Chapter 93: The Candidates

My words clearly hit their mark.Vivian’s smile stiffened for half a second before she smoothed it out. She had already been embarrassed earlier, and now that Camilla was finally basking in attention, she wasn’t about to let me disturb that moment.

With a practiced smile, she said, "It seems Ms. Ashbourne has some issue with my daughter. If you’re so dissatisfied, why don’t you join the competition yourself?"

I nearly laughed.

If only you knew.

To someone like Vivian, even the most respected names in the art world meant nothing compared to her precious Camilla.

Keeping my expression polite, I replied, "Mrs. Morrigan, I think you misunderstood. I’m just curious. Are we certain Ms. Morrigan is truly the artist known as ’S’? Could there be some confusion?"

The air shifted instantly.

Camilla shot me a sharp look. "What are you trying to imply?"

It was subtle, but I caught it the flash of panic in her eyes. Fast. Barely there. But real.

Only Camilla knew the truth behind the name ’S’. And the moment I questioned it out loud, her carefully built confidence wavered. Ever since I returned, the control she clung to had been slipping, piece by piece.

People fear what they don’t understand.

And I was enjoying watching that fear take root.

Vivian stepped in again, voice rising with forced outrage. "Ms. Ashbourne, do you have some personal vendetta against us? Why do you keep targeting my daughter?"

I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t rush my words.

"Mrs. Morrigan, you’re overreacting. Everyone saw the competition list, didn’t they? There’s an artist registered under the initial ’S’, yet Camilla entered using her full name. So... who exactly is ’S’?"

Silence followed.

Faces turned. Murmurs spread like a low ripple through the room.

Even Fiona frowned and looked at Camilla. "Camilla, what does this mean?"

Vivian waved it off quickly. "Isn’t it obvious? Someone must be pretending to be my daughter. I told Camilla to use ’S’, she probably just forgot."

Camilla recovered fast. Too fast.

"It doesn’t matter," she said coolly. "A fake will never replace the real thing. Whoever this person is, they’re just trying to gain attention by copying me."

She sounded confident certain that no one could challenge her now that Elena was supposed to be gone.

What she didn’t know was that Elena never truly disappeared.

And if the truth surfaced during the competition, the fallout inside the Morrigan family would be spectacular.

This was Camilla’s last chance to protect her image.

Casually, I added, "The new piece by this ’S’ feels very different from the previous works. Maybe it’s just a coincidence they share the same initial."

Camilla’s gaze snapped to the artwork.

Her eyes narrowed when she read the title.

Vivian leaned closer. "New Beginning," she read aloud.

The painting was bright. Alive. Full of movement and warmth. Nothing like the heavy, suffocating pieces I once created.

And that was intentional.

Real creators grow. They shed old skins. They don’t stay trapped in the same darkness forever.

Back then, when I was lost, my work was cold and lonely. Every stroke carried pain.

But this piece was different.

I was different.

This was my new beginning.

Camilla stared at the painting as if it might speak back to her. The longer she looked, the more uneasy she became.

She had submitted my work, fully believing it would secure her victory. What she hadn’t anticipated was another ’S’ appearing one whose talent couldn’t be ignored.

Even if she believed I was gone for good, this unknown rival made her uneasy.

Fiona, however, wasn’t interested in artistic truth. What mattered to her was influence. Prestige. What Camilla’s fame could bring the Hudsons.

Whether Camilla was truly ’S’ or not meant nothing to her.

"Enough talking," Fiona said briskly. "Let’s eat."

Vivian nodded with a tight smile. "Yes. We’ll let the competition decide."

Camilla excused herself to the restroom.

I followed quietly.

In the hallway, I heard her lowered voice through the phone.

"Find out who this ’S’ really is. Now."

I paused, lips curling slightly.

There was no way she could trace the truth back to me.

This wasn’t some public trial with strict records and verified names. This was a private gathering pack-arranged, invitation-only. Entries came with codes, not identities. At most, the elders knew numbers, not faces.

I let the tension slide off my shoulders and turned away, rejoining the others.

Lewis was already there, leaning against the counter like he owned the space. The air around him was relaxed, familiar. Safe.

He held out a small piece of nougat.

"Try this," he said. "It’s good."

I took it from him and bit down. Sweet. Soft. It melted slowly, warmth spreading through me, settling something restless in my chest. Comfort food. The kind packs always brought when emotions ran high.

"Lewis," I said quietly, "have you heard anything about Camilla?"

He shrugged. "After last time? She’s locked everything down. New phone. New routines. I caught her slipping once and got a recording, but since then nothing solid."

That didn’t surprise me. After I confronted her, she’d have sharpened her claws.

"So?" he asked, watching me closely. "You worried about facing her?"

I shook my head. "No. But I know her. If she smells danger, she won’t stay still. She’ll make noise before the event starts."

I was right.

The moment we left the Hudson house, my face was everywhere.

A clip surfaced online short, sharp, perfectly cut. Me, looking straight at her, asking one question that carried teeth.

Is Ms. Morrigan really ’S’?

What should have been a quiet, skill-based gathering turned into chaos overnight. People were already talking about national pack representation, about who deserved to stand at the front. And suddenly, all eyes were on me.

The comments came fast.

Cruel. Loud. Hungry.

"Camilla owns a gallery. If she’s not S, then who are you? Look in a mirror."

"If you’re so gifted, why aren’t you competing? If not, stay in your lane."

"If Camilla’s not S, I’ll break a coconut with my bare hands on livestream."

"Shameless. Stealing credit and pretending to be special."

My name climbed the trending list again.

Same story. Same hate.

Every time the crowd noticed me, it was to tear me apart. Even after I died once, they still hadn’t let me rest.

Then my phone buzzed.

Grant.

He never called unless he was angry.

"What does this S nonsense have to do with you?" he snapped. "You don’t even paint. If this affects the company’s standing, I’ll hold you responsible."

Before I could answer, Lena’s voice drifted in, softer but sharp underneath.

"Our daughter is being ripped apart online, and you’re worried about numbers? Riley, don’t worry. I’ll pay to get your name pulled from the trending list."

"No," I said quickly. "Mom, don’t."

I needed this.

"This kind of attention doesn’t come often," I added calmly. "Someone spent real money to push me up there. Removing it now would be a waste."

She sounded confused. "But they’re humiliating you. Why let it continue?"

I smiled, slow and steady.

"Let them talk. The louder they laugh now, the quieter they’ll be later."

Camilla thought she was in control. She’d paid to twist the narrative, confident no one could challenge her anymore. Elena was gone. The past was buried.

She thought wrong.

I was still here.

And I wasn’t alone.

I spoke again, steady enough that even Grant fell silent.

"Don’t worry. Even if the company takes a hit, it’ll recover. This storm won’t last."