Chapter 825
Chapter 825:
Mariana’s hands shook, her brush slipping from her fingers to clatter on the floor. She knew that face. How could she not?
“Is that… Nicola?” Mariana’s voice climbed, sharp with disbelief. She took two unsteady steps toward Maia’s canvas, her heart pounding.
Her reaction startled everyone. “How could you know her face? Nicola passed years ago. You were a child then — no way you saw her!” Her words tumbled out, frantic, until they snagged in her throat.
Her eyes, now rimmed with red, flicked to Chris. Had he shown Maia a photo of his mother?
But Chris had once confessed that he barely recalled his mother’s face, with no pictures to jog his memory. So how?
Mariana’s mind reeled, questions piling up. What tied Maia to Chris? She pushed the thought away, unwilling to chase it further.
Maia set her brush down with deliberate grace, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Your reaction confirms it,” she said, her voice steady. “I painted her true. Nicola, was it? A name that carries weight, like a whisper from the past p>
She glanced at Kiley, whose livid expression — shock laced with disbelief — offered further proof. The woman on Maia’s canvas was unmistakably Chris’ mother.
Maia had chosen to paint Nicola for this art duel to stir exactly this reaction, to draw out recognition from those who knew her face.
Nicola, Chris’ mother, had once been close to the Cooper family and had lived with them for some time, so Kiley and Mariana would recognize her instantly.
Turning to the audience and judges, Maia gestured to her work. “This is A Mother’s Timeless Love,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “It captures a mother gazing at her child, her love eternal, watching over them even beyond life’s end p>
The room held its breath, then erupted. Applause crashed like waves, relentless and warm.
𝙉𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙖𝙩
No one had expected Maia to conjure a woman she had never met with such vivid clarity.
Tears glistened in the audience’s eyes. Some bowed their heads, sleeves brushing away quiet sobs. They saw their own mothers in Maia’s work, their love a steady glow that time could not dim.
Mariana’s painting, though skilled, paled beside Maia’s. It was not just technique — Maia’s work carried a raw, heartfelt truth that seized the soul.
Maia turned to Chris, her smile gentle but sure. “Chris, this is for you p>
“So Maia created the painting for this man?” someone muttered, curiosity lacing their tone.
“What is she implying? Is she painting this gentleman’s mother p>
The buzz of voices swelled, a soft hum of speculation.
Chris stood frozen, struck as if by lightning when he overheard Mariana and Maia mention a name he thought buried forever — Nicola Glyn.
That name, to him, was a melody, the sweetest echo of a life stolen too soon. A bullet had torn through her skull years ago, robbing him of his mother’s face, and the Cooper Group’s cold exclusion had stripped him of her photographs. Yet her name remained, etched in his heart like a sacred vow. To him, it was the most beautiful name in the world.
His gaze locked on the paper Maia held. Disbelief warred with hope as he studied the image. Outwardly, he stood composed, shoulders squared, but his eyes, rimmed with red, betrayed the storm within.