He Buried Me But I Painted My Own Resurrection novel Chapter 34

Eleanor actually recognized Rosalind. She wasn't some empty-headed socialite; she spoke and acted with sharp precision.

"Stand up," Eleanor said, taking a sip from her cup. "You can't apologize for her for the rest of her life."

Rosalind straightened up and offered a polite smile, offering no further rebuttal.

She turned to look at Lyla. Her gaze was completely calm, but Lyla's body visibly stiffened.

"Our father has something urgent. He asked me to bring you back."

Lyla looked defiant and opened her mouth to argue, but Rosalind's eyes suddenly turned razor-sharp.

Startled, Lyla subconsciously took a step back. Left with no choice, she turned and left, her face twisted in bitter resentment.

With just a few words, Rosalind had completely de-escalated the scene.

She then turned her attention to Sienna, her eyes briefly pausing on the bag by her side.

"Has Ms. Sawyer presented her gift yet?"

"Perfect timing. We are all eagerly waiting."

Her tone was courteous, effectively and skillfully steering the atmosphere back on track.

Sienna didn't hesitate. She pulled the plain, fabric-wrapped canvas from her bag and walked up to Eleanor.

"Eleanor, I painted this for you."

She slowly unrolled the canvas on the table. The moment the fine parchment flattened out, those standing nearby got the first look.

It was a branch of winter cherry blossoms resting in the snow. The branches were bold and vigorous, the petals lush and full, and the delicate veins of every single petal were so crisp they looked almost tactile.

The fallen snow wasn't painted with thick white paint, but layered with negative space and incredibly faint gray tones, making the chill of the snow naturally radiate from the paper.

The most breathtaking detail was the few petals weighed down by the snow.

Their edges curled slightly, the remaining snow on the verge of melting, and the crimson of the flower and the white of the snow bled into each other at the borders.

It wasn't a simple overlay; it was the natural trace left behind by a deliberate clash of watercolors.

This kind of technique couldn't just be learned through practice.

It was the kind of magic that happened when intuition and raw talent collided in a single, fleeting moment.

An older guest leaned in closer. After hunching over to study it for a long moment, he suddenly gasped.

Just then, a socialite beside her nudged Seraphina's arm.

"Seraphina, didn't you mention you love art, too?"

"Of course I do." She deliberately raised her voice, speaking with haughty arrogance. "Her little painting is just alright. But when it comes to true art, nobody compares to my idol, K."

Felicity Quince played along perfectly. "K? The same K who took Art Basel by storm at just seventeen?"

"Yes! That's her!" Seraphina practically vibrated with excitement at the mention of the name.

"You have no idea how massive the impact of her 'Abyss' series was when it debuted. The curators at Art Basel personally called her a once-in-a-century prodigy."

"Even a suspected early sketch by K was auctioned off for nine figures."

As she spoke, she shot a pointed, mocking look at Sienna.

"Compared to K's masterpieces, her little drawing is lightyears behind!"

Sienna looked at her quietly, saying nothing, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

Little did Seraphina know that the very K she was raving about was standing right in front of her.