With that, Luca shifted to the side, making space for Luciano, and pointed at Elliana’s painting. “Didn’t you say Rosa was your muse? Then go on. See it for yourself.”
The mention of Rosa’s name hit Luciano like a cold wind. He didn’t know where Luca was going with this, but his gut told him it wasn’t headed anywhere good. Still, with eyes watching from every direction, he couldn’t afford to flinch. He stepped forward, forcing composure, and turned his attention to Elliana’s Lonely Sunset.
Back during the live class, Luciano had barely given Elliana’s work a glance. It was decent, maybe even impressive-but he’d mocked it anyway, hiding behind the excuse of being honest while really just playing to the cameras. But this time, Elliana’s painting was a finalist. It wasn’t some throwaway display anymore. He had to show at least a pretense of serious critique.
Luciano pretended to admire the artwork for a moment, then straightened up with the smug confidence of a self-proclaimed expert and said with exaggerated flair…
“Elliana’s piece has its strengths, sure, but when placed beside Paige’s, it clearly doesn’t measure up.”
Once he laid down his critique, he turned to Elliana, wearing the kind of expression meant to pass as wise and well-meaning. “Elliana, I did call you out during the live session this afternoon, but it wasn’t without cause. You treat your instructor and the craft itself too lightly. Without genuine respect for both, even a good painting won’t take you very far. What I said wasn’t meant to tear you down. It was simply guidance, one artist trying to steer another in the right direction. There’s no need for resentment, is there?”
Elliana couldn’t hide the amusement curling at her lips. If he wanted to keep up the charade, she was more than happy to let him. The further he went, the harder he’d fall.
A scornful laugh escaped Luca before he could stop it. He no longer had doubts-Luciano clearly knew nothing about oil painting. Anyone with real knowledge wouldn’t compare Paige’s Riding the Waves to Elliana’s Lonely Sunset, let alone call the former superior.
Another truth settled in Luca’s mind-Luciano’s admiration for Rosa was nothing but an empty claim. If Luciano genuinely admired Rosa’s work, he wouldn’t overlook the distinct traces of Rosa’s influence in Elliana’s Lonely Sunset. Even if he couldn’t name the artist right away, he should’ve at least noticed how closely it mirrored Rosa’s style. Luca’s disdain deepened with every breath. To think that the president of the Calligraphers and Painters Association was nothing more than a fraud-it was both ridiculous and revolting.
“Tell me, Luciano. Did you actually look at Ms. Marsh’s Lonely Sunset, or were you just pretending again?” Luca asked, his voice sharp.
The moment Luca pressed him, dread clawed at Luciano’s spine. He hated being cornered like this-under scrutiny, with sweat trickling down his back, terrified of slipping up in front of a crowd that wouldn’t miss a beat.
Wanting to avoid further scrutiny, Luciano pulled a long face and snapped, “Mr. Wilde, must you insist on challenging me like this?”
“Ha!” A single, biting laugh shot from Luca’s throat.
With a chilling smirk, Luca said, “Luciano, a hypocritical scoundrel like you isn’t worth my time!”
“You!” Luciano was seething, his chest rising sharply as his face contorted with fury. “Mr. Wilde, I’ve held back out of respect for your reputation and seniority in the art world. But don’t test my patience, or I won’t bother with pleasantries next time!”
“I’m not interested in your so-called pleasantries,” Luca retorted. “You think Paige’s piece deserves praise? Fine. Let’s see what the rest of the panel thinks.”
As sparks flew between the two titans, the host stood frozen-caught between awe and panic, unsure whether to interrupt or let the storm play out.
Snapping out of his daze at Luca’s cue, the host scrambled to regain control, ushering the other judges forward to cast their votes
The entire panel of judges, much like Luca, were devoted enthusiasts of oil painting. They shared his peculiar passion. In their world, prestige and social ties held little sway-what truly mattered was the art itself.
That was why no one cared that Luciano was the president of the Calligraphers and Painters Association, or that Paige had connections to Merritt. All that mattered was which painting genuinely stood apart.
Therefore, when Luca expressed such unrestrained admiration for Lonely Sunset, the other judges took notice. One by one, they drifted toward the piece, their eyes narrowing with curiosity and quiet reverence.
Rosa was a legend-an innovator whose work these judges had studied for decades. And Lonely Sunset carried echoes of her unmistakable style. It seemed likely Elliana was a devoted student of Rosa’s craft, perhaps emulating her technique in admiration. That might’ve been what first captured Luca’s attention-what left him so awestruck.
But as the judges brought out their magnifying glasses and subjected the painting to close inspection, a hush fell over the room. “Hold on… This can’t be,” one of them murmured, voice wavering.
They exchanged astonished looks and then turned as one to face Elliana.
These were not just any judges-they were some of the most respected authorities in oil painting, regularly called upon to authenticate masterpieces. And now, each of them had arrived at the same, almost unthinkable conclusion. It was an original Rosa. Since Elliana had painted it live-on camera-there was only one possible explanation. Elliana was Rosa.
What followed was nothing short of surreal. Just like Luca, the rest of the judges surged toward Elliana, their expressions a blend of awe and exhilaration as they bowed with deep reverence. They echoed Luca’s question with near breathless wonder. “What inspired you to submit a piece to the Starry Oil Painting Competition?”
The competition was meant for rising talents-for newcomers. For Rosa, a globally celebrated master, to enter such a contest was inconceivable. It was like a world champion stepping into a local amateur ring. The idea was so outlandish that it defied logic. The judges’ reverent reaction sent the audience into a frenzy.
“What’s going on?”
“What’s so special about Elliana’s painting?”
“Why are they treating her like royalty?”
Confusion rippled through the crowd, but no one was more lost than Luciano. The sense of being utterly in the dark gnawed at him like a parasite. Frustration overtook him, shattering his carefully curated poise. “What the hell are you old geezers doing?” he bellowed, abandoning all sense of decorum.
Gasps echoed throughout the hall. No one could believe what they were witnessing-Luciano, usually composed and dignified, reduced to an angry, red-faced caricature.
Luca scoffed and turned away, letting him unravel in public without a shred of sympathy.
The other judges saw it clearly now. Luciano wasn’t just clueless about oil painting-he was a fraud. He had been abusing his title, stifling true talent while elevating his own proteges. This kind of petty tyrant was everything they despised. Luca’s earlier disdain now made perfect sense.
With unspoken agreement, the judges turned their backs on Luciano, and though Luciano burned with the need to understand what was happening, their silence was deafening-intentional, calculated, and absolute.
“You… You’ve crossed the line!” Luciano choked on his own fury, his jaw clenched so tightly that it looked ready to snap. His hands trembled at his sides, veins bulging, face flushed an alarming crimson-he was moments from imploding.
Surrounded by the cold, impenetrable silence of the judges, Luciano exploded, “You dare insult me-the president of the Calligraphers and Painters Association? Then you insult every artist under its banner! This is outright insolence. Do you all want to be blacklisted from the art world?”
The room held its breath, but Paige saw opportunity in the chaos. With Luciano unraveling in real time, she slid in like a vulture sensing weakness, her expression painted with faux concern. “Please,” she said sweetly, placing a steadying hand on Luciano’s arm, her voice just loud enough to carry. “Let’s not make a scene.”
Then, she pivoted, eyes flashing as she faced the judges, her voice suddenly razor-sharp. “I’m shocked. Truly. I never thought the Starry Oil Painting Competition-a place where rising talent could shine-would become this tainted. An entire panel reduced to puppets, bought off to champion a fraud.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.