Love Beyond the Mask by Adelaide Sinclair

Chapter 38

In the morning light, Whitney, Tiana, and their assistant, each toting a laptop, strode into the competition hall–a hive of creativity and cutthroat ambition.

As they entered, the sleek company vehicle of Skye Gem Ltd. slid to a halt at the entrance. Monica stepped out, her stilettos clicking a rhythmic challenge to the pavement, followed by the formidable procession of her design entourage. The contrast was stark; Whitney’s party felt distinctly out of place, almost shabby.

Their gazes met across the charged space, a silent battle in their standoff.

Monica sauntered past Whitney, her eyebrow arching in a slow, condescending smile. “Look who showed up. Best of luck, Sis. I’m sure you’ll need it to snag first place,” she teased with a voice dripping in lazy sarcasm.

Tiana bristled. “What’s with her snide remarks? And that smug smile–she knows full well your talent. She should be the one shaking in her boots, the fake.”

Whitney’s frown deepened. Tiana’s words echoed her thoughts. Monica’s confidence was unsettling. Even though Monica might have pilfered Whitney’s earlier designs, Whitney had brought her A–game with her latest collection, far surpassing her previous work. Yet Monica appeared utterly unfazed.

Something was amiss.

Tiana’s phone rang abruptly, and she exchanged a few terse words with the person on the other end.

Whitney recognized the voice of Tiana’s fiancé.

“Go,” she urged, “I’ll manage.”

“Of all times for a lunch date. At least Stella is nearby for an ad meeting. Don’t worry about me,” Tiana reassured Whitney before heading out.

Whitney nodded and, with her assistant in tow, proceeded inside.

Her eyes swept the judges‘ panel, a hint of surprise crossing her face–Ludwik, her notorious rival, was conspicuously absent. Was he not the head judge?

days before, and now he showed no interest? She had wanted to prove her mettle to him, but perhaps it was for the best. It was

the present. She handed in her designs and returned to her seat,

Whitney’s breath hitched.

that

a rising unease and

designs were displayed on the large screen, the room fell into

screen, where her work was displayed next to

happening? How can

incredulity. “Sis, how come your design is the same

a ripple through the audience, sparking a flurry of speculation about plagiarism. Whitney’s eyes turned to ice. So that was why Monica had been so calm–she had laid

Whitney declared, “That design is my original creation.

my concept.”

into a mask of martyrdom. Sis, what are you talking about? That’s clearly my design.” The audience and

judge, Aaron, intervened. “We have identical submissions, and one must be a

laptop. The assistant’s face went

work had

fists, a cold dread sinking in. As she glanced up, she caught Monica

on Whitney; she had walked right

who projected the file dates on

Aaron turned to her. “Your

had a technical issue,” Whitney said, her voice like steel. “But Aaron, the concept of that traditional style jewelry is mine. I can detail the entire creative process to prove

the judges conferred and agreed to

explain down to

nodding,

off, saying, “Sis,

Whitney’s words, claiming Whitney’s ideas as her own, describing the most intricate details