The comments scrolled by in a frenzy:
[Can't idealized love tell the male lead is calling her out?! Just admit defeat already and give the first place back to our girl!]
[The male lead only sponsored this competition to be a judge—all for the female lead!]
[Making excuses won't help. Once they check the security footage, idealized love's gonna turn into Black Moonlight!]
[Our girl comes from such a poor family and has to work her way through school. She's really had it rough!]
I looked at the Cartier bracelet on Juliana's wrist—fifty thousand dollars. The little white Dior dress—eighty thousand. The hairpins—six thousand each.
My brow furrowed in confusion.
Poor family?
Working her way through school?
Were they talking about Juliana?
She was dressed more like an heiress than I was—and I was the actual heiress!
Anyone who'd ever painted knew how easy it was to get splattered with pigment during the process. That's why most artists wore cheap, stain-resistant clothes. But Juliana...
Watching the comments shower praise on Juliana's "admirable work ethic," I was speechless.
Before I could say a word, Juliana's tears began falling, one after another.
"I know you're a rich young lady who doesn't care about a little prize money like this," she said, her voice trembling. "But this award is my tuition for the entire year. I really can't lose it."
Her eyes rimmed red, and then—she dropped to her knees before me.
"I know you swapped the paintings because you wanted first place. I'll give you the title—you can have it. But please, I'm begging you, give me back the prize money." Her voice cracked. "If you want me to ghostwrite for you in the future, just ask. You didn't have to steal my work."
If I nodded along with her story, I'd be admitting guilt on the spot.
I kept my voice as level as I could manage. "As far as I know, tuition is twelve thousand a year. You could sell any one of those luxury items on you and cover it easily. Besides—I have zero interest in winning a traditional painting competition. Why would I swap anyone's work?"
Juliana's face went rigid for a split second. Then she turned to Clint, her expression crumpling into wounded innocence.
"I didn't buy any of this myself. They're gifts—they mean something. Even if I starved to death, I could never sell someone's heartfelt gesture for money." Her lip quivered. "All I want is to earn my own way through my paintings."
"I'm not trying to steal the title from you. Please—just give me back the prize money."
She cried until her voice went hoarse. Something soft flickered in Clint's eyes. "You silly girl..."
The other contestants closed in, their accusations sharp:
"Juliana's on her knees begging you—what more do you want?"
"I can't stand trust-fund brats who throw their family's money around and steal other people's work."
"Making her give back the prize money isn't enough. She needs to be disqualified!"
The comments erupted in righteous fury:
[Can this bitch just die already?! She's forcing our precious girl to kneel! Poor baby Juliana, I'm literally crying!]
[Thank god the male lead is going to expose her for swapping the paintings and give the title back to the female lead!]
[The best part comes later—the male lead never forgets how our girl was humiliated. He pretends to pursue idealized love, then jilts her at the altar on their engagement day! Her whole family loses face, their stock price tanks! The male lead buys up their shares and drives her accomplice parents into bankruptcy until they jump off a building!]
I stared at that last comment.
My vision blurred red at the edges.
The comments erupted:
[Holy shit—can she actually SEE us?!]
I yanked my gaze away, pretending I hadn't seen a thing.
When I didn't react, the comments settled down:
[There's no way a side character can see the comments. Are you insane?]
[She's just a stepping stone for the main characters. Her whole family deserves to die!]
Rage churned in my chest, hot and bitter.
I had never hurt anyone in my life.
So why the hell should I pave the way for Clint and Juliana's love story?
