Chapter 98
Isabella Langley clenched her fists, her nails digging deep into her palms. Her burning gaze fixed on the figure confidently speaking on stage.
"Since when does someone like you get to tarnish the name of Celadon?"
She stood abruptly, her clear voice cutting through the air and instantly drawing every eye in the room.
Dylan Orlando, basking in the crowd's admiration, stiffened at the unexpected interruption.
"Isabella, what are you—"
"I'm asking you," Isabella strode toward the stage, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, "why are you pretending to be Celadon?"
The room erupted in murmurs.
Beads of sweat formed on Dylan's forehead, but he quickly straightened his posture. "Isabella, you still haven't explained how you tampered with the competition data. Now you're slandering me?"
He deliberately raised his voice for all to hear.
Isabella scoffed. "My affairs are none of your concern. But you—parading around with Celadon's work as your own—doesn't that weigh on your conscience?"
She turned to the audience. "Everyone, this man is not Celadon!"
Dylan's face paled, but he forced composure. "Proof? Without evidence, this is defamation!"
"Proof?" Isabella pulled a document from her bag. "This is Celadon's original signed design draft with a unique anti-counterfeit mark. Dare to compare it with yours?"
Dylan's hands trembled slightly. He hadn't anticipated this move.
"My... my designs are with the judging panel."
"Really?" Isabella pressed closer. "Then explain why your design philosophy matches Celadon's thesis word for word—published three years ago?"
The crowd buzzed with unrest.
Dylan's sweat multiplied. He grasped at straws. "A coincidence! Jewelry inspiration often overlaps—"
"Coincidence?" A deep voice cut in from the back.
Sebastian Valdemar rose slowly, holding a file between his long fingers.
"Then what about this?" His tone was icy. "Your so-called 'original design' even mirrors the exact brushstrokes of a discarded sketch Celadon made three years ago. Another coincidence?"
Dylan turned ghostly white.
Backstage, Evelyn Roland twisted her fingers into her clothes. She hadn't expected Sebastian's sudden appearance—or that he'd kept her abandoned drafts.
"I..." Dylan stammered, eyes darting.
Sebastian ascended the stage with measured steps, looking down at him. "Care to explain what your so-called 'tangerine orchid hue' actually is?"
Dylan's legs buckled, nearly collapsing.
The room fell deathly silent, every breath held for the finale of this farce.
"I..." Dylan's lips trembled, voice failing.
Sebastian turned to the audience with a cold smile. "As you can see, this 'Celadon' can't even describe his own color."
His gaze returned to the ashen-faced Dylan. "Now. Any last words?"