"Why does it feel like Ivy's painting and Maria's are alike?" a girl whispered with suspicion.
"I know right," a boy added.
"What are you guys saying?" another girl scoffed, but her voice faltered. "Ivy's painting… tsk. Weren't we just praising it too much? After looking at Maria's, mine feels… flat. My eyes hurt." She trailed off when Ivy's icy stare met hers.
Ivy's lips curled into a forced, demure smile. Her voice soft, measured, saintly. "Now I know why I got fifth. But Maria's and my paintings aren't the same. Hers was a woman. Mine was… different. Maybe just… similar."
But the strain in her eyes, the twitch of her brow, said more.
Everyone turned to Maria.
Maria's expression was unreadable at first—lips slightly parted, gaze wandering, like she was confused. Then her eyes narrowed, and her smile sharpened. Her voice, light and casual, laced with venom.
"Hmm… Indeed, Ivy's painting and mine don't look the same. If mine looked like hers and she's the queen, I should've lost. But I didn't."
She took a small step forward, voice bright. "Which means... a counterfeit can't outshine the original. No matter how much you gild a fake in gold—it's still fake. Not like I'm saying anything else, right, Ivy?"
Her smile glinted like polished glass.
Ivy paled. A crack formed beneath the surface. Her eyes flicked, just once, her hands tightening. Still, she forced a chuckle. "Indeed… Maria is good at painting. I'll… learn better next time."
"Hmm. I knew it," a boy muttered smugly. "Maria couldn't have copied Ivy. When has a fake ever been better than the original?"
Maria giggled. She whipped out her phone and posted: #GuessWhoWonFirstAfterTheDrama 💅🎨
As she walked off toward the elevator, Ivy's voice sliced through the air.
"Maria. Stop right there!"
Ivy's heels clacked furiously as she caught up and grabbed Maria's arm, dragging her into the girls' bathroom. The door slammed.
Like a storm bottled too long, Ivy kicked each stall door open, checking for anyone. Empty.
Then she turned.
"What the hell are you playing at?!" she screamed, her voice trembling with restrained fury.
Maria stepped back, eyes wide, lips trembling. "Gosh Ivy… why are you yelling at me? Did I do something wrong?"
Tears welled in her eyes.
"Stop—STOP acting!" Ivy snarled. Her breath ragged. She ran a hand through her hair, strands clinging to her temple.
Her voice cracked like broken glass. "Why did you paint the same thing?! Are you trying to ruin me?! I thought we were friends!"
Maria blinked away a tear, her voice smaller. "Oh… I just painted what was in my sketchbook… is that wrong?"
Ivy's rage paused. Her eyes twitched.
The sketchbook.
Her hand dropped. Her breath slowed, but the fire hadn't left her. She fixed her expression with visible effort, her brows twitching as she forced a serene look.
"You should stop drawing from inside that sketchbook. You won't be able to afford the consequences. You gave it to me. Why are you doing this?"
Maria's tears stopped. Her posture straightened slightly. Her lips curled.
"I didn't give it to you. I lent it to you, remember?" Her voice, soft. Her eyes, cutting. "So you could take it to your precious art club master. What did you do? You took from it. Used my work. For your benefit."
She stepped forward, her voice like velvet blades. "That sketchbook belonged to me. It was my half-completed piece. The fire damaged it, sure. But I finished it. So that painting? It's mine."
Ivy lifted her hand, trembled, and tapped Maria's forehead.
"No. I finished it. It's mine."
Maria stared at her for a second. Her expression morphed. From sad… to mocking. She tilted her head, eyes glittering.
"If it's yours… why are you scared?" she whispered. "If you're so talented, there's no need to panic. But look at you… trembling. My dear bestie."
Her smirk widened. "Pretending to be a saint and stealing other people's property… that's a new low, even for you. Too bad, no matter what you do… you still can't get Mike. Poor Ivy."
Each word stabbed cleanly. Ivy flinched.
Maria turned, humming lightly. "Anyway, I have acting rehearsals. My song just hit #25 globally, and I've got brand deals waiting. Oh, and a film. A big one. Funny, right? Two 'besties' with films coming out together. Wonder whose will trend first?"
She paused dramatically. "Ah. I forgot. That script you're clutching? Wasn't that mine too? What a shame. Even the ashes couldn't erase my talent."
She laughed and took out her eyedropper. She carefully applied it, her face turning redder, tears blooming.
Ivy blinked rapidly, barely registering as Maria dodged her hand. Her nail scraped against Maria's wrist, drawing blood.
"You—"
Maria whimpered and burst out of the bathroom, sobbing loudly.
"I won't quit! I got first fair and square! She's always like this! I won't let her win again!"
Two girls at the entrance of the bathroom stepped aside as Maria ran past them, stumbling, crying harder when she reached the hallway. Whispers grew. Phones came out.
Maria stepped into the elevator, crying hard. But the moment the door closed—
She wiped her face. Her expression smoothed.
"Not bad… but my fake crying still needs polishing." She chuckled. "Compared to Ivy, I'm still an amateur. But practice makes perfect."
—
Back in the bathroom, Ivy stood frozen. Her chest rose and fell like a volcano beneath snow.
She clenched the sink until her knuckles turned white. Her face was cracked porcelain—still beautiful, but fractured. She vomited blood into the sink.
Two girls stepped in. The ones who saw Maria.
"Tsk. She's too good to be true. Look at that face."
"I know, right? All that talk about talent, and now she's slapping her best friend in a bathroom. How noble."
They laughed lightly. "Let's go before she gets mad and claws us too."
They walked out with fake smiles and full clarity.
Ivy stared at her reflection. Her lipstick was smudged. Her eye makeup ruined. Her saint mask—shattered.
She exhaled.
Then slowly—robotically—fixed her hair. Her lipstick. Wiped the smear. Reapplied.
When she left, her face was flawless again. But her silence was louder than a scream.
As Ivy stepped out of the bathroom, her heels clicked with forced grace against the marble floor, her makeup flawless once more, but her presence a little too silent, too composed. The noise in the hallway softened—not out of respect, but anticipation. Everyone knew something had shifted.
A few of her "friends," girls dressed in designer labels with sleek hair and colder smiles, stood by the corner.
Her crew, once loyal, now watched from a distance.
One girl leaned over and whispered to another. "Let's avoid her for now. The storm is too big. She's not useful anymore."
"Of course not," Sora chimed in, twirling her pearl bracelet. "She's probably embarrassed. Everyone saw Maria run out of the bathroom sobbing like a drama heroine. And guess who's the villain?"
"Ugh, I've always hated how guys fall for her 'pure and mysterious' act. As if being quiet and breathing slowly makes you hot," Eunhee said with a roll of her eyes. "And now this? The poor bullied angel turning out to be the bully? I love it."
Jinah laughed. "Even my oppa was talking about her last week. '
"Let her," Eunhee said with a shrug. "She's boring anyway. All looks, no real charm. At least Maria has personality — fake or not, she's fun to watch."
One girl, Eunhee, smiled politely and gave Ivy a slight nod—the kind reserved for someone you tolerated at charity galas but wouldn't invite to your inner circle. Her gaze trailed Ivy like a hawk sizing up a wounded dove.
The second girl, Sora, flipped her hair and whispered behind her palm, forgetting her volume for a second, "She actually walked out like she didn't just lose her entire face in there."
Tch. Did you see the way she walked out? Like she still thinks she's some goddess."
Jinah scoffed, pulling her phone out to reapply her gloss.
"She looked dead behind the eyes. Not even a 'hi' to us."
Jinah snorted softly, then fixed her posture just as Ivy paused for a beat—clearly hearing them. Their faces morphed instantly—warm, sweet, innocent.
But as soon as Ivy turned her back to them again, Sora's expression returned to her default sneer.
"So what if she heard us?" she said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "If she knows what's good for her, she'll behave. I've hated her from the beginning—always acting like she's some saint. Gross."
"She thinks we don't see it," Eunhee added, adjusting her silk scarf. "That whole holy goddess act? Please, she's just a desperate fake who finally met her match."
"She was fun when she was on top," Jinah said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "but no one likes deadweight."
They all giggled in harmony—the sound light, graceful… and venomous.
Ivy walked into the elevator, her smile finally cracking.
"Let's meet. Now," she snarled into the phone. No sugarcoating, no pleasantries.
The car ride to the restaurant was quiet, but her rage simmered like a volcano. The driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, sensing the storm sitting behind him.
As she stepped into the upscale restaurant, her heels tapped sharply against the floor. She spotted the girl immediately—Ella. The one who once jumped off the stage to take the blame, claimed she'd bribed the judge, all to protect Ivy. Loyal? Maybe. But now, here she was, sitting across the table in designer clothes like some heiress of pedigree.
How insulting, Ivy thought. A girl who used to follow her around like a stray now dares to act like her equal—worse, like her handler.
"Are you done glaring?" Ella asked, not even turning around. "Then sit."
"Sister, why would I glare?" Ivy gave a soft chuckle as she sat gracefully, folding her legs. "I just missed seeing your face, that's all."
"Ivy," Ella sighed, stabbing a fork into her food. "Cut the fake queen act and get to the point. Let me guess—you lost it after Maria's little stunt and now want to retaliate? Again? How many failed attacks is this now? Honestly, are you a masochist or just plain stupid?"
"I don't see why you're suddenly so worked up," Ivy said, sipping her tea like it was wine. "I thought our goal was to destroy Maria. What? You want me to wait until she's stable, then strike? That's even dumber. And instead of playing watchdog, shouldn't you be focusing on stabilizing Chris and Mike? Wasn't that your team's mission? How's that going, hmm?"
"You always know how to twist things," Ella said calmly, unbothered. Her aura was like the center of a hurricane—still, deadly.
"And I'm still learning from the best. That's you, right? Should I stop pretending now? You know, show my real self?"
Ella finally turned to face her. "Fix your attitude. You're becoming more useless by the day. And useless pieces get discarded. You should know that."
"You should save that warning for yourself." Ivy's smile sharpened. "If they really wanted to deal with me, they would've sent someone higher—not some little foot soldier with a designer bag. Pathetic."
Ella paused her chewing. "I'm not here as your rival. I'm here as your reminder. We're all chess pieces, Ivy. How long we stay on the board depends on our usefulness. So don't act smart just for show. Be smart for real. Don't make a move now. Don't give Maria room to strike again. Stay calm. Pretending is your strength, so use it. And remember—the boss made you. The boss can destroy you."
She stood up with elegance and left without another glance.
Ivy stayed seated, her tea now cold.
Her hands clenched.
Then with a loud crash, she hurled the porcelain cup at the wall.
Her eyes shifted to the vase beside her. Reaching into it, she retrieved the hidden recorder and crushed it in her fist.
"So what if your boss made me, idiot?" she muttered through gritted teeth. "Have you never heard of the disciple defeating the master?"
Her gaze burned with venom.
"You tested me? I tested you too. When I have something you need, you crawl like a dog. But the moment I lose it, you spit like I'm dirt. Pawn? Hah. Let's see who's really playing who."
She fixed her makeup, composed her face, and slipped her phone back into her bag.
"I've tasted power. I won't go back to nothing. I don't just want to crush Maria under my heel—I want to rise so high even the so-called boss will kneel."
Her smile returned, perfect and calm.
But her eyes? Her eyes burned with ambition and the madness of someone who had nothing left to lose.
---