I Ctrl+Alt+Deleted My Ex and Ctrl+C'd His Uncle novel Chapter 72

**TITLE: Through Silent Meadows We Trace Stories Left Behind Yesterday by Asa Rowan Flint**

Lena felt the sting of blows landing against her, but in that moment, the pain was the least of her concerns. The weight of humiliation hung heavily on her shoulders, and all she yearned for was to escape this place where her reputation had been irrevocably tarnished.

“What’s the latest buzz? Is design number eight Liora’s creation or Lena’s?” a voice piped up from the crowd, curiosity lacing the inquiry.

“Are you really that clueless?” another voice retorted, impatience evident. “Lena snatched an early sketch from Liora’s portfolio online, added a few strokes here and there, and now she’s trying to pass it off as her own! She’s attempting to steal Liora’s thunder!”

“But wait,” someone interjected, skepticism creeping into their tone, “the eighth design was submitted by the Morgan Group. How could such a colossal blunder happen?”

As the murmurs swirled around them, the atmosphere shifted. The crowd’s chatter softened as they became acutely aware of Marcus seated nearby. An unspoken agreement settled over the group: no one dared to raise their voices about the Morgan Group in his presence.

With an air of authority, Marcus stood up, his long strides carrying him purposefully toward Sophie.

The room fell into a hushed silence, the tension palpable as everyone held their breath, uncertain of what he would do next. Within moments, he was standing directly in front of Sophie, and with a swift, casual gesture, he took the microphone from her hand.

“Submitting design number eight was a clear oversight on the part of the Morgan Group. I hereby announce that this entry is officially withdrawn,” he declared, his voice steady yet commanding. “All losses incurred during this competition will be the sole responsibility of the Morgan Group. As for the allegations regarding Liora’s work, I will ensure a thorough investigation.”

Though his voice wasn’t raised, it resonated with a chilling authority that demanded attention.

Marcus’s demeanor was formal, yet it was undoubtedly the most effective resolution to the chaos that had unfolded.

“Now, just a quick side note,” he continued, his piercing gaze locking onto Sophie, a smirk playing on his lips. “Sophie, why are you so certain that you’re not Liora?”

The crowd was oblivious to the glimmer of anticipation dancing in Marcus’s eyes.

Sophie recognized his tactic instantly. He was baiting her, hoping she would inadvertently respond, “I am Liora.”

But then…

Liam’s warning echoed in her mind, and she found herself biting her tongue.

“In truth, I’m also a fan of Liora. I’m quite familiar with her design style. So, when I first saw number eight’s work, I immediately recognized it wasn’t entirely Liora’s,” she explained, her voice steady.

“Besides, designers always leave their mark in their creations. How could someone who is Liora be solely focused on flattering others?” Sophie’s reasoning was sound, and it seemed to resonate with the crowd, who nodded in agreement.

The audience, caught up in the excitement of potentially meeting Liora, had overlooked such a significant flaw.

Marcus’s expression darkened as he scrutinized Sophie, his gaze becoming inscrutable…

Once the farce concluded, the organizing committee, under careful supervision, initiated a recount of the votes. After eliminating the fraudulent entries, Sophie still ranked impressively. The committee head stood before the assembly and announced that Sophie was the winner of this year’s Starlight Cup.

By the time she received her prize money, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Grand Theater. After confirming the amount was correct, Sophie stepped outside, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and disbelief.

There, leaning casually against a sleek car, stood Marcus, as if he had been waiting just for her.

Sophie hurried over, her heart pounding. “This is the prize money for winning the championship—a total of 300 million. I’ll make sure to gather the rest and get it to you soon,” she said, gripping the card tightly, her pulse quickening under his intense gaze, which flicked momentarily to her bandaged wrists.

Despite the whirlwind of events, her mind wandered to the land in West City.

“Why not just ask me?” Marcus’s voice broke through her thoughts, low and steady, yet laced with an undercurrent of something more.

“Huh?” Sophie blinked, momentarily thrown off guard.

Marcus toyed with the bank card, his demeanor casual, “You’re carrying my child. If you sweet-talk me a bit, I might consider giving you that land.”

Sophie’s heart raced at his words, and she quickly interjected, “I refuse.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“Why ask for help when I can manage on my own?” Sophie declared with unwavering confidence. “Even if I struggle, I’ll push through. Ten billion isn’t enough to make me beg.”

Her voice held a casual tone, yet the stubborn fire in her eyes was unmistakable.

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