Chapter 226

Chapter 226

Harper stood on the red carpet, spotlights bathing her in an almost ethereal glow.

Her face showed no trace of panic, no hint of guilt—only serene composure.

Her long hair was loosely pinned up, revealing her slender neck. A pair of pearl earrings adorned her earlobes, simple yet elegant.

The reporters froze for a second, then frantically clicked their shutters.

Flashbulbs exploded like a sea of light, the sound of clicking cameras like rain hammering against glass.

"Harper! Harper's here!"

"Ms. Mellon, are the online accusations true?"

"Are you really a homewrecker? Did you actually impersonate the designer Elysian?"

"Please answer our questions!"

Questions surged toward her like a tidal wave. Harper didn't respond—she simply smiled and nodded at them before stepping onto the red carpet.

Her pace was unhurried, and her gown's train swayed gently behind her like a lotus flower in full bloom.

That composed bearing left everyone stunned.

On the livestream platforms, comments scrolled so fast the screen was barely visible.

[How does she still dare to show up? The nerve!]

[Is she guilty or confident? I can't even tell anymore!]

[Stop pretending. Can't wait to see her get called out! I want to hear what she has to say.]

[She's so calm—could she actually have something to back her up?]

At the end of the carpet, Harper entered the venue.

The hall was already packed, a sea of people—easily over a thousand.

The moment they saw her, everyone fell silent for a second, then whispers erupted.

The murmuring buzzed like a swarm of bees.

Those gazes—curious, scrutinizing, hostile, gleeful, waiting for the show—fixed on her.

Harper paid them no mind.

She found her seat and sat down, waiting quietly.

Her posture was impeccable, back straight, eyes level, face expressionless.

The person beside her quietly scooted their chair away, putting some distance between them.

She noticed. Said nothing.

The ceremony began.

The host took the stage, awards were presented, and performances went on—everything proceeded as planned.

But no one's attention was on the awards. They were all waiting, waiting to see if Harper would say something.

One award after another was handed out, one round of applause after another rang out—but the clapping was perfunctory. Everyone's eyes kept darting toward Harper's section.

Finally, the last segment arrived.

The host stood on stage, his voice carrying through the sound system across the entire venue.

"Next up is our most special segment of the evening. We've invited a special designer to share her story. Let's welcome—Harper Mellon."

The hall instantly fell silent.

So quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Harper rose and walked toward the stage. Her pace remained unhurried, her gown's hem brushing lightly over the steps.

Spotlights followed her, escorting her all the way to center stage.

She stood there, gaze sweeping across the audience, then spoke.

"I know many people have been talking about me these past two days."

The crowd grew even quieter.

Some held their breath, some widened their eyes, some leaned forward, afraid to miss a single word.

Harper continued, "Some say I'm a homewrecker. Some say I've been using someone else's identity, that I'm a fraud. Today, I want to give everyone an answer."

She paused, pulling out a document from her pocket.

"These are my identity documents. They have my name, Harper Mellon. My birth date, place of origin, driver's license—all crystal clear."

She unfolded the documents and held them up to the camera. The big screen clearly displayed those certificates, the photo showing a younger Harper, her features gentle, her smile faint.

Then she pulled out another document.

"This is my designer certification. It has my name and my photo. The issuing authority, issue date, qualification level—all plain to see."

Murmurs began rippling through the crowd below.

Harper didn't stop. She pulled out another document.

"This is my studio's registration paperwork. It has my name, the studio's name, registration date, and registered capital. My design studio—legal representative is Harper."

She displayed them one by one. Everyone could see clearly.

Then she pulled out the final document.

It was athick contract ,, at least a dozen pages.

Emblazoned across it were several large words: Designer Elysian, Code HM, Strategic Cooperation Agreement with the Stuart Group.

In the Party A representative column, written clearly and unmistakably—Harper Mellon.

In the signature section, Harper's handwritten signature, with a bright red official seal stamped below.

The hall exploded.

"What? So Harper is Elysian, and also HM?"

"Oh my God! She's the mysterious designer Elysian?"

"How is that possible!"

"That legendary Elysian who only takes top-tier commissions?"

On the livestream platforms, comments were scrolling too fast to read.

[Harper IS Elysian—where are all those people who accused her of impersonation? Does your face hurt?]

[Oh my God! This is such a plot twist!]

[So Elowen was slandering her? Everything she said was a lie?]

[Where's Elowen? Come out here!]

Below the stage, industry bigwigs exchanged glances, then stood up one after another.

Someone started clapping.

Eventually, the entire hall rose to its feet. Applause thundered like rolling waves.

They revered the designer Elysian, while also fearing Harper might hold grudges.

That applause lasted and lasted.

In a corner, Elowen had slipped in at some point.

She wore a face mask and hat, wrapped in an oversized trench coat, hiding in the darkest corner of the back row.

She'd come to watch Harper be humiliated—after all, deep down she believed Harper couldn't possibly be Elysian.

But now, watching that radiant Harper on stage, seeing those industry bigwigs standing to applaud, seeing the shock and admiration on everyone's faces—

Elowen's complexion turned paper white.

The Harper she'd schemed so hard to destroy hadn't been destroyed at all. Instead, on this very stage, she'd proven herself to everyone.

And what about herself?

A criminal awaiting judgment.

Elowen's lips trembled with rage.

On stage, Harper put away the documents, her gaze sweeping across the hall.

"I am Elysian," she said, voice calm and clear.

"From beginning to end, it's been me. Those who said I was impersonating someone can shut up now. Those who called me a homewrecker can present your evidence. If you can't, then apologize."

Applause erupted again, lasting and lasting.

Elowen watched this scene, desperately comforting herself.

It's fine. Harper only clarified that she's Elysian—but so what? The main thing is, she's still a homewrecker, a despicable homewrecker!

That's the biggest stain, and no matter what, Harper can't prove otherwise.

Thinking this, Elowen's lips curved into a smug smile again.

As the applause slowly faded, Harper prepared to leave the stage.

Just then, a figure walked up.

"Wait."