Lost and Found: Return of My Mysterious Fiancee by KIKI

Chapter 880: Fine Tea

Before the guests could even glimpse Natalie's calligraphy masterpiece, Ethan Maguire, the shrewd old fox, made a hasty exit, clutching the piece as though his life depended on it. He clearly feared someone else might snatch it away. "Mr. Maguire, let us at least take a look before you leave!" the crowd called out in protest.

But Ethan Maguire paid them no mind.

He hadn't even paid for it yet-what if someone saw it and offered a higher bid? Forget it!

The crowd grumbled, "And here we thought he was a distinguished calligrapher-what a cheapskate!"

Natalie, however, smiled indifferently, her expression calm and composed. But even in this moment of calm, she felt a sharp and resentful gaze aimed directly at her.

Following the source of the hostility, Natalie turned her head. Her red lips curved into a teasing smile, dazzling and intoxicating.

River Swanson, who had drawn so much attention earlier with her own calligraphy, now stood alone, utterly ignored.

Some guests wore regretful expressions, and even the gentleman who had placed a bid on River's work was now craning his neck, eager to see Natalie's masterpiece.

River's eyes burned with a fury that she could no longer suppress. She refused to accept what was happening. The spotlight, the applause-this round of glory should have been hers. She had been so certain of her victory, only to lose once again.

As a daughter of the prestigious Swanson family of Ashbury, River had grown up immersed in the arts-calligraphy, painting, music. Even her masters had praised her intelligence, diligence, and talent. She was no amateur. How could Natalie surpass her?

Luna Black, watching the livestream, was so infuriated she wanted to smash her phone.

Had she known things would turn out this way, she'd never have proposed a livestream voting competition. Now she had not only humiliated River Swanson but also disgraced the entire Swanson family. Meanwhile, Natalie, having just completed three intense rounds of competition, felt parched. She picked up a cup of tea nearby, took a slow sip, and smacked her lips in satisfaction. "Good tea!" she remarked with a smile.

She strolled over to River Swanson, her posture relaxed, chin slightly raised, her gaze falling on River, who was a head shorter.

"Do you still want to compete?" Natalie asked casually.

River's fingers trembled as her sharp eyes glared at Natalie. Her face flushed with anger. "You think winning the first three rounds makes you so great? Is this some kind of insult?"

of tea, gently blowing away the foam on the surface. She took a leisurely sip before responding, "I just asked a simple question. Why let your imagination run wild?" River's eyes turned red, tears welling up, giving her the

guests and the national audience. Her goal? To paint Natalie

the

isn't bad. Why is she

students who look down

women like that. So what if she's talented? She has no

I feel

you all blind? River Swanson's

a hit. Though a few still supported her, the majority

moved to the final round:

the guests suggested setting up two large canvases onstage. Natalie and River would paint side

hair cascaded down her back-like a timeless beauty stepped

ink. She began by laying down a soft base tone,

wrist with practiced precision. One by one, delicate flower

chosen a bold landscape in traditional

brush dipped in ink, River painted

around River's work, she

her brilliance in the previous rounds, stayed quietly, watching her every stroke with bated breath. Time passed, and River's landscape grew more intricate. Peaks and ridges filled her canvas, exuding a sense of vastness and

guests nodded

landscape is commendable. Landscapes truly capture the essence of artistic spirit," one

a sweet, modest smile but

around Natalie's canvas confirmed her suspicion-Natalie's work had failed to meet expectations this

we all take a look at Miss Whittaker's painting now? I'm sure it's

group approached Natalie's

they saw

pure white jasmine flowers bloomed. The interplay of light

into them, as though the flowers might burst forth from the canvas, their fragrance filling the air. Beside the painting, Natalie