Exposing the Imitation

Odette paused, letting silence hang in the air for a fraction of a second. Her heart leaped in her chest. A spark of pure joy ignited in her veins, but she bit the inside of her cheek to maintain her composure. She needed to play the part of a struggling, dedicated student, not a desperate social climber.

She lowered her gaze, letting a soft sigh escape her lips. "I have always dreamed of majoring in Traditional Painting at Valtoria University," Odette murmured, her tone laced with a delicate wistfulness. "But sadly, I haven't met a proper mentor to guide me on this journey. I know my skills still need so much work, and without guidance, I fear I will fall short."

Felix Grant's expression softened. He smiled warmly. He loved discovering a humble prodigy who recognized her own flaws. He reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a crisp, elegant name card.

He handed it over with a gracious nod. "Do not worry, young lady. If you plan to take the art entrance exam, keep this. You can contact me anytime for guidance."

Odette’s eyes widened in feigned shock. She reached out and took the card with both hands, treating it like a sacred artifact. "Thank you so much, Mr. Grant," she said, flashing a sweet, grateful smile.

The group moved deeper into the exhibition hall, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. Soon, they arrived at the center stage. A dense crowd of wealthy guests and art enthusiasts had already gathered around the final display.

This was the centerpiece of the gallery: *The Great Country*.

Warm, precise spotlights illuminated the massive canvas, bringing the sweeping ink mountains and delicate rivers to life. It was the most expensive piece in the room. Odette recognized it instantly. She had spent hours researching this exact painting the night before, memorizing every detail for a moment just like this.

Odette seized the spotlight. She stepped up to the velvet rope, her posture radiating quiet confidence.

"This is a magnificent piece," Odette began, pitching her voice so the surrounding guests could hear her. "This is the work of Dunwick's greatest traditional painter, Cleo Ashford."

Felix raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

Odette continued her impromptu lecture, the memorized facts rolling off her tongue. "Ms. Ashford maintained a strict low profile. She only released three public paintings during her entire career. Private collectors guard those pieces fiercely now. *The Great Country* is a towering one hundred and twenty inches long. Countless famous artists have tried to replicate its majesty. Even master painters attempted to copy this unique style last year, only to fail."

The affluent onlookers stopped their murmuring and turned their attention to the young girl.

"Not only is this painting breathtaking," Odette stated smoothly, "but it also broke long-standing rules in the traditional art world. When it first debuted, critics tore it apart. They claimed it lacked proper traditional elements and structure. But true art withstands the test of time. Two years later, those same critics swallowed their words. Ms. Ashford became a living legend."

Murmurs of intense praise rippled through the crowd.

"Look at her," an older woman draped in diamonds whispered. "Such profound artistic depth for someone so young."

"Incredible talent," a wealthy businessman agreed, nodding at Odette. "My son just stares at his screen all day. I put him in a traditional painting class, and he gave me the silent treatment. This girl is going places."

Sylvia stood a few feet away, beaming with immense pride. She lifted her chin, soaking in the envious glances from the elite crowd. As long as she brought Odette to these events, she would always command respect. She relished being the center of attention.

Then, Sylvia’s gaze shifted to the back of the crowd.

Marcella stood by herself, leaning against a pillar, quiet and unbothered.

Sylvia’s smile tightened into a bitter line. She silently cursed the heavens. Why did fate hand her such an unequal pair of daughters? One brought endless glory and admiration, while the other was a useless, embarrassing burden.

Felix turned to Odette, his eyes shining with approval. "How do you know so much about Ms. Ashford? Her techniques are notoriously erratic. Most teachers shield beginners from her work."

Odette offered a sweet, self-deprecating smile. "I only know the basics. I am definitely not skilled enough to copy Ms. Ashford's unique style. I need to focus on my foundations first. For now, I can only admire her brilliance."

"Excellent," Felix commended, chuckling softly. "A good artist knows her own limits. Your self-awareness is remarkable."

The crowd broke into spontaneous applause. Odette basked in the continuous adulation, her cheeks flushed with victorious pride.

While Odette soaked up the praise, Marcella stepped out from the shadows. She had been quietly observing the centerpiece from a distance, her eyes tracing the ink strokes on the canvas. She quickly lost interest.

She walked forward, her footsteps steady.

Her clear, calm voice cut through the lingering applause.

"This painting is merely an imitation."

The clapping died instantly. A heavy, hostile silence crashed over the grand exhibition hall.

Heads snapped toward the teenage girl in the plain clothes. Claiming a multi-million-dollar centerpiece was a fake without proof was the ultimate insult. It was a direct slap in the face to the organizers, the experts, and the wealthy guests who had just spent the last ten minutes marveling at its supposed brilliance.

Felix’s face hardened. His warm, grandfatherly demeanor vanished, replaced by seething anger.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Felix demanded, his voice echoing sharply in the quiet room. "This is a verified masterpiece by Ms. Ashford! Who is your teacher? Give me his name right now so I can file a formal complaint about your insolence!"

Sylvia turned pale. Mortification washed over her, quickly boiling into frantic fury.

"Marcella!" Sylvia scolded harshly, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Shut your mouth! If you know nothing, do not speak. There are renowned experts standing right here. Do you think you know better than them?"

Odette saw the perfect opportunity to elevate herself further. She stepped in, her face twisting into a flawless mask of sweet, patronizing sisterly concern. She reached out and gently grabbed Marcella’s hand.

"Marcella, please," Odette pleaded, pitching her voice to ensure the angry crowd heard every word. "I know you just came back to the city. I know you lack confidence and are desperate to prove yourself so you can get into Pinnacle Academy. But making up lies to grab academic attention will only ruin your reputation. You need to do real research before you speak."

The crowd gasped at Odette’s revelation. The hostility in the room thickened into palpable disgust. This delinquent sister was just trying to pull a cheap stunt for a school application.

"What is going on?" a guest muttered. "Why is the older sister so wild compared to the younger one?"

"It's a shame," another added.

Marcella remained unfazed by the glaring eyes. Her expression stayed icy and resolute. She lifted her arm and forcefully brushed Odette’s hand away.

Without sparing her sister another glance, Marcella walked right up to the velvet rope guarding the canvas. She stared directly at the ink-washed landscape.

"The original artist, Cleo Ashford, had a specific habit," Marcella explained, her voice ringing out with unwavering certainty. "She always left a top-secret, unique signature hidden within the brushstrokes of her work. It is a mark meant only for her pieces, hidden from the public eye."

She raised a finger and pointed directly at a cluster of jagged ink mountains on the right side of the canvas.

"When Cleo painted *The Great Country*, she wove that secret signature right here, into the ridges of these mountains," Marcella stated flatly. She dropped her hand and turned to face the hostile room. "But this displayed painting lacks that mark. It is a replica."

For a split second, the room remained dead silent.

Then, the crowd burst into raucous, mocking laughter.

The sound echoed off the high ceilings, sharp and cruel. The wealthy guests stared at Marcella as if she had just claimed the sky was green.

"A hidden signature?" Felix scoffed, pointing an angry finger at the canvas. "Ridiculous! I have studied traditional art for decades. I have never heard of Ms. Ashford doing such a thing. And even if she did, how could a teenage delinquent possibly know a secret that has eluded top art experts for years? Outsiders cannot see these hidden marks!"

"Mr. Grant, do not waste your breath on this arrogant fool!" a wealthy man sneered.

"She just wants attention," a socialite giggled behind her fan. "Let's ignore her and let her talk to the wall."

Odette bit her lip, forcing unshed tears into her eyes. She reached out and tugged at Marcella’s sleeve again, playing her tragic role to perfection.

"Marcella, please stop talking," Odette begged, her voice cracking with fake emotion. "You are embarrassing yourself. Just apologize. Do not humiliate yourself any further."

The wealthy onlookers turned their full disdain onto Marcella. They looked her up and down, their eyes filled with elitist disgust, taking in her simple clothes and unpolished demeanor.

"Look at her," a woman whispered loudly, a cruel smirk on her lips. "Does she really think a desperate stunt like this will get her into a prestigious school?"

"Pinnacle Academy demands true excellence," another guest laughed, shaking his head. "Look at her appearance. Listen to her ridiculous lies."

"Exactly," a man chimed in, his tone dripping with venom. "How could a piece of trash like her ever dream of stepping foot in a place like Pinnacle Academy?"

The mockery grew louder and more vicious. The privileged crowd continued to tear into the girl who dared to question their reality, pointing and laughing, convinced of their own undeniable superiority.