Chapter 59

Chapter 59

Emma Johnson's POV

The short-haired woman recovered quickly, nodding eagerly. "We actually covered this design before. We have a backup file."

Another woman immediately pulled out her tablet, swiped through several screens, and handed it to me. "Here it is."

I zoomed in on the design details, examining them carefully. This was the sketch from my portfolio—virtually identical.

Almost no changes had been made before submission.

"How interesting."

A slow smile curved my lips as I looked at the three anxious women across from me. I waved dismissively. "Send this image to my email later. We'll forget today ever happened. Just don't look down on people again."

"Thank you, Ms. Johnson!" The three women practically fled the room.

The moment they left, I opened the email that had just arrived.

Inside, I found not only a photo of Emily beaming with pride, but also her competition entry—a fashion design series called Nirvana.

One glance was enough to freeze the blood in my veins.

It was too similar.

The overall silhouette, color palette, even the minute details—everything matched my sketchbook drafts with seventy to eighty percent accuracy.

She had brazenly stolen my work.

And entered it into a competition.

A memory surfaced from my previous life—Emily had indeed won a major design award. At the time, I'd been genuinely happy for her, never connecting her success to plagiarism.

But now I understood. She must have stolen my work in that life too.

I'd entered that same competition back then, but never received notice about the second round. I'd assumed I'd been eliminated in the preliminaries.

But with Emily now holding a gold medal using my designs, something was clearly rotten.

I forced down the surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm me and found the competition's official contact number.

The staff member on the other end was matter-of-fact. "I'm sorry, Ms. Johnson, but we have no record of receiving your registration. Are you certain you're thinking of the right competition?"

I froze. How was that possible?

Before my rebirth, I'd definitely registered.

The memory suddenly crystallized—me and Emily sitting side by side at the computer.

"Emma, I helped you register for that design competition. We can go together when the time comes."

I'd thanked her so warmly then. But now—

A cold laugh escaped my lips. Emily had been planning this all along.

The competition news was still trending. Emily had given interviews, waxing poetic about her "design inspiration."

Watching the woman on TV, I felt nothing but contempt.

I searched online for the list of judges and their schedules, discovering that one of the senior judges—Everett Stevens, known in the industry for mentoring emerging talent—would be giving a public lecture that afternoon at the City Design Center.

I headed straight there.

After the lecture ended and the crowd dispersed, I spotted Judge Stevens in the backstage area, chatting with several people.

Among them, wearing the latest designer dress and leaning intimately against Everett, was Emily.

I hid behind a pillar, listening as Emily used a voice dripping with sweetness. "Mr. Stevens, I owe this all to your guidance and support."

Everett, an older man wearing glasses, smiled broadly, his hand casually roaming across Emily's waist.

"Emily, dear, you're too modest. You have genuine talent. The design was excellent. I rarely see young people with such natural energy. I have high hopes for you. Do well in the finals, and I'll recommend you to better platforms."

Emily's eyes lit up, her face flushing as she pressed her body against his. "Really? Mr. Stevens, you're so good to me! I don't know how I could ever repay you."

Everett chuckled lecherously, his eyes crawling over Emily's figure.

So even the judges were corrupt.

I let out a cold laugh and, without hesitation, raised my phone, recording the entire scene along with their conversation.

Evidence secured, I slipped away silently.

The moment I left the Design Center, my phone rang. Grace.

Her voice on the other end was unusually warm and triumphant. "Emma! It's me! Did you see the news? Emily made it to the finals of that national design competition!"

I licked my lips, speechless for the first time in a long while.

"Is that so?"

"Your father is over the moon! He insists we celebrate properly! We're having a family dinner tonight—you must come home! We're one family, after all. We should celebrate Emily's achievement together! And you haven't been home in so long. Your father misses you terribly!"

Even through the screen, I could picture the smug, fake expression on her face.

She wanted to create the illusion of family harmony and a talented daughter in front of David, and perhaps test Louis's and my attitude once more.

I gripped my phone, a cold smile curving my lips.

"Sure."

I hung up immediately.

Emily. Grace.

I'd been meaning to confront you about the plagiarism anyway.

---

That evening, the Johnson Mansion.

The dining room blazed with light, the spread even more lavish than at Mother's memorial.

David sat at the head of the table, his face flushed with rare joy.

Grace bustled about attentively, serving dishes, her eyes and brows radiating barely suppressed pride.

Emily wore an expensive new dress and flawless makeup.

Standing in the entryway, changing my shoes while watching this display of familial affection, I couldn't help the cold smirk that tugged at my lips.

They were the real family here.

"Emma, you're home! Come, sit, sit!" David spotted me and gestured enthusiastically. "Your sister has wonderful news today. The whole family's together—what a happy occasion!"

I was pulled to the table and sat down, my expression blank.

"Emma, your sister has truly made us proud! That competition is incredibly difficult—so many talented people nationwide, and she made the finals! How impressive! The judges said she has exceptional talent, that she's the future of the design world! She might even surpass you!" Grace crowed.

I ate my food methodically, ignoring her boasting.

Emily lowered her head with feigned modesty. "Mom, don't say that. Emma is amazing too. So many people love her paintings now." She turned to me, her eyes brimming with innocence.

"Emma, what do you think of my designs? I remember you used to sketch clothing designs too. Maybe you could give me some pointers?"

I set down my chopsticks, wiped the corner of my mouth with my napkin, and lifted my eyes to meet hers. My gaze was calm and still as glass.

"I don't have any pointers. Just stop plagiarizing."