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.”

the host. Her voice was soft yet firm. “Pardon me. I need to borrow this stage a bit longer to settle a personal matter. I hope you don’t mind.” Turning her attention back to Sloane, Khloe continued, “You claimed I went to jail.

Khloe’s statement landed like a bombshell. His wide-eyed stare was

flooded with confusion, a

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

the thoughts of the online crowd, almost unanimously agreeing that Khloe was wrecking her reputation. In today’s world, entertainment reigned supreme. The truth hardly mattered; what matters was the narrative people

fantastic tales on gαℓησν??s;

been to prison”—that was

be reckless enough to mention such a scandalous topic. She inwardly cursed Khloe for

sealed her own fate the

though she masked it with a show of

that Sloane thought she was still the same

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 I used my creativity to mark the passage of time, those colors were my way of reminding myself that I was still here. That my world wasn’t limited to just black and white. It could be full of life. As long as I