Chapter 98: Let’s Paint

The moment Camilla saw my finished piece, I caught it.That flash in her eyes.

Jealousy.

She hid it fast, but it was there. She knew it the second Twin Souls was revealed. Her copied work never stood a chance. No matter how clean her technique was, it felt hollow beside mine. Pretty on the surface. Empty underneath.

Most of the pieces she’d stolen from me were born during my weakest days. Back when everything inside me felt heavy and broken. Those paintings carried pain.

But this one?

This one came from a different place.

I wasn’t surviving anymore. I was standing tall. Breathing freely. Whole.

That difference showed.

The room felt it.

Even Lincy froze. The girl who always soaked up attention stared at my work like it shouldn’t exist. Her lips trembled as she whispered, barely loud enough to hear,

"This makes no sense... How could you someone so useless create something like that?"

Her certainty shattered.

Vivian’s expression twisted. Shock mixed with something she didn’t want to admit. Her "genius" daughter had been outshone, and she couldn’t deny it.

Around us, the air shifted.

The same people who had laughed earlier now leaned closer.

"I didn’t expect this ’Fake S’ to pull something like this off... it’s incredible."

"Camilla’s work is polished, sure. But it feels cold. This one?"

They pointed at mine.

"It feels alive."

"Those water lilies... they hit you right here." Someone pressed a hand to their chest.

Praise replaced whispers. Admiration replaced doubt.

When the scores came in judges and public votes combined I took first place by a landslide.

Camilla was second.

And the gap between us was impossible to ignore.

Even her most loyal supporters fell silent. Art like this didn’t need defending. It spoke on its own.

Vivian looked disappointed but tried to mask it. Second place, she told herself, wasn’t a loss.

Fiona didn’t bother pretending.

"So much for calling her a genius," she said coldly. "She got completely overshadowed."

Vivian bristled. "Camilla’s been under a lot of pressure. Second place is still respectable."

Fiona scoffed. "No one remembers second place. People only remember who stood at the top."

Before Vivian could snap back, the host handed me the microphone.

I stood.

The room quieted instantly.

I looked into the lights, into the cameras streaming live, and smiled softly. Calm. Steady.

"I didn’t come here today just to compete," I said. "I came to honor a request... and to tell the truth."

Every sound died.

The host leaned closer. "A request? From whom?"

I didn’t hesitate.

"From the real S."

The reaction was instant.

Shock rolled through the hall like a low growl before a storm.

Camilla went pale.

Whispers burst out everywhere.

"The real S?"

"What does that mean?"

"Is she saying Camilla isn’t S?"

"But... everyone said Camilla was the real one!"

Confusion spread fast, sharp and electric.

The host recovered quickly, eyes bright with curiosity.

"There’s been a lot of debate online. Some people claimed you were pretending to be S. Are you here to clear that up?"

"Yes," I said evenly. "I am."

I paused just long enough for the tension to tighten.

"I’m not the real S. The true S passed away a long time ago."

The room erupted.

Voices overlapped. Shock. Disbelief.

On stage, Camilla’s fingers clenched into her dress. Her body stiffened, like prey that finally sensed the trap closing.

She knew.

She’d known for a while.

And now there was nowhere left to run.

She could’ve stopped this earlier. Walked away quietly. Saved herself. But she chose pride. Chose greed.

I waited too long for this moment to hesitate now.

Holding the mic steady, I finished calmly.

"The real S was Ms. Elena Morrigan. Daughter of the Morrigan family."

I turned slightly, my gaze locking on Camilla.

"The woman you know as Camilla Morrigan is a liar. A thief. Someone who stole another person’s name and wore it like a crown."

Gasps tore through the room.

Camilla lifted her chin and spoke fast, trying to sound steady. Her voice rang sharp across the hall.

"You’re lying," she said. "Ms. Ashbourne, you’ve hated me ever since that video of you spread online. This is nothing but jealousy. Accusing me like this is slander. I could take you to court."

I met her eyes and didn’t look away.

"Ms. Morrigan," I said calmly, "there’s no need to panic. Lies need noise to survive. I don’t. I’m standing here with the truth."

The room felt tight, like everyone was holding their breath.

"I’m not here for revenge," I continued. "I’m here for Elena. For someone who never got the chance to speak for herself."

I paused, letting my words sink in.

"You’re nervous," I added softly. "Because you already know what I’m about to say. The paintings you’ve been showing the world especially the one you brought tonight they don’t belong to you. They belong to Elena."

The color drained from Camilla’s face.

Her eyes went wide, her lips parting like she wanted to deny it but couldn’t find the strength. I’d struck something deep. Something she thought was buried forever.

The crowd erupted. Whispers turned into loud voices. Shock rippled through the room like a pulse.

Vivian suddenly rushed forward, fury written all over her face.

"Don’t listen to her!" she shouted. "She’s jealous of my daughter’s gift! We’ve all seen Camilla paint with our own eyes. If this work isn’t hers, then where is this so-called real artist?"

Someone in the crowd spoke up, hesitant but honest.

"But Riley’s painting was clearly better."

Another voice followed.

"Yeah... Camilla’s work looks polished, but it doesn’t feel alive. Riley’s did."

Camilla looked like she might break apart right there. She knew it. If she lost today, everything she’d built would collapse.

She snapped at me, desperation creeping into her voice. "If you’re going to accuse me, you better have proof. Otherwise, I’ll make you pay for this."

I didn’t even glance at her.

Instead, I turned to Vivian.

"Mrs. Morrigan," I asked quietly, "how well do you really know your eldest daughter?"

She scoffed. "She’s my child. Of course I know her."

I lifted the microphone, my grip steady.

"Then let me tell you a story."

The room fell silent.

"There was once a girl born into wealth and expectations. She had a rare gift. When she painted, emotions breathed through the canvas. But her family didn’t care. They wanted her to run businesses, not chase colors. So they forced her to put her brushes away."

My voice stayed calm, but my chest burned.

"One year, she entered an art competition under a fake name. Just one letter. S. She won. She gave away every cent of the prize to charity. Slowly, people began to notice her work."

Faces in the crowd softened.

"She never stopped painting. Once a year, she secretly released a new piece under that same name. Every time, the money went to people in need. But no one in her family noticed. Not her parents. Not even the man she loved."

Julian stiffened in his seat.

"She grew tired of trying to be seen. So she stopped. She stayed alone, hidden away, painting everything she couldn’t say. Pain. Hope. Loneliness. Love."

My throat tightened, but I didn’t stop.

"Then one day, she died. Just like that. She never met the people who admired her. Never heard their praise. She left behind a room full of paintings... and a life full of silence."

The hall was deathly quiet.

In the front row, Julian’s shoulders shook. Tears streamed down his face. He wasn’t just hearing a story.

He was grieving her.