Chapter 103

Lucas's POV

I watched the unexpected scene unfold before me. Despite Serena's clear victory, it was Nina who was drawing the crowd's attention, accepting congratulations with practiced grace. Something felt off about the whole situation, but I couldn't quite place what.

My phone buzzed repeatedly with notifications from our group chat. I glanced down, keeping one eye on the screen.

"@Lucas, what's up with Nina? She's acting different. Another PR stunt to clean up her image?" The message was from Drew.

"Hey, speaking of design - any chance you could ask Serena to design something for me?" Drew's message continued.

Spencer's response was immediate and cutting: "With your build? Don't waste Lucas's future wife's time."

I ignored the bickering that followed, my attention drawn back to the stage as Serena stepped forward to give her acceptance speech. The studio lights caught the elegant lines of her winning design, and for a moment, everything seemed perfect.

Then a voice cut through the applause: "That dress is plagiarized!"

The accusation hung in the air like a thunderclap. I watched as ripples of confusion spread through the audience, my muscles tensing instinctively.

"It's copied from Lumi Nova's collection!" Another voice joined in. "It was in last year's fashion magazine!"

The previously celebratory atmosphere crumbled as murmurs turned to shouts. I noticed security personnel beginning to move along the aisles, but they were too late to prevent what happened next. A plastic bottle arced through the air, followed by others, forcing Serena to step back from the podium.

The host quickly came back to try to calm things down. "To everyone here and watching at home, our network has made a unanimous decision. Firstly, we're not going off the air. We'll finish the final judging with you all watching, so don't worry. Secondly, please keep calm and stay in order, and don't risk your safety by any unnecessary crowding or pushing. Finally, we promise that this competition will be completely fair and give both our contestants and our audience a satisfying ending."

The host's words helped to quiet the crowd a little.

I watched Serena's face carefully. Where others might have seen a calm mask, I could detect the slight tension around her eyes, the barely perceptible tightening of her jaw. She remained perfectly still, even as the judges huddled in urgent discussion.

Finally, the head judge stepped forward, his expression grave. "After careful comparison with Lumi Nova's 'Shade' collection from last year, we find significant similarities that cannot be ignored. The evidence suggests..." He paused, clearly uncomfortable. "This design appears to be plagiarized."

The comments scrolled endlessly on my screen:

"How disgusting. I can't believe Serena Sinclair would plagiarize."

"And I actually supported her. Makes me sick."

"Compared to her, Nina actually seems like the better person."

The group chat had fallen silent. They knew my temperament well enough - I held grudges, and I wasn't someone to be crossed. I continued tapping my finger against the desk, each tap measuring out my growing fury.

The more I thought about it, the clearer the picture became. Nina's reaction at the show had been too perfect, too practiced. The way she'd arranged her features into shocked disappointment while her eyes gleamed with satisfaction - it was a performance worthy of an award.

Miles stood quietly by my desk, watching my finger tap with growing concern. He'd worked with me long enough to recognize the signs. This wasn't just irritation. This was cold fury.

The social media tide was turning rapidly in Nina's favor. Every refresh brought new praise for her "integrity" and "genuine talent." The orchestrated nature of it all only fueled my anger. Someone had planned this, timed it perfectly to maximize the damage to Serena's reputation.

I finally broke the heavy silence. "Acquire the Whitmore Group."

Miles shifted slightly. "Sir, from a business perspective, the Whitmore Group doesn't offer much value-"

"They're an eyesore." My finger stopped its tapping. In the sudden stillness, those two words carried the weight of an execution order.

I could see Miles processing the implications. The Whitmore Group might not have much business value, but that wasn't the point. This wasn't about business - it was about sending a message.

I stood up, adjusting my cuffs with deliberate precision. The movement was unhurried, controlled - just like my anger.

"Car. Now. We're going to the venue," I ordered Mile, my voice clipped and icy, my anger held tightly in check.