Pampered By The Ruthless Underground Boss

Chapter 616:

Her plan had been simple. If the writing turned out poorly, she could accuse Khloe of masquerading as Snowpear. After all, how else could someone so talented suddenly produce such subpar work?

No explanation Khloe offered would have sufficed, leaving Snowpear’s reputation in tatters and her name marred by disgrace.

But Sloane had never anticipated that Khloe could truly be Snowpear, and her creative process remained untouched by any outside influence. A sudden wave of unease washed over her, warning that staying any longer could lead to disastrous outcomes.

Without hesitation, she began inching off the stage, attempting to slip away unnoticed.

Khloe, however, caught the movement instantly. Her tone remained steady as she addressed her. “Sloane, I’ve cleared my name. Now, it’s your turn.”

The color drained from Sloane’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

was soft yet firm. “Pardon me. I need to borrow this

as Khloe’s statement landed like a bombshell. His wide-eyed stare was fixed on her. Could Snowpear’s “personal matter” truly be this astonishing and

flooded with confusion, a torrent of

the elusive painter, White, and the acclaimed writer, Snowpear. She could retire, living the high life without lifting a finger. As long as she stays quiet about her prison time, the public would let it slip. But

crowd, almost unanimously agreeing that Khloe was wrecking her reputation. In today’s world, entertainment reigned supreme. The truth hardly mattered; what

tales on

phrase like “Khloe has been to prison”—that was the kind of

topic. She

sealed her own fate the moment she

of outrage. “Khloe, I’ll grant you your talent. But talent and integrity? They’re

without a doubt that Sloane thought she was still the same person, acting out of desperation without any evidence to

the largest camera on stage. Her voice, soft and measured, drifted through the room. “Yes, you heard me correctly. I’d spent three years in prison. For those of you following Snowpear’s account, you know that during those years, no new work was released. It wasn’t because, as some had speculated, my creativity had run dry. The truth was far simpler—I lost my freedom. Meanwhile, White’s identity grew more famous. Everyone assumed it was all part of a deliberate mystery. But what they didn’t know was that I couldn’t face the public during that time. They didn’t realize that every vibrant color in my paintings was a reflection of the outside world, crafted from the confines of my imagination. While