Chapter 3

I bought a signal detector online and carefully checked every corner of the studio. I even checked every single electrical outlet.

To my dismay, I found nothing.

But just to be safe, I packed up my art supplies and took a cab to a paid study space far away from campus. I chose a fully enclosed, private room, ensuring there was no chance of any surveillance device being pre-installed at the venue.

This time, I painted a still life titled "Shattered Sculpture."

I deliberately used some unconventional coloring and lighting techniques. These were new ideas I'd only recently come up with and had never shared with anyone.

After I was done, I didn't take the painting with me. I locked it inside the storage locker.

However, that very evening, in a private group chat full of art industry veterans, Willow posted a highly refined version of the exact same painting under the guise of seeking feedback.

What she had painted was unmistakably "Shattered Sculpture."

She even posted it half an hour earlier than when I had even finished my piece!

The senior artists in the group showered her with praise, commending her bold vision and technical mastery. A few eagle-eyed members noticed something familiar and began expressing their doubts in the comments.

"Say, doesn't this style kind of resemble Cassidy's?"

"Yeah, kind of. But Willow's version is more polished and mature. Maybe Cassidy is imitating her again? That wouldn't be the first time."

"Kids these days always want the easy way."

I was even more baffled. How exactly was Willow stealing from me?

I sat alone in the empty studio, going over everything in my head. Physical isolation didn't work. Signal-blocking didn't work either.

That ruled out almost all conventional means of theft.

Then, I remembered the interviews Willow gave after winning the Gold Award in my past life. She was graceful in her speech. However, whenever she was asked about the creative process or emotional journey behind her work, her answers were vague and superficial.

She was like a bad actress reciting lines that weren't her own.

Back then, I just thought she wasn't good with words. But now, I realized that maybe she simply didn't know what to say because she had the result but not the process.

A ridiculous idea crept into my mind.

I messaged Gwen and shared my theory. Then, I began testing it.

I sat in front of the easel without picking up a brush or laying out a canvas. I simply closed my eyes and began visualizing a painting in my mind.

I imagined a black cat crouching on a windowsill with a dark, stormy sky behind it. I visualized lightning slicing through distant clouds.

The entire scene was moody, tense, and full of visual drama. In my mind, I even added a touch of vivid emerald green to the cat's eyes.

The next day, Gwen once again barged into my studio.

Her face was full of rage as she bellowed, "Cass, you have to see this! Willow has done it again! She's a real piece of work!"

She slammed her phone down hard on my desk.

On the screen was Willow's latest social media post, which was published early this morning.

It showed a stunning and masterful oil sketch.

The subject was a black cat crouching on a windowsill, its eyes gleaming with a shade of green I knew all too well.

The caption was casual but smug. It read, "I couldn't sleep last night and had a little spark of inspiration. I'm really loving the green in the cat's eyes. Don't they look just like emeralds?"

I stared at the painting. At that moment, every last bit of fog in my mind cleared away. So that was it!

Gwen saw me smiling and stomped her foot anxiously. "Cass, why are you smiling? She copied your thoughts from your mind! This is some kind of witchcraft! What are we supposed to do now?"

I shook my head. "No, Gwen."

Willow didn't just copy my thoughts. It was even more direct than that.

I smiled in a carefree way as I said, "It's perfect that she can do this."

I thought, "Willow, if you love copying so much, I'll let you copy my work all the way to the end this time!"