The next morning, tension buzzed in the air like static before a storm.
The massive LED screen above the competition stage flashed today's theme:
"Precision, Purity, and Perfection: Reinventing the Classics."
Each word landed like a blade. This wasn't a round for charming stories or viral aesthetics—it was about skill. Brutal, clinical, uncompromising skill. Heat control. Timing. Knife work. Flavor balance. Discipline.
Charlotte's chest tightened, but not with panic—with certainty.
She had known it.
Of course the theme would tilt this way. Not because it was fair. But because someone was pulling strings.
Victoria, maybe—she always loved to stir trouble from behind velvet curtains, her nails clean while someone else got dirty. But it could just as easily be… Alexander.
Because if it was Alexander—it would make perfect sense. This was his style. Precision. Control. He hated chaos. Hated unpredictability, unless it was calculated.
