Chapter 5 - Chapter 5: A Surprise Attack by an Old Enemy Before Christmas

London in December is always wrapped in fog. On the early morning streets of Kensington, the sycamore leaves still cling to unmelting frost. Seraphina had just stepped out of the subway station when she spotted a familiar figure standing outside the glass doors of Stellar Veil — Clara, dressed in a burgundy velvet coat, carrying a white paper bag, her hair styled into elegant large curls. She looked more polished than when they'd broken up, yet somehow more unfamiliar. Seraphina instinctively tried to step around her, but Clara had already seen her and hurried forward to block her path. "Seraphina, long time no see." Her voice held a deliberate softness, but her eyes were like hooks, locking onto Seraphina. "I know I was wrong. I was too impulsive that day. Can't you give me another chance?" Seraphina paused, her fingers tightening around her phone in her pocket — the screen still displayed the message Elara had sent that morning: "I'll be half an hour late today. Brought you an almond croissant from Chelsea." She looked up at Clara, her tone calm: "We're already over, Clara. There's no need to talk about the past anymore." "Over?" Clara sounded as if she'd heard a joke, suddenly raising her voice and drawing passersby's glances. "You think you're doing so well now? It's just because you're leaning on Elara, isn't it? I heard Stellar Veil nearly went under last year, and my father's gallery bailed them out — you only have this opportunity because Elara fancies you." Those words were like a thorn, piercing Seraphina's heart. She thought of the whispered remarks from colleagues when she'd first joined, the vague online doubts, and her expression turned cold instantly. "My job depends on my paintings, not anyone's charity. As for your father's help, I'm sure Elara will explain it to you." She turned to leave, but Clara suddenly lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, her grip so tight it hurt. "You can't go! I gave up so much for you — how can you just cut things off like this?" The paper bag slipped from her hand, spilling blueberry muffins onto the ground, their crumbs scattering everywhere — just like their former relationship, impossible to piece back together. "Let her go." A cool female voice suddenly came from behind, carrying an undeniable authority. Elara strode over, one hand gently prying Clara's fingers apart, shielding Seraphina behind her. She wore a cream-colored coat today, with a silver fox brooch pinned at the collar — a replica of the one in *Fox in the Mist*, the painting Seraphina had done the previous week — glinting faintly in the morning light. "Miss Bennett," Elara's voice was icy, "Stellar Veil did have a collaboration with your father's gallery, but that was a business transaction, unrelated to Seraphina. Additionally, your unauthorized alterations to the exhibition draft she painted for you last month violate the copyright agreement. My lawyer will be in contact with you today." Clara's face turned ashen. She hadn't expected Elara to bring up the copyright issue directly. She opened her mouth, wanting to defend herself, but then saw Elara pull out her phone — the screen showed side-by-side comparisons of her altered version of Seraphina's draft, along with a recording: the exact moment she'd told a client, "Seraphina's talent is just my tool." "You... you're ganging up on me!" Clara's voice cracked with tears, but she'd lost all her earlier confidence. She finally shot Seraphina a venomous glare before spinning around and hurrying away. As Seraphina watched her retreating figure, a sudden sense of relief washed over her. Elara gently patted her shoulder and held out a paper bag. "Fresh almond croissant, still warm." Her fingertips carried the cool scent of cedar hand cream, yet it made Seraphina feel unusually safe. "Pay her no mind. If she harasses you again, call me directly." Back at the studio, Seraphina noticed the red marks Clara had left on Elara's wrist. She took out ointment from the drawer and carefully applied it. "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have tangled with her." "It's not your fault." Elara looked at her earnest profile and suddenly said, "Next weekend is Christmas. My father has an estate in Oxfordshire. Would you like to come with me? There are plenty of traditional oil painting supplies there — you might want to paint the snow." Seraphina's movements faltered. She remembered Clara's words when they'd broken up: "You'll never fit into my world." She thought of the many Christmases she'd spent alone, and a spark of anticipation flickered in her heart. She looked up at Elara, whose eyes held a warm smile, no trace of urgency, just quiet patience for her answer. "Okay." She nodded, her voice carrying a faint, barely perceptible excitement. Packing her suitcase that evening, Seraphina found her grandmother's silver bracelet and slipped it onto her wrist. The engraving "Zofia" on the inner side pressed against her skin, like a gentle embrace from her grandmother. Looking at herself in the mirror, she suddenly felt that this Christmas might be different — perhaps she could finally let go of the past and embrace her own piece of starlight.