Clara watched them from across the crowded ballroom, a tight smile plastered on her face that didn't quite reach her cold, calculating eyes. Eleanor and Leo. The artist and the sculptor. They were a picture, she had to admit, an infuriatingly beautiful picture. Eleanor, radiant in a sapphire blue gown that showcased her newly confident posture, laughed at something Leo had said. Leo, typically reserved and stoic, wore a genuine smile, his gaze fixed solely on Eleanor, as if she were the only star in the vast, glittering galaxy of the Vanderlyn gala.