BRUSHSTROKES OF REVENGE

The air inside the Bright Auditorium was electric—thick with nerves, ambition, and the faint hum of destiny. Every seat was filled, every camera trained on the stage. The final round of the National Design Championship was about to begin, and the tension was so sharp it could have sliced through silk.

The host stepped into the spotlight, his polished shoes gleaming beneath the stage lights. His smile was bright, but even he seemed to sense the weight of the moment pressing down on the hall.

”Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice echoing through the vast space, ”welcome to the Fourth and Final Round of the National Design Championship!”

Thunderous applause erupted, rolling through the auditorium like a storm. The sound rose, then fell into an expectant hush as the host lifted a hand.

”The final theme,” he said, pausing dramatically, ”is... Legacy.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and resonant.

”A design that represents the journey of one’s life,” he continued. ”Every stitch must tell a story. Every gemstone must carry meaning. This final gown should embody everything the designer has learned through life.”

The applause faded into silence. Even the air seemed to still.

Legacy.

It wasn’t just a theme—it was a challenge. Beauty alone would not be enough this time. The gown had to possess a soul. It had to breathe, to speak, to remember.

The countdown began.

Three hours.

And the battle for immortality began.

Every designer rushed back to their workstation. The sound of scissors slicing through fabric filled the air, sharp and rhythmic. Needles flashed like lightning under the bright lights. Assistants darted between tables, carrying beads, embroidery frames, and gemstones that glittered like captured stars.

The atmosphere was a storm of motion and focus. Every second mattered. Every mistake could destroy a dream.

At the Snow Design station, Adam Gray sat quietly in his wheelchair, sketching the final embroidery details with steady precision. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp, calculating. Beside him, Steven organized materials with military efficiency, his movements quick and silent. Two bodyguards stood near the entrance, their presence a silent wall of protection.

But not everyone in the room shared their composure.

Jodey Hale was restless.

She paced the room, her heels clicking against the polished floor, a large strawberry shake in her hand. Every few minutes, her gaze drifted toward Ethan—one of Adam’s bodyguards. Their eyes met briefly, and something unspoken passed between them.

A flicker of understanding.

A secret.

Adam noticed. His pencil paused mid-stroke. His eyes, calm moments ago, turned cold.

Jodey smiled faintly, pretending not to notice. She wandered closer to the nearly completed cream-colored gown displayed on the mannequin. The strawberry shake swayed dangerously in her hand.

Then she stumbled.

The cup tilted.

A single drop of pink liquid slid down the rim—

Steven moved faster than anyone thought possible. He caught her arm before she could fall, his other hand snatching the cup from her grip.

”Miss Jodey,” he said evenly, ”please be careful.”

He set the drink aside, his tone polite but firm. ”The lounge area is much more comfortable. You should rest there.”

Jodey blinked, her face flushing. ”I’m... sorry.”

Adam’s gaze never left her. His voice, when it came, was calm and quiet—but it carried the weight of command.

”You must be tired,” he said. Then, turning to Ethan, ”Take Miss Jodey to the lounge. She can return after this round ends.”

Jodey’s expression stiffened. ”But Adam—”

”I’ll be fine.”

The tone left no room for argument.

Reluctantly, she turned and walked toward the door, Ethan following close behind. The moment it closed, silence settled over the room.

Adam and Steven exchanged a single glance.

No words were needed.

They both knew what had almost happened.

And what it meant.

Across the hall, the LUXT Design station was a study in controlled chaos.

Layla adjusted the embroidery on the gown’s bodice, her fingers moving with surgical precision. Wade inspected every gemstone placement, his sharp eyes catching even the smallest imperfection. Ana arranged accessories on the side table, humming softly, occasionally tossing in a teasing comment to lighten the mood.

But Mindy Wilson—

Mindy was silent.

She sat at her table, her posture straight, her hands steady as she stitched the final silver thread into the gown. Her movements were fluid, deliberate, almost hypnotic. Not a single motion was wasted.

Her face was calm. Serene.

As if she already knew how the day would end.

The others worked with urgency. Mindy worked with certainty.

Two and a half hours later, the loudspeaker crackled to life.

”Contestants, please prepare your final presentations. It is time.”

The words sent a ripple through the hall.

Assistants wheeled gowns toward the backstage area. Designers adjusted last-minute details, smoothing fabric, checking hems, whispering silent prayers.

The audience buzzed with excitement. The livestream numbers skyrocketed—millions of viewers now watching, waiting to witness history.

The host returned to the stage, his voice bright and clear.

”Our first finalist,” he announced, ”Snow Design!”

Applause erupted.

Steven rolled Adam’s wheelchair onto the stage. The cameras zoomed in, capturing every detail. The audience murmured in surprise—Jodey was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Steven stood proudly behind Adam, his expression composed.

Adam looked at his gown, his voice calm but resonant.

”My design,” he said, ”is called Silent Guardian.”

The lights shifted, illuminating the gown.

A majestic ivory creation shimmered beneath the spotlight, adorned with silver embroidery that resembled armor. The fabric flowed like water, yet carried the strength of steel. It was a paradox—grace and power, fragility and endurance.

”It represents a protector,” Adam continued. ”Someone who silently carries everyone’s burdens without asking for recognition.”

He paused, his gaze steady.

”Strength isn’t always loud,” he said softly. ”Sometimes, it quietly protects everything precious.”

The audience was silent for a heartbeat. Then applause thundered through the hall.

Jonathan Harper nodded with satisfaction. Selena Marwin smiled, her eyes warm. Even Erwin Bright, known for his stoicism, looked impressed.

The applause lasted longer than expected.

Adam bowed his head slightly, then gestured for Steven to wheel him offstage.

Next came Lucy Wale.

Her gown was a vision of spring—soft pink silk layered like petals, each fold catching the light as if kissed by sunlight. The skirt flowed like a breeze through cherry blossoms, delicate and alive.

”My design,” Lucy said, her voice bright, ”is Spring Sonata. A reminder that kindness never goes out of fashion.”

Her explanation was cheerful, warm, and utterly sincere.

The audience adored her.

Selena Marwin leaned toward Jonathan Harper, whispering, ”She’s grown beautifully this year.”

Jonathan smiled faintly. ”She has.”

The applause that followed was genuine, affectionate. Lucy bowed gracefully and left the stage, her confidence unshaken.

Then came Rona Design.

”Miss Missy Hawthorne,” the host announced.

Missy walked onto the stage with the poise of a queen. Her gown glittered under the lights—an opulent creation of gold and ivory, every bead and crystal meticulously placed. The audience gasped in admiration.

Behind the crowd, Mindy watched silently, her expression unreadable.

Missy smiled, radiant and proud. ”My design,” she said, ”is Celestial Promise.”

The applause was immediate. Cameras flashed.

She began her explanation, her voice smooth and melodic. ”My inspiration comes from the eternal beauty of the stars. They shine endlessly, guiding us through darkness. This gown represents that eternal light—hope that never fades.”

Her words were beautiful.

But something was missing.

Jonathan Harper frowned slightly. Selena exchanged a glance with Erwin Bright.

The gown was magnificent, yes—but the story didn’t fit. The dress spoke of sacrifice, of something lost and reborn. Yet Missy’s explanation was all surface, all shine.

It was the same dissonance they had felt before.

The same hollow beauty.

Still, no one interrupted. The applause came, polite but restrained.

Missy smiled as she left the stage, unaware that the judges’ eyes followed her with quiet doubt.

Then the lights dimmed.

The host’s voice rang out once more.

”Our last finalist—LUXT Design.”

A single spotlight illuminated the stage.

Mindy Wilson stepped forward.

The hall fell silent.

Then—gasps.

Her gown shimmered under the lights, and the audience froze.

It looked... identical to Missy’s.

The same silhouette. The same golden tones. Even the embroidery seemed eerily similar.

Whispers erupted like wildfire.

”Wait—”

”They’re identical!”

”What’s happening?”

”No way...”

Even Wade’s eyes narrowed slightly. Layla remained calm, her expression unreadable. Ana crossed her arms, her gaze sharp.

Only Mindy stood still, her face serene.

She approached the microphone, her voice steady.

”My design,” she said, ”is called Rebirth.”

”My inspiration is the journey of becoming the person you were always meant to be.”

Her gaze swept across the audience.

”Sometimes, you lose everything. Family. Trust. Love. But when you choose yourself, you aren’t broken. You are reborn.”

Her voice softened.

”Sometimes, the greatest journey isn’t finding a home—it’s finding yourself after losing everyth—”

”Miss Mindy.”

The interruption sliced through the air like a blade.

The microphone crackled. The entire hall went silent.

One of the judges leaned forward, his expression grave. ”I apologize for interrupting your presentation,” he said, ”but before you continue, I have a question.”

Mindy turned her head slowly. ”Go ahead.”

The judge adjusted his glasses, then pointed toward the large screen behind her. Both gowns—Missy’s and Mindy’s—appeared side by side.

”Isn’t your design,” he asked, ”remarkably similar to Miss Hawthorne’s?”

Silence.

The audience erupted into whispers.

”What?”

”Now that he mentions it...”

”They really do look alike.”

Mindy didn’t answer immediately. Her expression didn’t change.

But the storm had already begun.

Inside the Rona Design station, silence fell like a hammer.

Everyone there recognized the gown instantly.

Six months ago, Missy had proudly shown this very design to the entire Hawthorne family at Hawthorne Mansion.

Missy’s face turned pale. Tears welled in her eyes.

”Sister...” she whispered, her voice trembling. ”W-Why... why does Sister have my design?”

Emily immediately wrapped an arm around her, glaring toward the stage. ”Mindy has gone too far this time,” she said, her voice trembling with righteous fury. ”I treated her like my own daughter. How could she do something like this?”

Raymond’s expression darkened. ”I never thought she would stoop this low,” he said coldly. ”She truly is nothing like her mother.”

Drake clenched his fists. ”I knew something was wrong. So this is how she got into LUXT.”

Jagger’s temper exploded. ”She stole it!” he shouted. ”We all saw this design six months ago! How shameless!”

Without another word, he stormed toward the stage.

The audience turned, murmuring in confusion as he climbed the steps.

Pointing directly at Mindy, he shouted, ”Mindy! Why did you steal Missy’s design? We all know this belongs to her! Six months ago, she showed this exact design to everyone at Hawthorne Mansion! You were there too!”

The hall erupted.

”What?”

”The Hawthorne family witnessed it?”

”So there are witnesses?”

The whispers grew louder, feeding on each other until they became a roar.

Emily hurried onto the stage, guiding Missy, who was crying pitifully.

Emily’s voice trembled with emotion. ”Mindy,” she said, ”I raised you like my own daughter. Why are you doing this?”

Missy’s tears rolled down her cheeks. ”Sister,” she sobbed, ”if you liked my design, you could have just asked me. There was no need to steal it.”

Her trembling voice broke hearts.

The audience murmured in sympathy.

The livestream exploded.

[Poor Missy!]

[I knew something was wrong!]

[She’s really a plagiarist?]

[How disappointing.]

Thousands of accusing eyes turned toward Mindy.

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t even look at the Hawthorne family.

Her gaze remained fixed ahead, cold and steady.

Then she spoke.

”This design,” she said quietly, ”is mine. It has never belonged to anyone else.”

The words fell like stones into a raging sea.

Ana couldn’t take it anymore. She stormed onto the stage, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. ”Shut your mouths!” she shouted. ”You don’t know anything!”

Layla followed, her expression calm but firm.

Before Ana could say more, Wade stepped forward and caught her arm. ”Wait,” he said quietly. ”Trust her.”

Ana looked at him, then at Mindy.

Finally, she stepped back.

The three of them stood behind her, silent but unyielding.

Missy sniffled, her voice trembling. ”This is my design. I even have the original drafts.” She turned to her assistant. ”Bring them.”

A USB drive was handed to the event management team. Within seconds, the enormous screen behind the stage flickered to life.

Digital sketches appeared—layer after layer of blueprints, each one stamped with a creation date.

Six months ago.

Every revision was complete. Every detail matched.

The audience gasped.

The livestream chat exploded.

[She’s finished.]

[LUXT cheated?]

[Disqualify her!]

[Poor Missy!]

Even some of Mindy’s supporters began to falter.

Jonathan Harper’s expression turned icy. He hated plagiarism more than anything. Selena’s face hardened. Erwin Bright’s gaze shifted toward Mindy, his eyes unreadable.

The entire auditorium waited.

Meanwhile, across the city, in a sleek office overlooking Greendale, Layton Knight stood before a massive screen. The livestream played in real time.

Draven stood beside him, his expression grim. ”Shouldn’t you go?”

Layton didn’t answer. His eyes never left the screen.

”Mike,” he said finally, his voice low. ”Prepare the car.”

”Yes, President.”

Back inside the auditorium, the shouting grew louder.

”Disqualify her!”

”Throw her out!”

”Cheater!”

The noise swelled until it became unbearable.

Then—

Erwin Bright slammed his hand against the microphone.

”Enough!”

The word cracked through the chaos like thunder.

Silence fell instantly.

He looked directly at Mindy. ”Miss Mindy,” he said, his tone sharp, ”do you have anything to say?”

Thousands of eyes turned toward her.

Jonathan Harper’s gaze was cold. Selena Marwin waited quietly. Adam Gray sat motionless, unreadable.

Wade folded his arms. Layla smiled faintly. Ana stood still, her expression calm, as if she already knew what would happen next.

Mindy lifted her head slowly.

There wasn’t a trace of fear in her eyes.

No panic. No shame.

Only calm.

And something else—something dangerous.

A smile curved her lips.

Confident. Controlled.

She looked directly at Erwin Bright. Then at the judges. Then at the audience.

Her voice was soft, but it carried through the hall like a blade of glass.

”Who said,” she asked, ”I don’t have proof?”

The entire auditorium froze.

The cameras zoomed in on her face.

The livestream chat stopped moving.

For one breathless moment, the world held still.

And then—

Everything shattered.