No one bothered to answer Sommer’s furious outburst.
Instead, someone shot her a disdainful middle finger.
Sommer’s eyes practically sparked with rage.
War was about to break out between the two of them.
Hester tugged at Sommer’s sleeve. “Let it go, please. I… I…”
Hester’s voice trailed off, her gaze darting away.
To Sommer, it looked exactly like Hester was terrified of Sabrina.
She steadied Hester, her tone firm. “Hester, don’t be afraid of anyone. I’m here for you, Desmond’s here, your grandmother’s here—we’ve all got your back. If you have something to say, just say it.”
Hester shrank away, unable to meet her eyes. She managed only a soft reply.
“Don’t blame Sabrina. It was my fault—I lost my balance and spilled the soup. Sommer, please, don’t blame Sabrina.”
See? She was just like Celine.
The way she spoke, even her gestures—it was all so familiar.
And the more she tried to defend Sabrina, the more everyone secretly believed she was the one at fault.
Just then, Dr. Lawrence walked over with his medical bag.
Sommer was about to explode at Sabrina, but with the doctor present, she had to bite her tongue.
She shot Sabrina a venomous glare, then helped Hester off to treat her injury.
Sabrina returned to her room, changed into fresh clothes, and washed her face.
By the time she made it back to the dining room, Octavia was already seated, her expression unreadable.
Only when Sabrina appeared did Octavia’s face soften into a gentle smile.
“Come, Sabrina, sit with your grandmother.”
Hester, her wound freshly bandaged, caught sight of this scene just as she entered.
She clenched her jaw in frustration, quietly slipping into the empty seat on Octavia’s other side, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her small, miserable face looked utterly pitiful. Sommer sat beside her, whispering words of comfort.
Across the table, Celine watched Sabrina with open concern.
Desmond and Wallace took their seats as well.

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