Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 83: The Convention IV

A hush fell so complete it felt deliberate, as though the room itself had decided to behave.

The first company’s name appeared in crisp lettering, followed by images of gemstones rotating slowly, obediently, on the screen.

Polite applause followed. Murmurs of approval. Notes scribbled.

Gianna watched without impatience.

She studied the way the crowd leaned forward for some collections, the way interest waned for others. She noted the micro-expressions—tight smiles, lifted brows, lips pursed in calculation. The room was a marketplace disguised as a gallery.

One by one, designs followed.

Some were exquisite. Some were safe. Some were loud enough to feel desperate.

Then—

"Whitman’s."

The word carried. Enough to grasp the attention in the room. After all, It was the leading jewelry company in the country.

Gianna thought the first design looked beautiful. She wasn’t that bitter as not to recognize and applaud a good piece. If anything, she respected good pieces, good designers.

"Looks cool..." Vance whispered, as if afraid of the consequences of his words.

Gianna smiled. "Yeah, you are right. Not bad."

She could see that the investors and dealers agreed to it too. But she knew they were waiting, and wouldn’t make final choices till the whole showcase was concluded.

Then Sabrina’s designs appeared, elegant in a conventional way. Well-crafted. Trend-conscious. Designed to please rather than provoke.

The crowd responded kindly, nodding, murmuring approval. There were even claps and admiring hoots.

Fine, Gianna thought. Just fine.

But then she spotted the similarity the design held to one of her old sketches, the one the redhead had torn on that first day, after Whitman’s had taken over Dane’s company.

The bitch! Gianna screamed in her mind, her fists bunching on her thighs.

But the design was off the screen the next second, and she clamped down the rage, knowing that her company’s were the next to appear: her design and Esme’s.

Later. She vowed. After the showcase, she would have a talk with her stealing cousin. Maybe sue her.

She smiled, relaxing as she calculated how much she would get from the suit. Maybe, enough to complete Noah’s payment.

The lighting shifted again, warmer now, cutting her train of thought.

Gianna felt it in her chest, a low pull. The screen went momentarily dark before Esme’s work bloomed into view.

Gianna’s lips pressed into a thin line. Good work. She admitted, pushing down the mild anxiety. Esme was a good jeweler. The panel thought so too.

Before she could make out murmurs, her own design flashed on the screen.

It rotated slowly, unapologetic in its restraint. Clean lines. A tension between sharpness and softness that demanded patience to understand.

The gemstone caught the light and fractured it—not into glitter, but into controlled brilliance.

The room reacted before it realized it had.

A breath. A murmur. Someone whispered, "That cut—"

Swiveling to the side, it looked bolder. More dangerous. It spoke of nights that refused to apologize for themselves.

Gianna did not smile. She sat still, chin lifted slightly, hands folded loosely in her lap, as if she had expected nothing less.

Inside, however, something unfurled. Not relief. Recognition.

This is what I meant, she thought. This is what I was trying to say.

Applause rose—this time not polite or measured. It rippled, uneven and genuine.

Chelsea’s fingers dug into Gianna’s shoulder from behind. "Oh, they felt that."

Athena didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The pride in her eyes, as she watched the floating design which was allowed to stay longer than the usual, was unmistakable.

The moderator waited for the sound to settle before continuing, clasping his hands. "Thank you, designers. Our panel will now confer."

The wait stretched.

Gianna’s awareness narrowed. She focused on breathing evenly, on the faint pressure of Vance’s knee against hers, on the knowledge that she had shown exactly what she came to show.

Minutes passed. Then—

"The winner of Best Design," the moderator announced, after conferring with the panel, voice lifting, "is—Gianna Aldo!!"

For a fraction of a second, the world held its breath.Then it broke.

Applause thundered, sudden and loud enough to feel physical. Gianna’s name moved through the hall like wildfire. People turned. Cameras lifted.

Vance’s hand shot up, punching the air. "Yes!!!!"

Gianna smiled then. Laughing, when her friends pushed and pulled her shoulders softly, saying congratulations, rather shouting congratulations.

She met Arthur’s gaze as she stood up, ready to step on the stage.

She winked at him. The older man laughed, but she saw the gratitude shining in his eyes.

The sensation was surreal—like stepping into a spotlight she had already been standing in. Her steps toward the stage were steady, quietly certain.

She accepted the nod from the moderator, the plaque placed into her hands. The applause swelled again.

And then—

"No."

The word cut through the sound like glass.

Heads snapped around.

Sabrina stood.

Her chair scraped loudly against the floor, an ugly sound in the hush that followed. Her face was flushed—not with embarrassment, but with something sharper.

Panic, poorly disguised as outrage.

"This is a mistake," Sabrina said, voice rising. "That design—she stole them."

A collective intake of breath.

Gianna stopped mid-step. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

The hall erupted into murmurs, confusion crackling like static. Investors leaned toward one another. Representatives stiffened.

The moderator frowned. "Miss Sabrina Aldo..."

"She stole one of my designs," Sabrina repeated, louder now, emboldened by the attention. She saw my sketches months ago. That piece is mine."

What? Gianna turned slowly.

Her expression did not change. But something in her eyes hardened, the way steel does when tested.

Sabrina met her gaze, chin lifted defiantly, but there was a tremor beneath it. A flicker of something unsteady.

Vance muttered under his breath. "She’s lost her damn mind."

Gianna raised her voice slightly. "Sabrina, what is the meaning of this?"

The moderator cleared his throat. "This is a serious accusation."

"It should be," Sabrina snapped. "Because it’s true."

The room buzzed now, louder, uglier. Drama had arrived, and it thrilled them.

Gianna felt the heat of it press against her skin—but she did not flinch.

She stepped fully onto the stage and faced the room.

"May I?" she asked calmly.

The moderator hesitated, then nodded. "Proceed."

Gianna turned to Sabrina. "You’re saying I stole your work."

"Yes."

"You’re sure."

Sabrina’s jaw tightened. "Absolutely."

Gianna inclined her head once. "Then this will be easy."

She turned back to the moderator. "I’d like to present my documentation."

A ripple of surprise moved through the crowd.

"Of course," the moderator said quickly. "Please."

Gianna reached into her sling purse and withdrew a flash drive. Her movements were unhurried. She handed it over, then gestured toward the screen.

"Sketches," she said evenly. "Timestamps. Material orders. Witness statements."

The screen flickered—and her process unfolded.

As she watched, she thanked her stars that she had put the device into her bag. Mainly for emergencies, should Areso or Daphne need something...

But this too, can be averted.

Early drafts showed, when she clicked on a file folder. Rough lines. Notes in her handwriting.

Murmurs... these ones different. Respectful.

Sabrina’s smile faltered. "This—this doesn’t prove anything," she protested, voice thinner now.

Gianna looked at her, really looked. "It proves I’ve been working long before you decided you needed a shortcut."

A gasp.

Sabrina flushed deeper. "What are you talking about? I take no shortcuts! You are the one that...."

Gianna scoffed. "Do you take my silence as foolishness, Sabrina?"

The room was literally enjoying the standoff.

"Your design has one of mine as a skeleton." Gianna continued. "So, technically, you stole my design, Sabrina of the Whitman company."

"You are lying!" Sabrina shouted, eyes shifty.

"Am I?" Gianna asked softly. "Because your submission files show something interesting."

She nodded to the screen again.

Sabrina’s designs appeared.

"So I’ll start with a story..." Gianna mused, hands gestured out to the crowd, her eyes twinkling.

Her cousin thought to dim her shine?

"Please everyone take your seat..." She smiled conspiratorially. "... these accusations need to be dealt with. Don’t they?"

The silence was deafening. But people obeyed. Drama always does that.

But before Gianna could tell her story, another voice cut in.

"Enough."