He Buried Me But I Painted My Own Resurrection novel Chapter 107

"How dare she copy K's style?"

"No wonder Hunter Hale was hyping her up so much. She must have been duped too."

"This is crazy... Caught plagiarizing before she even formally debuted..."

Simultaneously, the live comments on social media were spiraling out of control.

[I knew it! There's no way someone wins gold on their first try. I knew something was fishy.]

[Poor Lyla. Three years of hard work stolen just like that.]

[Wait a minute... isn't this Sienna Sawyer the same greedy ex-wife of Grant Gauthier from the news?]

That last comment was like a lit fuse.

Immediately after, an obvious wave of organized troll accounts flooded multiple platforms.

[Breaking! Sienna Sawyer was sleeping around and frequenting nightclubs while still married.]

[According to insiders, don't let her innocent face fool you. She smokes, drinks, and has horrible character off-camera.]

[Grant Gauthier was tricked into marrying her. Over their eight years of marriage, she turned the Gauthier family upside down.]

[Let me tell you a secret: her own dad admitted that she's been stealing things since she was a kid.]

Adding fuel to the fire, a video swept across the internet with lightning speed.

In the video, Samuel Sawyer sat on a ratty sofa, spitting venom as he dragged Sienna's name through the mud.

Beside him stood Fiona and Simon, one wiping fake tears, the other chiming in with agreement.

The video was meticulously produced—the angles, lighting, and background music were clearly the work of a professional team.

"She was always a delinquent since childhood! A compulsive liar who dated eighteen boys at once!"

"..."

At the award ceremony, more and more people saw the online posts, and some even read them out loud.

The massive screen behind the stage was also hacked, playing Samuel's slanderous video on a continuous loop.

Lyla was still crying.

Sobbing pitifully, yet carefully maintaining her makeup.

"Sienna, I didn't want to fight with you... but this is truly my life's work. Why would you do this to me..."

Sienna ignored her.

She just glanced at the so-called "sketches" held up high. The paper was new, the creases artificially aged. The stroke habits of the ink lines were about seventy percent similar to her originals, but only seventy percent.

The remaining thirty percent revealed the copycat's lack of skill—an undeniable mechanical stiffness they couldn't hide.

This level of forgery was more than enough to fool laymen.

But unfortunately for Lyla, not everyone here was a layman.

Sienna suddenly spoke up, "You claim these drafts are from three years ago?"

"Yes, three years ago!" Lyla looked up with red, teary eyes, speaking frantically. "I can have handwriting analysis done!"