Ella’s POV
Once Clement composed himself, he turned fully toward me.
The noise in the hall softened instinctively, as though everyone sensed this moment mattered more than the shouting, more than the spectacle. Clement straightened his back, then did something that made my breath hitch—he bowed his head slightly.
“Rosa,” he said, his voice steady and clear, “thank you for gracing the Starry Oil Painting Competition with your presence. It’s an honor—for this museum, and for the art world.”
The words landed with finality.
Not an announcement. Not a suggestion.
A verdict.
This time, the crowd didn’t explode. There were no gasps, no dramatic cries. Instead, a low murmur rippled through the hall—awed, reverent, almost satisfied.
“Knew it…”
“No way Clement would be wrong.”
“Luciano’s f
