Leonel, who had been completely entranced by Adah’s dance, bristled at the accusation. He reluctantly looked away from the stage and snapped, “Rig the contest? How? Talent can’t be faked; no one can simply hand Adah that kind of skill.”

Gia parted her lips, but not a sound escaped.

Leonel pressed on, every word laced with scorn. “You always looked down on Sally and Adah. But let’s face the truth, Sally was one of a kind, and Adah is every bit her equal. Despite your indifference and efforts to hold her back, Adah carved out her own brilliance. She’s the true star. Meanwhile, your beloved Rowena is nothing but a joke.”

He turned away, his eyes drawn right back to Adah on stage.

Gia was crushed. Leonel’s words—Adah was the exceptional one, while Rowena was just a pathetic joke—played on a loop in her head. She started to wonder if she had misjudged from the very beginning. Had she pushed away the granddaughter she should have cherished, only to pour her hopes into someone who ended up embarrassing them all?

As Gia wrestled with her regrets, Adah swept into her final pose, ending the dance with breathtaking perfection.

The crowd erupted in a frenzy. One section after another sprang to their feet, their shouts ringing through the auditorium. “Adah! Adah! Adah!”

The energy in the venue reached a fever pitch. Adah had delivered a true showstopper.

In comparison, Rowena’s much-hyped number looked like little more than smoke and mirrors. If she hadn’t stolen Moonlight Shadow and passed it off as her own, she never would have earned that praise.

Everyone realized now that their earlier admiration had always been for the choreography, never for Rowena’s interpretation. But with Adah, both the vision and the execution were extraordinary.

The host, who had previously brushed off Adah’s chances, now rushed onto the stage, tripping over himself to lavish her with praise.

Then, it was time for the scores.

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With millions watching, there was no denying Adah’s brilliance. None of the judges dared to downplay her performance, not with the world’s eyes glued to their every move. Even the two judges on Rowena’s payroll shrank back, unwilling to risk their reputations.

All the judges poured on the compliments and awarded Adah a perfect score.

Now, a problem arose: two dancers with flawless marks, but only a single trophy up for grabs.

After a hasty conference, the judges and event organizers realized they had only one option left: change the rules, right then and there.

To crown a champion, the organizers threw down a gauntlet: a sudden-death tiebreaker, a head-to-head rematch between Adah and Rowena. No one disputed the face-off itself, but the rules demanded surgical precision. One more disaster like the first round would turn this competition into a laughingstock.

The two judges in Rowena’s pocket carried serious weight—industry titans whose voices could drown out the entire panel. Predictably, they twisted the rule revisions to favor their benefactor.

Moral bankruptcy aside, these men knew their craft. They understood with crystal clarity that Rowena’s technique couldn’t hold a candle to Adah’s. So they rigged the game, crafting rules that would favor choreographic brilliance over raw technical skill.

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