Chapter 27: The International Model

Clara looked up at Mia, a faint smile playing on her lips as she spoke in a casual tone: "Sister, staying up so late... were you waiting for me?"

Mia snorted, her eyes scanning Clara from head to toe, lingering for a few seconds on the leather jacket in her hand. Her voice was laced with sarcasm. "I don't have the spare time to wait for you. It's just that Mom and Dad are getting older; they shouldn't have to stay up this late for the likes of you."

Clara let out a light laugh, her tone indifferent. "Then Sister has truly worked hard, worrying on behalf of our parents."

Mia’s expression shifted, a flicker of displeasure crossing her face. "Clara, don't think I don't know what you were up to tonight. A place like the racing track... is that somewhere a girl like you should be going?"

Clara met her gaze, her eyes calm and steady. "Is Sister worrying about me, or is she monitoring me?"

Mia’s brow furrowed tightly, her voice thick with suppressed fury. "Clara, don't be ungrateful! I’m doing this for your own good!"

Clara let out a short, mocking laugh. "For my own good? I'm afraid I can't afford to accept Sister's brand of 'concern.'"

Mia’s face instantly soured. She stared at Clara for a few seconds before suddenly sneering, "Clara, don't think I don't know what you're plotting. Alistair Vance isn't someone a person like you can hope to climb up to."

A faint smile touched Clara’s lips as she replied nonchalantly, "Is Sister worried that I'll steal Alistair Vance away, or are you worried I'll steal your status in the Vance family?"

Mia’s pupils contracted, a flash of panic crossing her eyes before she quickly regained her composure. She looked at Clara coldly, her voice carrying a sharp warning. "Clara, don't get too smug. Alistair Vance is just acting on a whim. Once he's tired of playing with you, you'll be nothing."

Clara let out a soft laugh, her tone dismissive. "Then I won't trouble Sister to worry about it."

With that, she walked past Mia and headed straight upstairs.

Mia stood there, grit her teeth in silent rage, but for now, there was nothing she could do. Her top priority was to solidify her footing in the Jian family; otherwise, she would certainly be the one cast out.

The next day, after a simple lunch, Clara took the subway to the dance studio. Julian had offered to buy her a car, but she had declined, claiming she didn't know how to drive.

Dressed in a simple white dance dress, Clara stood barefoot before the mirror. She spun and leaped gracefully to the rhythm of the music. Her movements were fluid and elegant, like a butterfly dancing in the morning light.

This was the most relaxing time of her day. There was no pressure from her adoptive father, no sarcasm from Mia, and none of the hidden conspiracies and calculations of her secret life.

There was only the dance, the music, and herself.

Clara closed her eyes, letting her body move to the melodies etched in her memory. Her thoughts drifted back to Veridia—that place filled with danger and lies. There, she had to live behind a mask every day; only during these stolen moments of practice could she briefly return to her true self.

Her movements gradually grew more intense, as if she were releasing all her pent-up suppression and shackles through the dance. Her skirt flew with her spins like a blooming white lotus.

Just then, the door to the studio was pushed open. A tall man stood at the entrance, his gaze instantly captured by the dancing figure before the mirror. He had originally been just passing by, but he was so struck by the flying skirt and the elegant silhouette that he instinctively stopped in his tracks.

The man had a half-cast face—deep-set eyes and a high bridge to his nose that made him look like an angel from Greek mythology. His aura was unique, blending Eastern mystery with Western elegance.

As an international model, he had seen countless beautiful people and sights, but at this moment, he felt the scene before him was more moving than any fashion show.

Immersed in her dance, Clara had no idea someone was at the door. Her movements gradually slowed until she ended the solo in an elegant pose. She breathed slightly harder, raising a hand to wipe the beads of sweat from her brow.

The man couldn't help but applaud, the sound echoing clearly in the empty studio.

Clara spun around abruptly. Seeing a strange man standing at the door, she froze for a moment. Her gaze turned wary, and her voice was cold. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

The man offered a gentle smile, his voice low and warm. "My apologies for disturbing you. I’m Lucas. I came to the troupe today to discuss a collaboration, and I was captivated by your dance as I passed by."

Clara frowned, her tone remaining distant. "This is a private studio. Outsiders aren't allowed to enter freely."

Lucas didn't back down; instead, he took a few steps forward, his gaze sincere. "Your dance is beautiful—the most moving performance I have ever seen. May I know your name?"

Clara scrutinized him for a moment before answering, "Clara."

"Clara..." Lucas repeated her name softly, a smile touching his lips. "It suits you."

Clara didn't respond. She walked over to the side, picked up a towel to wipe her sweat, and said coldly, "If there’s nothing else, please leave."

Lucas ignored the dismissal and continued, "I’m currently preparing an international fashion show. The theme is 'Freedom and Constraint.' Your dance perfectly interprets that theme. I’d like to invite you to participate as a special guest performer."

Clara’s movements paused. She looked up at him. "A guest performer?"

Lucas nodded, his eyes full of anticipation. "Yes. Your dance has a unique charm that touches the soul. I believe that if you join us, the show will be perfect."

Clara was silent for a few seconds before replying coldly, "I’m sorry, I have no interest in fashion shows."

Lucas wasn't discouraged by the rejection. Instead, he smiled and said, "That’s alright. I can wait. Here is my business card; if you change your mind, contact me anytime."

He placed a card on the table and turned to leave the studio.

Clara watched his back, her brow furrowing slightly. She walked over and picked up the card. It bore Lucas’s name and contact information, along with a small line of text:

“Top International Model and Fashion Show Producer.”

She set the card aside casually, not giving it much thought. To her, dancing was a form of self-release, not a tool for display.

At noon, as Clara walked out of the dance troupe building, she saw Lucas standing at the entrance holding a bouquet of white lilies.

Seeing her emerge, he walked up with a smile. "I've been waiting for you."

Clara frowned, her tone cold. "Why are you still here?"