Chapter 817
Chapter 817:
A flash of scorn flickered in her gaze as her lips twisted into a taunting grin. “Does anyone see Maia? Maybe she finally lost her nerve p>
The sting in her words didn’t go unnoticed. Reporters who caught her remark looked at one another in surprise, unsure how to respond.
“Honestly, where did Maia disappear to?” someone said.
“Is she hiding because she’s afraid to show her face?” another voice asked, trying to stifle a laugh.
“If she bailed at the last second, she’s never going to live it down,” someone else added.
Suddenly, Grover’s voice boomed over the speakers, formal and commanding as ever. “Attention, please. The painting contest is about to begin. Mariana Cooper, kindly make your way to the exhibition hall at once, or you’ll be disqualified p>
The announcement rippled through the audience, spreading unease. People glanced around, whispering among themselves. They had kept a close watch on the main entrance all morning, yet not a single person recalled seeing Maia arrive.
“Did Maia slip in when no one was looking? Did anybody spot her?” a woman near the front whispered.
“She might have skipped the media and sneaked in another way,” someone replied, sounding doubtful.
Almost as confusion settled in, the huge screen overhead suddenly flickered to—
A moment later, everyone turned their attention to the poised woman who now filled the screen.
Maia, dressed in a sharp gray-blue suit dress, stood before her canvas, perfectly composed. Her face betrayed no nerves. Every movement she made seemed elegant, almost regal — like a figure from an old portrait, carrying herself with quiet strength.
The competition space behind her stood ready, awaiting what would come next. A heavy silence settled over the entire hall.
𝗥𝖊𝖆𝗱 𝗮𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝖔𝗇𝖑𝗒 𝗮𝘁
Not a moment later, a chorus of voices rose up among the crowd and reporters. “That has to be Maia. She’s absolutely stunning p>
Gasps followed, and someone blurted out, “She’s got the kind of charm you’d expect from a movie star! Can you believe she’s a painter p>
A man’s voice chimed in, “People always say painting transforms a person. Maia looks like she was born with a brush in her hand p>
Someone else remarked, “Frauds could never pull off that kind of presence. She fits my idea of a true artist perfectly p>
An undercurrent of excitement swept through the hall. Just minutes before, everyone had seemed eager to witness Maia stumble. The mood shifted in a heartbeat, and suddenly, she had gained an unexpected wave of support.
“That’s just how it is. Appearances really do matter,” said someone with a weary sigh.
By now, the press who had been gathered around Mariana broke away, rushing toward the entrance of the exhibition hall. Their cameras were already raised, determined to capture Maia’s moment.
In their haste, Mariana and her group found themselves abandoned and overlooked. Her once-confident smile faded, leaving her features stiff and strained. With frustration lacing her words, she complained, “We’re supposed to be judging art, not hosting a fashion show p>
Even to herself, her complaint rang hollow and weak.