Layla Martine strutted into the judging hall with the confidence of a queen entering her court. The click-clack of her stiletto heels against the marble floor was like a metronome dictating the room's pulse. She flicked her platinum blonde hair over one shoulder, surveying the rows of displayed entries with sharp blue eyes that missed nothing.

　　"Ah, Layla, so punctual and poised as always," greeted Richard, the event coordinator. His voice echoed slightly in the vast space ...