He Buried Me But I Painted My Own Resurrection novel Chapter 27

At that moment, Lyla stepped out from the side parlor, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

She was dressed in a blush-pink haute couture gown. The sweeping hemline and luxurious fabric practically shimmered under the chandeliers.

The tailored waistline accentuated her delicate figure, making her look both fragile and incredibly wealthy.

Sienna suddenly recalled that Lyla's adoptive parents were business partners with the Gauthier family.

She must have tagged along under the Lennox family's invitation.

Lyla's pace was unhurried, her designer heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor.

Every step seemed perfectly calculated, elegant enough to draw eyes without looking utterly desperate for attention.

She carried an ornate crimson velvet box, clearly housing something exorbitantly expensive.

Spotting Sienna, a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes.

But she instantly masked it with her signature innocent smile.

“Seraphina, don't say that. It's the thought that counts, not the price tag.”

Sienna glanced at Grant, who was currently mingling with some executives across the room, and the reality clicked into place.

Lyla was merely an adopted daughter; the Lennox family would never throw down that kind of cash for her.

Her designer dress and lavish gift were undeniably funded by Grant.

Seraphina clicked her tongue. “Lyla, you're just too sweet. But a gift still needs to be presentable. She can't just buy some flea-market trash to fool Eleanor, right?”

Sienna watched them trade their practiced lines, far too exhausted to engage.

She had indeed prepared a gift—a painting.

Last night in the basement, she had painted until 4 AM, coughing up blood twice before finally completing the last stroke.

Since Eleanor loved begonias in her youth, Sienna had painted a vibrant branch of winter begonias, which currently sat safely in her clutch.

Sienna subconsciously touched her clutch, a motion Seraphina easily spotted and immediately lunged for.

“What are you hiding, Sienna? Let us see.”

She simply looked up and met Seraphina's eyes.

“Your hand seems to slip on a very convenient schedule.”

Seraphina froze. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“At the last family dinner, you poured red wine over my head and claimed your hand slipped.”

Sienna's tone was icy. “At the Gauthier annual gala the year before, you locked me in a dressing room and claimed the door was broken.”

As she spoke, the murmuring guests shifted their full attention to the unfolding drama.

She continued, “Even further back, you ordered the staff to remove my chair from the dining room and claimed there was an error on the guest list.”

With every word, the room grew quieter. The incidents were petty, but horrifyingly trashy for elite society.

Seraphina never expected Sienna to air out their dirty laundry in public.

After all, Sienna used to be an easy target—never fighting back, never arguing, only lowering her head to take the abuse.