?Chapter 793:

    Unlike fashion, which could be mastered with ir and speed, true painting demanded not only talent but years of sweat, failure, and relentless refinement.

    Even for Mariana…

    Hailed as a prodigy since childhood, producing such a wless work would have been a rare triumph even for her.

    But Maia? How could someone like her possibly scale that peak?

    What fueled Mariana’s fire even more was the sting of defeat she had suffered at the Cooper Group g. After that humiliation, she had Maia’s background thoroughly investigated.

    The reports were crystal clear — Maia had been a rebellious student, more familiar with detention than discipline. She had never been enrolled in any art programs, neverpeted in painting contests, let alone tasted victory in one.

    Even if she had picked up a brush behind prison walls, it wasughable to think she could reach this level in such a short time.

    Thus, Mariana’s confidence burned bright. After all, what was the point of her years of sacrifice and struggle if Maia could truly achieve this?

    Her eyes narrowed as she drew in a slow breath, fresh determination surging within her. She might have lost the crown in design, but in the realm of painting, Maia couldn’t even set foot on the same ying field. To Mariana, Maia’s im was not only absurd — it was insulting.

    She was certain Maia had overreached, daring to impersonate the elusive Matias in public. This was her moment to strike — to strip away Maia’s mask and expose her as a fraud.

    Turning to Grover, her tone rang steady and resolute.

    “Mr. Perez, I stake my reputation on this — this woman is not Matias. And as curator of the Gascoyne Museum, as a key figure behind this exhibition, isn’t it your responsibility to remove impostors who tarnish the name of true artists?”

    Her words rippled quickly through the crowd, stirring a chorus of support.

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    “I know that artist — she’s Mariana Cooper, the painter behind Raging Waves. That piece is the soul of this entire showcase. I heard someone already offered eighty million, and the final bid might shatter a hundred million.”

    “Yes, I’ve followed Mariana’s career. She’s a rare talent, a multiple gold medal winner in international art contests. If she says Maia’s lying, I believe her.”

    The murmurs swelled like a rising tide, sharpening by the second. One voice pierced through the crowd.

    “Turns out this woman named Maia was impersonating someone — but got exposed by the real artist. Bet she never imagined she’d be questioned like this. Someone like her deserves consequences. Call the police!”

    Another chimed in, voiceced with scorn. “She’s not just a giarist. She’s been to jail, hasn’t she? That makes her a fraud and a thief.”

    A third scoffed, arms crossed. “These days, anyone dares to call themselves an artist. It’s disgraceful.”

    Across the room, Chris stood frozen. Maia’s revtion had left him rattled. His wife wasn’t merely an art lover — she was a true master.

    His gaze locked on the canvas. Rebirth. That one piece spoke volumes. With it alone, she could carve out a ce for herself in the art world — no, even beyond that.

    She could be a name revered by critics and collectors alike.

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