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?

he showed no interest? She had wanted to prove her mettle

all contestants to submit their work snapped Whitney back to the present. She handed in her designs and returned to her seat, only

Whitney’s breath hitched.

did that

a rising unease and settled down with

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

to Monica’s–identical in every

happening? How can your

stood abruptly, her gaze piercing Whitney with incredulity. “Sis,

eyes turned

with a thunderous rage, Whitney declared, “That design is my

my concept.”

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

a copy. You both claim originality, so present your digital

pulled up the file history on her laptop. The assistant’s face went ashen. “Whitney…” she

their work

she caught Monica smirking triumphantly, her laptop in hand as she approached

dawned on Whitney; she had walked

to Aaron, who projected

turned

Aaron, the concept of that traditional style jewelry

the judges conferred and agreed to hear her

explain down to

listened carefully while nodding, their

saying, “Sis, that is my

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