She gestured animatedly as she spoke. “Am I supposed to stab her backwards like this, or do you really think I could magically twist reality to hurt her from across the room?”
“Surely you can’t be that dense!”
With that, she tossed the scissors onto the floor.
Everyone was stunned. The maids huddled in the corner, mouths agape.
Sabrina was playing with fire.
She’d just insulted everyone in the room—without even raising her voice.
Celine hadn’t expected Sabrina to pull a stunt like this.
She was caught completely off guard.
Desmond, ever the shrewd one, pieced it all together in a heartbeat. He glanced at Celine, eyes narrowed and appraising.
As soon as she noticed Desmond’s gaze, Celine dropped her head, feigning vulnerability.
Her voice trembled, soft and pitiful, “Mom... it hurts!”
But inside, she scoffed. Why was Dad looking at her like that? What was he thinking? She’d already told them she was the one who got hurt. If he didn’t believe her, that was his problem—not hers.
Sommer snapped out of her daze and immediately wrapped her arms around Celine, fuming inside.
This rebellious girl.
Every minute, Sabrina was shattering everything she thought she knew.
And now, this little performance—what was it for? Was she putting on a show?
Sommer was about to lash out, but Desmond grabbed her arm.
“Honestly, not a single one of you makes life easy,” he muttered under his breath.
Sommer stared at him in bewilderment.
Celine was the one who got hurt—why was he mad at her? Shouldn’t he be yelling at Sabrina?
“Honey, Celine is your daughter too. She’s the one who’s hurt.”
Desmond pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. How had he ever ended up with someone so clueless?
He didn’t even want to talk to her. “Are you out of your mind? Sabrina’s been sitting in that chair the whole time. How could she possibly stab anyone from there?”
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