(Liana's POV)
Three days to the Talent Festival.
The art room had become her second home—paints, brushes, and half-finished canvases filled every inch. And yet, something felt... off.
Liana stared at her latest work. The fire was wrong. Too bright. Too angry. She reached for her palette only to realize—again—that the exact shades she needed were missing. It wasn't the first time.
Bianca leaned against the window, twirling a strand of her hair. "Maybe you're overworking yourself, babe. You've been kind of… intense lately."
"I have to be," Liana said, frowning at the ruined canvas. "This might be the only way to prove I deserve to be here."
Bianca said nothing for a moment, then murmured, "You already proved it. But not everyone likes how fast you're rising."
Liana turned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." Bianca shrugged, smiling too quickly. "Just… you know how Regal Heights is. People don't like new stars."
That night, Liana stayed back to repaint what had been lost.
After she left, Bianca walked back into the room. She stood in front of Liana's new canvas, her expression unreadable.
The next morning, Liana arrived to find her painting splattered—intentionally—with oil-based black paint. A vandalism. An attack.
Bianca gasped louder than anyone. "Who would do this? You should report it."
But she didn't say she had the studio keys too.
Liana didn't cry. She simply stood still for a long time before picking up a blank canvas.
She would start again. She always did.