LOGINI burned my painting right in front of the students and university staff. Thunderous applause filled the hall. Everyone thought it was some kind of performance. But my senior in the graduate program panicked. He rushed forward and grabbed my wrist, his voice tight. “Connor, have you gone mad? This is your only shot to prove yourself!” I shook him off, cold. A chance? That was his chance, right? During my past life, he stole the painting I poured my heart and soul into and entered it in the competition ahead of me. The composition, the colors, even my original technique… He copied all of it. He won the Gold Award for the National Youth Art Competition, signed with a top gallery, and basked in glory. Meanwhile, I was branded a shameless plagiarist. The insults and curses overwhelmed me completely. "Get out of the art scene already!" “A plagiarist like you should just die!” His fans stormed my studio, smashed my tools, and broke my right hand. With my world in ruins, I jumped off the studio roof. Opening my eyes again, I realized I had returned to the day my senior accused me of plagiarism.
View MoreAmara’s POV
“If Marco loved me, this test would change everything. But if I had misjudged him… then one pink line might ruin both our lives.” “Tell me, Amara, tell me, tell me!” Emma’s excitement spilled over her words, her voice higher than usual. My hands trembled as I placed the pregnancy test kit on the table. “I don’t know what it says. You check. I’ve never used one before.” Emma didn't need more encouragement. She slid into my spot, taking the kit with eager fingers. I stepped aside, heart hammering. Emma’s mother was a nurse, and Emma had practically grown up in the hospital halls. If anyone could read it right, it was her. But then…. Silent. Emma’s eyes lingered on the test, unreadable. “Don’t go quite on me,” I urged, voice sharp with nerves. “What does it say?” She looked at me, then grinned so wide it nearly split her face. “We’re having little Marco.… and I’m going to be an aunt!” she shrieked. “Shhh!” I slapped a hand over her mouth before she woke my Nonna. My grandmother would never understand our English chatter, but still, her frail body needed rest, not chaos. Excitement and fear watered inside me. I managed a shaky whisper. “So…. What do we do now?” “What do you mean?” Emma tilted her head, her eyes sparkling. “You tell Marco, of course. Then we can start planning the wedding.” Her words should have filled me with warmth, but instead, I whispered, almost to myself, “A wedding. Yes…. That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Emma squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t overthink. Just tell him.” I didn't even wait to say goodbye. My legs carried me straight to Marco’s apartment, excitement overriding reason. We hadn't spoken much about marriage yet, but Marco loved me. He would want this too. Or so I thought. When I reached his door, I hesitated, hand on the handle. That's when I heard it…. The unmistakable sound of a woman’s voice. “So when do you plan on ending it with that dirty girl?” My breath stilled. Marco’s voice came next. “Which girl? I don't know what you're talking about.” “Don’t play dumb. You know I mean Amara. I kept fucking you while you play house with her.” I froze. “You don't have to worry,” Marco said smoothly. “Amara and I…. It’s nothing serious. Just a fling.” The words slammed into me—just a fling. The stranger pressed further. “And what if this fling leads to pregnancy?” Marco laughed. Laughed. “Pregnancy? That would never happen. And even if it did….. I’d never marry someone like Amara. She doesn't fit my status. I need someone like you.” His voice dipped lower, followed by the wet sound of a kiss. The weight of my hand on the door handle suddenly became unbearable. My chest burned. My legs refused to move. He wasn't my boyfriend. He wasn't my future. I was just a joke to him. I ran before my sobs betrayed me, the night air cutting into my skin as hard as his words. But where could I go? Nonna was waiting in our tiny apartment. I couldn't raise a child there. I couldn't even afford her medicine. I pressed my palm to my mouth, mugging a sob. Emma’s words from earlier echoed cruelly: “If Marco truly loves you, he’ll stay. If he doesn't….you’ll finally know the truth,” Truth. A blade sharper than any knife. I thought of Nonna—my grandmother—her mind slipping further each day, forgetting my name, mistaking me for a stranger. Or the job I’d lost two weeks ago, the bills were piling higher than hope. Of Marco, who had sworn to build a future with me. Every memory was a thread fraying at the edges. I walked blindly until neon lights and the stale stench of alcohol pulled me into a bar. Men turned their heads as I entered, their gazes sharp, unwelcoming. No other women. The bartender was a man, too. I sat anyway. I needed to drown Marco’s betrayal, if only for a moment. “Beer,” I muttered, my voice breaking. When my phone rang, every eye snapped towards me. I turned my face away, clutching the phone like a lifeline. It was Emma. “ Amara….. Please get here now. Your Nonna tried to get up. She fell. They've admitted her, but won’t treat her until your debt is paid. I’m begging them, but they won't listen. Please, come quickly.” My stomach dropped. My breath caught. Nonna….my only family, my reason for surviving. I shoved back from the counter, ready to run….when gunfire cracked the air. One shot. Then another. Chaos erupted. The men who’d been watching me scattered instantly. Chairs overturned. The bartender vanished. My heart stopped as police sirens wailed outside. Before I could move, rough hands yanked me back. Cold metal cuffs snapped around my wrists. “Anything you say can and will be used against you.” “No….. You don't understand!” I tried to protest, but the officers shoved me forward. At the station, they herded me with the others. My mind was spinning….pregnancy, betrayal, Nonna, prison bars. My world was collapsing. And then…. A voice boomed, commanding, the impossible to ignore. “ Get me my lawyer. Now. Do you know who I am?” The guards tried to quiet him. He refused. I turned towards the sound. “And then our eyes met. Cold. Commanding. Dangerous. The man whose name was whispered with fear across Italy. The infamous Alessandro Vitale….the last man I should ever cross paths with…was staring directly at me.”After the scandal had settled, Ian came to see me in private. He asked me to enter the competition again and show my real work."The university owes you a gold award," he said quietly, "and I owe you an apology."I shook my head. "Professor, that award means nothing to me now."Seeing the disappointment in his eyes, I smiled and took something out of my backpack. It was a sketchbook, old and a little worn at the edges.I handed it to him.Before the finals, I had bought a plane ticket to a remote highland region. I stayed there alone for half a month.I didn't paint a single finished artwork.I walked. I watched. I sensed.Then, I put everything I saw into this sketchbook with the simplest lines.Ian opened the first page.It showed a pilgrim from the highlands bowing down on the road. Just a few strokes carved the faith and the years into his face.He kept turning the pages.An old man, praying beside a totem.Children running and laughing below snow-covered peaks.A mou
As soon as I finished speaking, Bonnie looked as though every ounce of strength had been ripped from him. His legs buckled, and he collapsed on the stage.He grabbed his head and started screaming in despair. "It's not me! I didn't do it! It was the system. The system forced me!"The crowd went wild."System?""What system is he talking about?"Cameras flashed as reporters rushed forward, lenses aimed at his crumpled figure on stage.In the midst of the turmoil, I revealed the truth calmly.I had suspected for a long time that Bonnie was stealing my thoughts and ideas, so I hired a private investigator to look into him.The investigator discovered that Bonnie had something called the Creativity Pillaging System. The system he mentioned is a tool that can ignore physical distance, reach directly into my mind, steal any fully formed artistic concept, and convert it into his own work.On its own, the explanation sounded absurd.However, when compared to his total collapse, h
The day of the finals arrived, and the atmosphere was charged.Under the stage lights, Bonnie's "Twin Lives" stood center stage. The spotlights were focused on it as it awaited the judges' decision.On the panel sat the leading figures of the art world within the country. At the center was my supervisor, Ian.The judges couldn't stop praising the piece."The composition is daring, the colors are rich, and the imagination is extraordinary.""For someone this young to handle such a grand and complex theme is remarkable. From time to time, we simply have to give way to talented youths.""I personally like it very much. I'll give it a high score."The host smiled and handed Bonnie the microphone. "Mr. Lane, congratulations on receiving unanimous praise from the judges. Can you share your creative journey with this piece and how some of the key techniques were used?"Bonnie took the mic and began to recite. "The inspiration for this painting came from my reflections on the duali
Bonnie's retaliation worked perfectly, and all the focus came back to me."True. Now that he has no painting, he just wants to sneak a look at someone else's work!""Connor really is quite shameless! He still hasn't given up after everything!"With the crowd supporting him again, Bonnie straightened up with renewed confidence. "I'll bring a piece that'll amaze everyone, unlike some people who rely on cheap tricks for attention!"The others viewed him with confidence and expectation. Meanwhile, the same people sneered at me and told me to stop making a scene, that I should hurry back and paint something new while there was still time.I simply smiled. I said nothing and walked out of the hall.After leaving the university, I found a quiet cafe, ordered a glass of water, and sat there the entire afternoon.I closed my eyes and began to build my next masterpiece in my mind.Its title was "Twin Lives."At first glance, it would look grand and spectacular. The composition was m












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