowly gave way to hesitation.
"The Jewelry Design Association… that's the most authoritative organization in the country."
"If the whole association's backing her, her identity can't be fake."
"Yeah. Mr. Morgan—what kind of person is he? He's been in the industry for years. When has he ever lied?"
The tide was turning.
Allegra stood below the stage, feeling those eyes—the ones that had once leaned her way—shift back.
Her chest felt like something had slammed into it. She couldn't breathe.
She bit down hard, fingers flying across her phone screen. Then she thrust it up high, screen facing the crowd.
"Everyone, look closely!"
She raised the phone higher. Photos filled the screen.
One showed Ollie leaning down to speak to Lucinda. Another showed Wesley smiling as he handed her snacks. A few more, shot from suspicious angles, looked especially intimate.
"This woman's got something shady going on with Mr. Morgan, and with the Douglas family patriarch too. The men around her keep changing. Don't let that face fool you—she slept her way to the top! Amy? Some hick who didn't even go to college—how could she be a design master?"
The crowd erupted again.
The photos were too "perfectly timed." Each one looked like evidence of an affair.
Someone gasped. Others started whispering. A few socialites covered their mouths and murmured, eyes raking over Lucinda with undisguised contempt.
Ollie trembled with rage. He pointed at Allegra, lips quivering, unable to force out a single word.
That's when a cold, clear voice rang out from center stage.
"Enough."
Not loud. But the entire venue fell silent instantly.
Lucinda stepped forward from the edge of the stage, moving to the microphone.
She stood in the spotlight, her gaze sweeping past everyone below and landing on Allegra's face.
Her eyes were calm. Calm like a frozen lake in the dead of winter.
But when Allegra met those eyes, every hair on her body stood on end.
"Allegra, you took photos of people without their knowledge. You spread lies and false information. Do you know what that's called under the law?" Lucinda's voice was unhurried, every word clear.
Allegra's lips trembled, but she quickly stiffened her neck and raised her voice. "You threatening me? You did something shameful, and now you're scared people will talk? If you did it, don't be afraid of being exposed!"
"Stubborn to the end." Lucinda's lips curved slightly. The smile was faint—so faint it sent chills down spines. "Fine. Then today, I'll educate you."
She turned and walked to the second-place display. She pointed at the design hanging on the board, her voice steady. "The wings in this piece use the 'Shattered Light Flow' setting technique. The core of this method is that every chip diamond is cut at a different angle. As the wearer moves, the light shifts and creates a flowing, shimmering effect. Mastering this technique requires at least eight years of foundational training."
She paused, her gaze shifting to Allegra. Her voice turned colder. "Ms. Wipere, since you claim this piece is your independent design, you should know—what are the key parameters for this technique? What angle should the chip diamonds be tilted at? What refraction rate does the light need to achieve?"
Allegra's face went ghostly pale.
Her lips shook violently. Her palms were drenched in sweat. Her mind went blank.
When she'd stolen that design, she'd only thought it looked pretty. She had no idea what "Shattered Light Flow" was, let alone angles or refraction rates.
The strokes she'd added later? Random scribbles. She hadn't even grasped basic proportions. The whole thing held together only because the wings themselves were beautiful.
"I… I…"
Her voice trembled. She couldn't form a complete sentence.
The industry professionals below shifted their gazes from Allegra to the design, then back to Lucinda.
They knew the field.
Those questions—every single one hit the mark.
No one outside the inner circle could ask questions like that.
Ollie stood to the side, his lips slowly curving. His eyes brimmed with satisfaction.
Lucinda withdrew her gaze. She pulled her phone from her clutch, opened a folder, and held the screen out toward the crowd. Her voice was measured. "This is the complete design I drew three years ago."
The screen displayed the wings in full. Lines flowed smoothly. Every detail was meticulously marked.
Compared to the half-finished piece on display, the butterfly's wings seemed to flutter in the light. The entire image came alive.
The crowd fell silent.
A silence born of awe.
Then someone in the first row stood.
An elderly man with silver hair. A veteran in jewelry design. An international award-winner many times over.
He stood before his seat, hands at his sides, eyes fixed on the complete design. His lips trembled. His eyes reddened.
Someone in the second row stood.
The third row. The fourth. The fifth.
Like dominoes, from front to back, one by one, they rose.
All of them stood there, gazes locked on the figure in deep blue onstage, eyes filled with reverence.