You’re an Impostor

Pearl approached Lucian, looking overwhelmed by the honor.

“Mr. Blackwood, you’ve spent far too much on me.”

He kept looking at the paintings in front of him.

“Pearl is worth it.”

Just four words.

For some reason, they made my throat tighten.

The appreciation in his eyes was real.

He actually liked my paintings.

Pearl Whitmore had fully settled into the identity she had stolen.

“You’re too kind. You understand my work so well. Perhaps we could talk about art sometime, in private.”

She offered her phone, her messaging QR code already on the screen.

Lucian made no move to scan it.

He looked up at her instead, his eyes cold, his face so beautiful it was almost unfair.

I could practically hear her heart racing.

“There is something I’d like you to do for me, Miss Whitmore.”

She was so dazzled by him that she seemed to have misplaced what little sense she possessed.

She agreed at once, ignoring Vivian’s warning tug from behind.

“Of course. Anyone who appreciates my work so deeply is a kindred spirit. If it’s something I can do, you only have to ask.”

Lucian smiled. It was a wickedly lovely thing.

Then, with everyone watching, he said each word clearly.

“Paint another one for me. Here. In front of everyone.”

Pearl’s sweet smile froze.

She had plainly expected dinner. A date. Something like that.

Lucian wanted a live painting demonstration.

I burst out laughing.

A smile didn’t disappear. It simply moved to someone else’s face.

Mine, in this case.

Her hands were soft and pale, her nails sharp enough to stab someone. Not a callus from holding a brush in sight.

If she managed to produce a painting, that would be a real supernatural event.

She forced out a brittle smile.

“There aren’t any art supplies here.”

“I brought some.”

The moment Lucian finished speaking, several of his men came in carrying paints and brushes.

An entire set of supplies. Everything she could possibly need.

Felix cheerfully made things worse.

“We’re all fans of Pearl here, aren’t we? Who wants to see her paint in person?”

The guests took up the invitation enthusiastically.

People shouted her name. The calls rose louder and louder.

The reporters who had been preparing to leave after the auction hurried back, excitedly setting up their cameras to stream the demonstration live.

The artist’s reputation was too great. The expectations were too high.

Now countless eyes fixed on Pearl Whitmore, waiting for the moment she would take up a brush and astonish them.

There was no way out.

At some point, Lucian had moved outside the crowd.

He still looked casually detached. Elegant, remote, almost bored, as though he had merely made an idle suggestion instead of carefully arranging the whole scene.

He was only a few yards away, yet suddenly I felt as though fog surrounded him.

I couldn’t see anything clearly.

Lucian, what exactly are you trying to do?

“Go on,” Felix called impatiently. “What’s taking so long?”

Pearl stared at the array of supplies, sweat gathering on her forehead.

She couldn’t paint.

She didn’t even know which brush to pick up first.

Felix folded his arms.

“Don’t tell me the great Pearl doesn’t even recognize her own tools. Are you an impostor?”

“No! I am Pearl!” she said loudly.

“Then paint something. Prove it.”

“I…”

Her hand trembled as she reached toward a brush.

Suddenly, Vivian rushed forward and caught her wrist.

“Pearl, don’t put yourself through this. Tell them the truth.”