Chapter 365

Evelyn studied the man before her, her response measured. "The creator's identity holds little significance here. This evaluation focuses solely on analyzing the composition's strengths and weaknesses—not its authorship."

"Then, if we strip away all labels and examine both works independently," the woman countered, "would your assessment remain unchanged?"

The question rippled through the audience, stirring contemplation. Without the weight of names attached, opinions might indeed shift.

As they pondered, doubts surfaced. Was this truly Harrison Whitaker's creation, or merely another challenge designed to test them?

After investing so much effort, no one had anticipated that fixating on authorship would distract from the competition's true purpose.

Now, her reasoning had swayed most.

Yet dissent lingered.

"Pardon me, Ms. Carter," a voice laced with skepticism cut in. "Your insights are impressive—especially for someone so young. Are you truly this brilliant, or have you simply had... prior exposure to such matters?"

The barb was thinly veiled. A seemingly innocent inquiry, but its implication was clear: she had an unfair advantage.

Evelyn met his gaze, unflinching. "That's not just presumptuous—it's ignorant."

Her tone remained composed, but her words struck like a whip. "Knowledge isn't bound by age. Some minds flourish early; others stagnate for decades. I’m not referring to you, of course. But if you're here, competence should be a given."

The room tensed. Her retort was polished yet cutting, leaving him flushed and speechless. To press further would only expose his own inadequacy—and risk disrespecting not just her, but Harrison Whitaker and the entire competition.

"The event has concluded successfully," the announcer declared, breaking the silence. "We’ve witnessed extraordinary talent in perfumery today. Each of you has the potential to carve your own legacy. Prizes and trophies will be distributed shortly."

Relief washed over Evelyn. She had no intention of participating in such events again. Research was her sanctuary.

Social maneuvering? A headache in disguise.

"Ms. Carter!"

Before she could leave, an attendant intercepted her. "Mr. Whitaker requests your presence. Please follow me."

Evelyn hesitated but complied. Security had tightened since the kidnapping; she wasn’t walking into another trap.

Inside the office, Harrison Whitaker sat waiting. He gestured for her to take a seat, his expression unreadable.

"Ms. Carter," he began, leaning forward slightly. "You’ve left quite an impression."

His tone carried neither warmth nor admiration—just stark acknowledgment.