Jealousy Alpha's Regret novel Chapter 123

Jealousy Alpha’s Regret

Chapter 123

No looking back. New beginnings require clean breaks.

I walked out without a backward glance.

Back in my apartment, I spread my competition materials across the

dining table. The handcrafted pendant mockup gleamed under my

lamp, its silver curves catching the light exactly as I’d planned. The

interlocking shapes represented moonlight dancing across water–a

subtle nod to my wolf nature that human judges would simply see as

artistic inspiration.

“The portfolio is ready,” I murmured to myself, “but my speech still

needs work.”

I reviewed my notes, making slight adjustments to emphasize the

craftsmanship techniques I’d employed. The competition judged

entries on both the physical design and the designer’s ability to

articulate their vision–each worth fifty points.

My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since lunch. I

made myself a quick sandwich and returned to my notes, determined

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to perfect every detail.

“If everything goes as planned, tomorrow’s final should be

straightforward,” I reassured myself, running through the judging

criteria one last time.

As the night grew late, I finally packed everything away, satisfied

with my preparation. Tomorrow would be my first step toward

establishing myself as an independent designer–a statement that Iris

Stone could stand on her own merits.

The exhibition hall buzzed with activity as I pushed through the glass

doors, clutching my portfolio and presentation materials. Designers

from across the continent milled about, some nervously reviewing

notes, others engaging in forced–casual networking.

Stay focused. This is just another design challenge.

Despite my internal pep talk, I couldn’t deny the butterflies in my

stomach. After everything I’d been through, a simple design

competition shouldn’t make me nervous, yet here I was, pulse

quickening as I approached the registration desk.

As I signed in and received my contestant badge, a familiar scent hit

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my nose–vanilla perfume with chemical undertones. My head

snapped up instinctively, and I spotted her across the lobby–Megan

Claire, looking smugly confident in a fitted burgundy dress that

screamed “winner.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. She made it to the finals too?

Our eyes met briefly. Hers flashed with triumph, and her lips curved

into a self–satisfied smile. I looked away first, refusing to engage.

The competition is all that matters. Not werewolf politics, not old

grudges.

I found a quiet corner and sat down, methodically checking my

materials one last time. From the corner of my eye, I could see Megan

chatting animatedly with two judges, laughing too loudly at

something one of them said.

“Just wait and see, Iris Stone,” I heard her mutter as she passed by my

corner, her voice pitched just low enough that only werewolf hearing

could catch it.

I allowed myself a small smile but didn’t respond. Those kinds of

petty games couldn’t touch me anymore.

Studying the room, I noted the ten finalists and five judges. The

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judging criteria flashed on a screen overhead: “Design Originality: 50

points. Concept Presentation: 50 points.” Success would depend

entirely on my ability to connect with the judges and make them

understand my vision.

“Will all contestants please take their assigned seats? The

competition will begin shortly,” announced a woman with a clipboard

and an official lanyard.

I gathered my things and headed toward the third seat in the front

row. As I settled in, I watched Megan stride confidently to the stage, looking every bit the accomplished designer in her expensive outfit.

She’s really dressed up for this. Is she trying to compensate for

something?

Megan tapped the microphone twice and launched into her introduction, her voice dripping with rehearsed charm. But my attention quickly shifted from her words to the large projection

screen behind her.

My eyes narrowed as the first image appeared. I leaned forward,

unable to believe what I was seeing.

On the screen was my design–the exact pendant I had created, down

to the smallest detail. The interlocking silver curves, the precise

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placement of small diamonds to create the ripple effect, even the

unique clasp mechanism I’d developed.

She stole my design. She actually stole my work.

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, but rather than anger, a cold smile

spread across my face. I quietly opened my portfolio, comparing my

sketches to the projected images. The evidence was undeniable.

Oh, Megan. You have no idea what you’ve just done to yourself.

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