My voice was exceptionally sweet and calm…so calm that Phina, sprawled on the floor, glared up at me venomously.
I was not in the mood to bother about her. I turned my attention to Bruce as he entered behind my father.
"Brother-in-law, hurry up and help her up," I called out smoothly.
Just as I wanted, every attention was successfully diverted to him.
But then I noticed his fists were clenched at his sides.
Wait!
Was he furious?
Or was I wrong to inform him of what was expected of him as a fiancé?
Then, casting Phina a fleeting glance, I sighed helplessly, my voice softening as though I was her a mother so worried about her child.
"Sister, I told you the kitchen isn't good for you. You have always been clumsy. Why try to offer help?" I smirked, meeting her gaze.
With Phina's character, she wouldn't just take a fall without intending to gain something from it.
As I Looked at her sprawled out on the floor, not even attempting to get up, a thought crossed my mind.
If she wanted to play the victim, then I might as well do her a favor. Paint her in the light she so desperately desired… and then remind her of her place beside the scumbag of a man later.
"Brother-in-law," I called softly again, tilting my head, "this was your fault. My sister was only trying to be a good girl, and now… this happens."
Bruce's glare darted toward me icily. I had an inkling he felt uncomfortable, maybe it was because of the sudden change of heart…letting him go naturally.
Or may be then with how naturally I called him Brother-in-law.
But what did I care about?
Whether he felt good or bad was entirely his own cup of tea.
Without giving either of them a chance to respond, I continued, "Sis, did you hurt your hand? Quickly check if she's bruised. The fall was already this heavy, and you're still standing."
With the tray of food balanced perfectly in my hands, I dared them to accuse me of causing her fall. And having spoken to this length, I dared her to invent another excuse.
Yet, I couldn't help wondering…why hadn't Bruce rushed to pull her into his arms the moment he entered?
"Phina, can you try standing up? Let's know where you're hurting," my father said softly.
"Phina, your sister is right. The kitchen isn't really a place for you. Why do you still come?" my mother added with a sigh.
I stared at her, momentarily stumped and torn in between the real purpose of her words, I gulped hard.
Is she supporting me?
But that seems impossible.
Or was she just trying to tell me the worth of her daughter?
But no matter how long I thought about it, I couldn't reach a conclusion. I decided not to bother. I had my own purpose to focus on.
Bruce sighed softly as he helped her to her feet while she leaned limply on his body, her face twisted with pain—feigned or real, that's her own to bother about.
Watching them both, I felt my chest tighten with quiet disgust and my eyes dirty. "You take her to her room and help her," I murmured in mock concern.
Phina's glare could have burned holes through me. "Dad, Mom, I'm fine. Let's go for dinner. I can take care of it later," she said, her voice soft and wronged.
My gaze glued on her face for a sign of tears which had always been her strength over the years but there was none.
"Sister, you can't do this later… What if the spot gets swollen? What happens if it gets infected?" I asked, my tone soft but laced with false worry.
She shot me another glare and I raised an inquisitive brow.
What?
Was I wrong?
Is she not supposed to thank me for creating such an amazing opportunity for her to be with her heartthrob, who had kept aside every function just to have dinner with her and her family?
"Stella, she already said she would be fine to join us for dinner," Bruce smirked. The soft rumble of frustration in his voice wasn't lost on me.
My lips curved softly. I shrugged, feigning total innocence. "Oh! I guess I'm overthinking it."
"You are not overthinking. It's just right to worry about your sister," my father answered.
I am not surprised he had said so, but then my thoughts raced.
"Would he have said the same if I was the one on the floor?
Would he have left the dining hall with such an amazing speed of a sportsman he was?
I guess that's just the difference between the bond of the real daughter and the adopted."
"Dad, Mom, let's head over to the dining. Bruce will help my sister over."
My father nodded, his gaze softening as he glanced at me. "Let's go," he said and spun on his heels, and Mother followed without saying anything else.
Casting one final glance at the duo, I nearly tripped on the steps. Their faces were exceptionally beautiful at the turn of events.
Bruce had his gaze trained on me without a beat. My sister was the same, her gaze was so cold that I wondered how much she might have wished to have me killed.
Yet what they never knew was I'm just beginning, yet they are falling so hard.
In the dining room, my parents took their usual positions. My father sat at the head of the table while Mom sat beside him on the right side, and as usual, the left spot was reserved only for their daughter.
Seeing them seated, I had the last tray set down carefully while Rita returned to the kitchen to bring in the dessert and the freshly prepared juice.
With slow, measured steps, Bruce led my sister into the dining hall, her body clinging to him tightly. I wanted to tell Bruce to carry her; besides, that was what fiancés ought to do.
At each step, she winced with pain, her face twisting. My lips curled up slightly. "Sister, hope it wasn't that terrible?"
"It wasn't, thanks for your concern," Bruce answered before Phina could even move her lips.
I nodded slowly, resignation and quiet satisfaction washing over me.
Perfect.