Chapter 112: She's Alana

At six in the morning, Sean received the files from Cameron. Over the next two days, he meticulously gathered information. He opened the picture he’d taken of Abigail’s notebook and compared the sketches Cameron had collected to Alana’s designs. Abigail had sketched numerous patterns.

When he found a matching stork design, Sean placed his phone on the draft for closer examination. Abigail’s shading was strikingly similar to Alana’s. He knew shading was a critical element of an artist’s style, and even a gifted artist like Abigail couldn't replicate Alana’s essence so quickly.

He tirelessly searched for further similarities. Eventually, he held up the final design and scrutinized it against Abigail’s sketches. The design had an unmistakable smudge and intricate rose designs. He recalled photographing a rose drawing in Abigail’s notebook the previous night; it used the same shading technique as the final draft. Even though the final design presented the roses in 3D, the core design remained unchanged.

Sean couldn't look away. He overlapped the drafts, then, clutching his phone, stood up.

Cameron followed, expecting Sean to confront Abigail. Instead, he headed for the elevator. As they reached it, they encountered Joan exiting another elevator.

Joan hurried toward Sean, hesitating when she saw the drafts. “Where are you going, Sean? The show starts today, and I’m nervous. Can we talk?” She glanced at the drafts; upon realizing they were Alana’s work, her expression darkened.

Sean pressed the elevator button. “I’m short on time, Joan. You’re busy too. Head to the dressing room.” The doors opened, and he stepped inside before she could reply.

Cameron saw the look in Sean’s eyes and understood his purpose. He prevented Joan from entering the elevator. “Miss Palmer, allow me to escort you to the dressing room. We can’t be late for the show.”

Joan wanted to express her concerns about the show's potential failure, but their planned confrontation with Nina hadn't begun, so she forced a smile. “Of course. Sorry to trouble you. I’m nervous.”

Cameron replied, “It’s alright.”

It was nearly eight o'clock, and the backstage area buzzed with activity. Crew members inspected the runway; others fine-tuned the livestream setup; still others dressed the models.

Kevin entered, looking suave. However, Sean, who had been waiting, immediately grabbed his collar and pushed him back into the room.

Kevin grumbled, “I just ironed my suit, Sean! Let me go!”

Sean glared coldly. “You’ve hidden it well, Kevin. Abigail is Alana.”

Kevin was startled. “How did you figure it out?”

Sean had been bluffing, not expecting Kevin to know. He sneered.

Kevin felt a chill but forced a smile. “I have a thing for beautiful handwriting, so I often check signatures.”

Sean knew this quirk.

Kevin straightened his collar. “Alana’s draft bears her signature. I noticed it's different from Luna’s signature on the contract.”

Sean said icily, “So you’ve known for a while.”

Kevin’s face fell. “Abigail wanted to keep it secret. I couldn't tell you. If I upset her, you’d have trouble cheering her up. Besides, she said Alana’s husband recently died, and she was upset,” he explained, feigning innocence.

Sean was speechless. He’d felt pity for Alana when her assistant told him she was a widow. He muttered, “All this time… that dead husband is me? ” Sean’s temples throbbed, and he massaged his forehead. “Why did she say I was dead?”