Chapter 34: The Truth That Shattered Everything

The air inside the Bright Auditorium was suffocating. The lights, once warm and celebratory, now felt harsh—merciless. Every camera was trained on the stage, every breath held in anticipation. The silence was broken only by the sharp, furious voice that cut through the hall like a blade.

"What evidence do you have?"

Jagger’s voice thundered across the auditorium. His face was red with anger, his finger stabbing the air toward Mindy as if accusation alone could destroy her. "It must be fake! We’ve already seen Missy’s original drafts—they were dated six months ago! What other evidence could you possibly have?"

His confidence was infectious. The audience murmured in agreement, the livestream chat exploding with comments that scrolled faster than anyone could read.

[Exactly!]

[Missy already has the original drafts!]

[Mindy is just delaying the inevitable!]

[Withdraw from the competition already!]

The tide of public opinion had turned vicious.

Raymond Hawthorne stood slowly, his expression carved from stone. His voice carried the weight of authority, but none of the warmth of a father. "Mindy," he said coldly, "apologize. Withdraw from the competition. There is still time to preserve your dignity."

The words struck harder than any slap.

Even now, after everything, he still chose Missy.

Missy lowered her eyes, her lashes trembling delicately. "If Sister apologizes," she whispered, her voice soft and trembling, "I won’t hold it against her."

The performance was flawless. Her gentle tone melted hearts instantly.

Drake stepped forward, his voice rising with righteous fury. "Did you hear that? Missy is still willing to forgive you after you stole months of her hard work. You really don’t deserve her kindness."

The audience erupted again. The livestream chat became a battlefield of insults and pity.

[Poor Missy!]

[She’s so kind even after being betrayed!]

[Mindy should be ashamed!]

Only a handful of comments still defended her.

Mindy stood in the center of the storm, her expression unreadable. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even hurt anymore. The pain had burned itself out long ago, leaving behind something colder—clarity.

Then she smiled.

It was a calm, almost mocking smile that made the air shift. "What if," she said softly, "this design is mine?"

The words fell like stones into still water. The ripples spread instantly.

The auditorium went silent.

Her gaze swept across the Hawthorne family, steady and unflinching. "If this gown belongs to me," she asked, "will Missy apologize? Will she withdraw from the competition?"

Drake scoffed. "Impossible. This is Missy’s design. You don’t have any proof."

Mindy turned her head slightly, her eyes glinting with quiet disdain. "Would you stop jumping around like a monkey?" she said coolly. "You keep asking me to apologize. So answer my question. If this dress is mine—what will all of you do?"

Drake’s face darkened. "You—"

"Enough."

Raymond raised his hand, silencing him. His eyes locked on Mindy’s, cold and sharp. "If you can prove this dress belongs to you," he said slowly, "I’ll personally make Missy apologize before everyone. And she will withdraw from today’s competition."

The audience gasped.

Emily turned toward him in shock. "Raymond—"

He silenced her with a single glance. "This is my promise," he said firmly.

Mindy nodded once. "Good." Her lips curved faintly. "Mr. Hawthorne, I hope you don’t go back on your word."

Then she turned toward Wade. One small nod. That was all it took.

Wade walked to the management desk and handed over a USB drive. "This is our evidence."

The technician inserted it into the system. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the giant screen flickered to life.

Hundreds of folders appeared. Each one neatly labeled, each one dated.

Eight years ago.

Seven years ago.

Six years ago.

Every folder contained design drafts, handwritten notes, fabric studies, color palettes. Every document bore one name—Mindy Wilson.

The audience gasped collectively.

Lucy Wale rose from her seat, her eyes wide. "So many..."

Adam Gray’s expression hardened. "Impossible," he murmured.

Then the screen shifted again. A video began to play.

The image showed a bright room inside Wilson Manor. A young girl sat by the window, sunlight spilling across her desk. She couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Her hair was tied loosely, her face calm and focused as she sketched dress after dress. Pages covered the floor around her like fallen petals.

Hours passed in fast-forward.

Then the audience saw it—the gown. The same gown Missy had claimed as her own. Every line, every stitch, every detail flowed from the girl’s pencil with effortless grace.

When she finished, she smiled softly, satisfied.

At that moment, the door opened. Emma Wilson entered, carrying a glass of warm milk. She placed it beside her granddaughter and gently brushed her hair back, pride and love shining in her eyes.

No words were spoken. None were needed.

The warmth between them filled the screen.

When the video ended, the silence was absolute.

No one questioned its authenticity. The CCTV timestamp, the surroundings, Emma herself—everything was real.

Emily’s voice broke the silence, shrill and trembling. "Fake! It’s fake! The video is fake!"

But her protest sounded weak, desperate. Even she didn’t believe it.

Mindy turned toward Raymond. Her eyes were calm, almost frighteningly so. "Mr. Hawthorne," she said softly, "do you still believe I stole Missy’s design?"

Raymond didn’t answer.

"Six months ago," Mindy continued, her voice steady, "I told you this dress belonged to me. You didn’t believe me. You said I was jealous. You slapped me."

The words hit like thunder.

"You didn’t believe me then. You didn’t believe me today. You chose Missy. Again."

Raymond’s pupils trembled. The memory surfaced unbidden—the sound of his hand striking her cheek, the look in her eyes afterward. Not anger. Not hatred. Just heartbreak.

The livestream exploded.

[WAIT!!]

[HE SLAPPED HIS OWN DAUGHTER?!]

[SHE TOLD THEM SIX MONTHS AGO?!]

[NO ONE BELIEVED HER?!]

[THIS FAMILY IS INSANE!]

Drake’s voice broke through the chaos, but it no longer carried certainty. "But... you don’t even have a degree in fashion design..."

Mindy turned her gaze on him. "Who told you I don’t?"

Another file opened on the screen.

Ritol University – Bachelor of Fashion Design – Highest Distinction.

Another followed.

Bachelor of Medicine.

The auditorium erupted.

"Dual degrees?" Lucy gasped.

Jonathan Harper stood from his chair, his eyes wide. Selena Marwin smiled faintly, admiration softening her features. "A genius," she whispered.

Backstage, Ana laughed proudly. "I told you," she said. "My best friend is terrifying."

Layla crossed her arms, smirking. "These fools never even asked about her."

Raymond stared blankly at the screen. His breathing grew uneven. She had graduated years ago. And he hadn’t known. He had never cared enough to ask.

Layla’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold. "Mr. Hawthorne, the evidence is right in front of you. Looking at you now, no one would believe Mindy is your biological daughter." She paused, her gaze flicking toward Missy. "Perhaps someone else is."

Emily’s face turned ashen. "Shut up!" she snapped, but her voice lacked conviction.

Jagger frowned, his anger faltering. "If these designs are yours," he demanded, "then why did Missy have them six months ago?"

Mindy smiled faintly. "Excellent question." She turned to Wade. "Let’s answer him."

The screen changed again.

A new video began to play.

The setting was unmistakable—Knight Penthouse. Mindy’s private studio.

The door opened quietly. Missy stepped inside, glancing around nervously. She moved to a drawer, opened it, and pulled out several sketches. She folded them carefully, then slipped them beneath her dress before walking out as if nothing had happened.

The audience gasped.

Missy’s face turned ghostly white. "No! No! Stop it! Stop the video!" She rushed toward the screen, panic twisting her features. "It isn’t what it looks like!"

But the footage had already ended.

Mindy was calm, almost detached. Missy had unrestricted access to Knight Penthouse. She even knew the security password. I argued with Layton many times about it, but he ignored me.

She smiled faintly. "My mother always recorded her creative process. I inherited that habit. Every studio I’ve ever used has security cameras."

Her gaze locked on Missy. "You’ve been talking about your ’original drafts’ this whole time," she said softly. "So... let’s look at those drafts again, shall we?"

She nodded once to Wade.

He took out his phone and made a single call. "Do it."

Seconds later, the giant screen changed again. The same design files Missy had proudly presented earlier appeared once more.

The audience frowned. "Aren’t these the same drafts?" someone whispered. "What is she trying to prove?"

A technician from Bright Group stepped forward. He opened the file properties.

Hidden metadata filled the screen.

The entire auditorium went silent.

Original Creation Date: Yesterday — 9:47 PM

Last Modified: Yesterday — 11:16 PM

Every timestamp was from the night after the first day of the competition.

Not six months ago.

Not even one month ago.

Yesterday.

The technician spoke into the microphone, his voice steady. "We have restored the deleted metadata. The timestamps shown previously were manually altered. These files were created yesterday. There is no evidence they existed six months ago."

The explosion of sound that followed shook the hall.

"What?!"

"They forged the dates?"

"So the original drafts were fake?"

"No wonder she was so confident!"

Missy’s pupils shrank violently. Her lips trembled. "Impossible... impossible... how..."

Her face drained of color. Emily swayed, nearly losing her balance.

How did they find out? That pendrive—she had personally arranged it overnight. No one should have known.

Raymond turned toward Missy. For the first time, there was no trust in his eyes. Only disbelief. "Missy," he said quietly, "is it true?"

The question hung in the air like a blade.

Missy broke. "I... I only borrowed them," she sobbed. "I wanted inspiration. I had just joined Rona Design. I wanted to help Father. I never meant to hurt Sister. I—"

Her words dissolved into tears.

Raymond closed his eyes. For the first time, he couldn’t defend her. Yet old habits die hard. He stepped toward Mindy, his tone softening. "It was a misunderstanding," he said. "Missy didn’t intend to steal your work. She only wanted to help the company."

Mindy’s expression didn’t change. "Really?" she asked quietly. "Then why didn’t she tell the truth? When all of you accused me? When you slapped me? When everyone called me a thief?"

Raymond froze. He had no answer.

Wade stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "A bet is a bet, Mr. Hawthorne. Shouldn’t Missy apologize—and withdraw from the competition?"

Raymond frowned. "Mindy, let’s discuss this as a family. This competition means everything to Missy."

Mindy laughed softly. It was a cold, bitter sound. "Family?" she repeated. "I thought six months ago you already threw me out."

Raymond lowered his head.

Jonathan Harper rose from his seat. His deep voice silenced the hall. "Mr. Wilson is correct," he said. His gaze turned to Missy. "Miss Hawthorne, you are disqualified. There is no place for plagiarism in this competition."

Selena raised her hand. "I agree."

Erwin Bright nodded. "The decision is unanimous."

The remaining judges followed suit.

Missy’s knees buckled. "No... no... this can’t be happening..." She collapsed onto the stage, sobbing. Drake rushed to her side, his face pale.

Jagger clenched his fists. "Mindy! That’s enough! She already admitted her mistake!"

Before Mindy could respond, another voice cut through the air.

Lucy Wale.

Her tone was sharp, her words precise. "So this is the Hawthorne family?" she said. "When you believed Missy, you demanded Mindy apologize. Now the truth is standing right before your eyes, and you’re still protecting the guilty while blaming the victim."

Each word struck Raymond like a slap.

He closed his eyes. He knew. It was over. There was no saving Missy’s reputation now.

Finally, he spoke. "...Missy. Apologize."

Emily turned to him, horrified. "Raymond! You can’t mean—"

"I do." His voice was firm.

Even Drake understood. He lowered his head. "...Missy," he whispered. "There’s no other way."

Missy’s sobs grew louder. She looked up at Mindy, her face streaked with tears. "...I’m sorry," she choked out. "It was my fault."

Raymond turned toward the audience. "As her father," he said heavily, "I sincerely apologize to everyone. We will take full responsibility."

The Hawthorne family began to leave the stage.

Then—

"Stop."

Mindy’s voice was calm, but it carried through the hall like thunder.

Everyone turned.

Jagger frowned. "What else do you want? You already got your apology."

Mindy smiled. It was a slow, deliberate smile that sent chills down every spine in the room.

"I was just wondering," she said softly, "if Missy stole this design..."

She paused.

"...then what about all the others?"

Silence.

Every face in the auditorium froze.

Missy’s tears stopped instantly. Emily’s blood ran cold. Raymond’s heart skipped a beat.

The judges exchanged uneasy glances.

Even the livestream chat went dead for a moment.

Then—

It exploded.