Kelsey's POV
I held my stinging cheek where she slapped me. Blood was still seeping from the cut on my wrist, soaking into the sleeve of my black sweater. But neither Francis nor Mom noticed a thing.
Pain twisted in my chest as my eyes welled up with tears. They spilled down my face, one after another. I felt utterly hopeless.
“Mom,” I said, voice trembling. “You asked me to stand in for Belinda and lure out that stalker. I did what you said. You promised I’d be safe. But when I was being tortured and begging for help, where were you? Now that I’m luckily alive, you're accusing me of setting the whole thing up?”
Realizing that, I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly.
But my mother’s expression darkened. Furious, she slapped me again, harder this time.
“You’re just an adopted daughter. Don’t even think about fighting Belinda for this family’s wealth. I know what you’re up to. Don’t think I can’t see that you were behind that stalker!”
As her third slap came flying, I caught her wrist mid-air and yanked it away with force.
What I didn’t expect was for her to stumble on her heels and fall straight into the doorway.
Right then, Francis and Belinda walked in and saw everything.
“Mom!” Belinda shrieked.
Francis, on the other hand, glared at me and snapped, “Kelsey! What the hell are you doing?!”
Then they rushed to her side and helped her up, settling her onto the couch.
The next moment, Belinda stormed over and slapped me hard across the face.
“We took you in when you had no one and made you part of our family, and this is how you repay us? You’re nothing but a thankless snake.”
“How could you?” Francis added, voice quivering with righteous anger. “She’s your mother! So what if she didn’t give birth to you? She raised you for years! How could you hurt her like that? I’m so disappointed in you.”
Both of them glared at me, convinced I’d pushed Mom on purpose.
I clenched my fists so tightly that blood started pooling in my palms, but the pain in my heart hurt far more.
“I didn’t push her. I just knocked her arm away. I didn’t know she’d fall,” I explained.
Mom moaned from the couch. She could hear the two berating me, yet she didn’t say a word to defend me.
Having no one on my back, I stood there crying, trying to explain myself over and over again.
Finally, maybe just tired of the noise, she spoke. “Enough. I’m fine. Don’t starve Belinda or the baby. Go cook dinner.”
Without a word, Francis pulled me by the arm and dragged me into the kitchen. His eyes held no trace of the warmth he once had for me, just coldness and annoyance.
He leaned in close and muttered sharply, “Kelsey, I don’t want anything happening to this baby. Do you understand?”
Without a word, I blinked back tears and cooked a full dinner for them.
But just as I was about to take off my apron and sit down, Francis stopped me.
“Stay standing and help serve Belinda. She’s pregnant. She can’t reach for things easily. Help her get the food.”
Hearing the latter's words, my mother shot me a smug look and chimed in with a satisfied smile, “Francis’s right. You’re the older sister. You should take care of your little sister, especially now that she’s expecting a baby. Do your part.”
I held back the anger bubbling in my chest, my face stiff as I stood behind Belinda, silently watching.
The bitterness in my nose stung. I watched Francis gently serve food onto her plate, and my heart sank.
I remembered when he used to cook just for me and how he said my hands were too delicate for anything other than painting.
But now, he was forcing me to cook for someone else, like I was a maid. He had forgotten everything he once promised me.
Then came a soft clatter.
Belinda had dropped her chopsticks.
She looked at me with an innocent expression and said sweetly, “Oops. Sorry, Kelsey. I didn’t hold them properly. Could you pick them up for me?”
Having no intention of doing what she asked, I didn’t move. I looked at the chopsticks on the floor first, then said flatly, “I’ll get you a new pair.”
But she pouted and tilted her head.
“Just pick them up and rinse them. What’s the big deal? Don’t tell me you don’t want to help me.”
I hesitated for a moment, then finally crouched down to grab them.
But before I could reach them, she deliberately stepped on my hand and pressed down hard.
I hissed in pain as the wound on my wrist tore open again, blood gushing out, warm and immediate.
