Chapter 6

The night was so quiet that the voice from the receiver came through crystal clear.

Julian Foster said, "I've already sent you Nicole's photography portfolio. Pass it along to Chloe and have her enter the competition with it."

The person on the other end was Sebastian Vance. "Are you sure? Nicole poured her heart and soul into that portfolio—"

Julian Foster cut him off. "What did you just call her?"

Sebastian Vance switched how he addressed her and continued, "Even if Chloe doesn't have this award, no one in the Vance family will say a word when she marries me."

Julian Foster lowered his voice. "Sebastian Vance, know your place. You're about to marry Chloe. Chloe is your wife-to-be. Whatever happens to Nicole has nothing to do with you."

A chill crept through my entire body.

Julian Foster stole my work and handed it over to Chloe Miller?!

I had spent years shooting that collection.

For the aurora series alone, I went to Norway twice and camped out there for three to four months, enduring frostbite on my hands and feet before capturing shots I was satisfied with.

I had thought that him pretending to love me for Chloe Miller's sake was already the most agonizing thing.

Turns out there was something even worse.

I returned to bed and lay down, but sleep would not come.

As soon as dawn broke, I opened my laptop and uploaded the entire collection to my own social media accounts, refusing to let Chloe Miller benefit from it.

That afternoon, my phone buzzed non-stop.

Unknown numbers called one after another. I answered a few.

"Image thief! You don't deserve to be in the photography community. Get lost already!"

"Do you know how much blood and sweat went into capturing those auroras? You habitual plagiarist, you're disgusting!"

"You useless parasite living off men! Stealing just because you can't shoot anything good yourself—aren't you ashamed of yourself?!"

I hung up and opened social media.

Chloe Miller had posted a lengthy essay, claiming the portfolio was the result of years of her own hard work, and that the aurora shots were taken after traveling twice to Norway and suffering frostbitten hands and feet.

She declared that someone stealing her work and posting it first was an insult to every photographer and photography enthusiast, and that the photography community should never tolerate such a person.

Attached beneath the post was a batch of raw format files.

The comment section was filled with vile, unbearable abuse.

The image agencies that had long collaborated with me sent messages one after another, stating they were suspending our partnerships until the matter was investigated.

Two magazines I had pending commissions with also emailed me, saying the current projects were on hold.

It dawned on me: Julian Foster had given her the RAW files as well.

He knew full well what photography meant to me.

Photography was both my livelihood and my faith.

Every time I stepped out with my camera, I temporarily broke free from the shadow of the Shaw family.

I was simply myself—not anyone's daughter, nor anyone's superfluous burden.

By selling my photos, I had earned my very first payment, traveled far from home for the first time, and built a foundation of independence outside the Shaw family.

Julian Foster knew all of this, yet he destroyed it so flippantly!

I wanted nothing more than to tear them to shreds.

Yet impulse wouldn't solve anything.

I went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and forced down the blazing fury inside me.

A fake is always a fake; it can never become real.

Chloe Miller knew nothing about photography. Aside from those raw files, she had nothing.

Given enough time, she would expose herself.

For now, however, I couldn't act rashly.

The Shaw family, Julian Foster, Sebastian Vance—any single one of them was more than I could fight off alone.

Chloe Miller had three elite families backing her, while there was nobody standing behind me.

Acting now would only alert the enemy and drag myself down.

I dried my face and started organizing the materials I had on hand.

The door lock clicked. Julian Foster entered, carrying an insulated bag.

The moment he walked in, he pulled me into his arms. "Nicole, I know everything. You've been wronged. I specially bought your favorite chicken soup. Eat it while it's hot."

His expression was full of worry, his eyes brimmed with heartache and remorse, looking every bit the thoughtful, devoted fiancé.

Had I not heard what he said on the balcony with my own ears, I would have been fooled by him.

Suppressing the nausea rising in my chest, I looked at him calmly. "Since you know I've been wronged, how do you plan to clear my name?"

He froze slightly.

After a brief silence, he spoke, "Nicole, it won't be easy for Chloe marrying into the Vance family. This award will help her gain their acceptance. Once you marry me, even if you stop being a photographer, I will provide for you for the rest of your life. As long as you're with me, you'll never lack anything."

I let out a sudden chuckle. "Julian Foster, that sounds so troublesome."

I said, "I have a much simpler solution. Want to hear it?"

Unsure of what I meant, he asked, "What solution?"

"A disgraced image thief like me isn't rejected by the Foster family, and they're still willing to welcome me through the door. Since Chloe Miller has an untainted reputation, the Foster family would welcome her even more. Why don't you just marry her? That way, she won't have to bother scheming these dirty tricks. Wouldn't that be so much better?"