Chapter: 19

“Wait for my update. Also, congrats on your comeback!"

Kaitlin grinned at the message. She hadn't anticipated Three Drops being one of her followers.

The famous judge of the Hope Design Competition, Larry, was lounging in the dimly lit private room of a nightclub, slightly inebriated.

His head was cradled in the lap of an attractive woman as he drifted between consciousness and sleep.

His phone vibrated incessantly in his pocket, disrupting his rest.

Annoyed, he fished it out to check the caller.

"Who on earth is this?" he muttered under his breath.

This was his private number, seldom known by others, suggesting the caller might be a woman he had recently impressed who was now taking the bait.

With a lascivious smirk, he dismissed the woman beside him and stepped out for privacy.

"Hello? Is this Amelia?"

He answered, expecting a familiar voice.

On the other line, Three Drops cringed at the sleaziness. “This guy loves using his power to his advantage. He is a jerk, yet he pretends to be a decent man." “Afraid not. It's not Amelia. But keep. Listening-what I have might pique your interest. Make sure we're not overheard."

Larry's smirk faded into confusion as he suspected a prank. “Make it quick, or I'm hanging up."

“Ever recall Harper Brooks?" Three Drops probed further.

Larry tensed up, his drunken stupor dissipating slightly.

“Not just her-Ella Watson, Lily Rivera? Remember how they all won the Hope Design Competition? They had a little... help from you, didn't they?"

Larry's heart raced as his facade began to crack, but he maintained his defiance. "You're spouting rubbish. You think you can threaten me with baseless accusations? I'll sue for defamation!"

"If there's no truth to it, why the panic, Larry? Curious about the proof? I suggest you check the photos and videos I just sent over. Call me back after you've seen them."

With that, Three Drops ended the call abruptly. Simultaneously, Larry's phone pinged with incoming files.

Larry opened them, his face draining of color as he watched the compromising videos of himself with past competition winners. The realization hit him like a freight train-his career hung by a thread.

He didn't hesitate, dialing back immediately. "What's your price? Just tell me what you want!"

"I'm not after your money, Larry."

"Then what? What do you want?" he asked, a serious tone overtaking his usually dismissive demeanor. Those not driven by money often had even more daunting demands.

“It's straightforward. You fabricated the plagiarism scandal in this year's Hope Design Competition, didn't you? Clear Nora Andrews’ name. Declare she didn't plagiarize and put an end to this nonsense."