Final round of the Starlight Design Competition.
Sophia Adams stepped onto the stage, dressed in a simple white dress, holding her carefully prepared project and guiding the model as she began presenting her entry—“Star & Moon.”
This was the result of six months of nonstop work. Sleepless nights, countless revisions—draft after draft scrapped and started anew—until she finally came up with the finished piece she was proud of.
But just as she was explaining the concept behind the design, someone suddenly yelled from the audience.
"She copied it!"
"I’ve seen that exact design on an international site—it’s online."
"Sophia Adams is a fraud!"
The hall exploded in whispers and gasps.
Starlight was one of the top-tier domestic competitions in the field, only held once every three years. Getting into the finals alone was enough to earn a designer solid recognition—even without winning.
Sophia had been a frontrunner for the championship.
"What’s going on?"
One of the judges frowned, voice sharp. "Sophia, explain yourself!"
"I didn’t plagiarize! This is my original work—I’ve poured half a year’s effort into this. I stayed up so many nights to finish it. I have my own creative direction—I swear I didn’t copy anyone!"
Sophia’s hand holding the mic trembled. Her delicate features were filled with disbelief and frustration.
Accusing an original designer of plagiarism? That was like a death sentence.
"Look at this international design platform. This piece is showcased there, labeled as a first-place winner."
"And it’s such a well-known entry too—did you think none of us browse global design platforms?"
A girl bolted up onto the stage, phone in hand, and displayed an image—identical to Sophia’s “Star & Moon.” The post date? Yesterday.
"Oh my god, it’s the same..."
"She really did copy it. Game over—her design career’s finished."
"Ugh, and she calls herself a designer? That title’s way too good for someone like her. She’s nothing but a fraud!"
The audience turned into a mess of criticisms and insults.
The judges didn’t take long to respond.
The host looked cold as she motioned toward Sophia to leave the stage. "There’s no place in this industry for thieves like you. Please get off the stage immediately.""No, I didn’t copy anything! This is my own design—"
"Get lost!"
The girl accusing Sophia Adams shoved her hard off the stage.
"Beat that damn copycat!"
"Throw her out!"
"Gross, stay away!"
Someone in the crowd suddenly started it—bags, books, even hats came flying in her direction.
Chaos broke out in the hall.
Sophia didn’t care about the blows. She tried to get back onstage to explain, but security showed no mercy and dragged her out.
"I didn’t plagiarize!"
Outside the venue, Sophia collapsed on the ground. Her hair was a mess, her dress wrinkled and smudged all over with dirt. The pristine white had turned a sorry grey.
Her hands were scratched up with deep red marks—angry nails from those who yelled for justice just minutes ago.
She bit her lip, tears streaming nonstop.
Being a designer had been her dream. She worked her tail off to get into Davis University and the design school.
Now, the piece she spent six months pouring her soul into… had already won awards overseas?
She pulled out her phone with shaking fingers, opened that site, and there it was—designer’s name: Ava Montgomery.
Ava Montgomery.
The second Sophia saw that name, her face went pale, a chill sinking into her bones.
Her husband's first love—the woman who haunted her heart for over a decade.
"Ethan Davis?"
Sophia wobbled to her feet.
It hit her then—Ethan was the only one who’d seen her draft. That day, he’d come home early and gone straight to her studio…
Her heart skipped a beat. Everything froze for a split second, then—
She bolted into the street like mad, flagging down the first car she saw.
"Take me to Davis Corp."
In the taxi, she sat stiff, head down, eyes shut, murmuring to herself, "No way… it can’t be you. There's no way it's you."
She’d loved this man for seven years. He couldn’t possibly be the one who destroyed her.
Yes, the past year of marriage had been cold, and distant… but not heartless—right?
An hour later.
At Davis Corp.
"Sorry, no appointment, no entry. Our CEO doesn’t see just anyone."
The receptionist looked her up and down with a sneer, sounding just as rude as her gaze.
"He’s my husband, Ethan Davis. I need to see him—now!"
