Juliette was carried back in Franco's arms. His hold was firm yet cautious, as though he were cradling a piece of fragile glass. Behind him followed several private doctors.
Turning to Jerissa, he ordered coldly, "The doctor said she can eat eight hours after surgery. There are still two hours left. Go make some rice porridge yourself. Make sure it's soft and easy to digest."
The servants exchanged quick glances.
Without a word, Jerissa turned and headed for the kitchen.
At eight that evening, Juliette finally stirred awake.
Franco immediately rose and shouted toward the door, "Bring the porridge!"
Jerissa walked in, holding a steaming bowl, just in time to see Franco moistening Juliette's lips with a cotton swab dipped in warm water.
"Franco…" Juliette's voice was frail. "I'll get better soon, won't I?"
"Of course you will," Franco soothed. He took the bowl, blowing on the porridge several times before carefully pressing the spoon to her lips. "You've slept for a long time. Drink a little first."
She swallowed in small sips, then her eyes reddened. "Since I was little, I've always envied Sister. She's so healthy—she can run and jump… But me? I was always sick, I've never even been to an amusement park."
"Give it some time. I'll take you. Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do—I'll be there with you," he gently promised.
"Really?" Her eyes lit up. "Then I want to ride a roller coaster, and watch fireworks too!"
"Alright," Franco agreed without hesitation. Then suddenly, he stood and looked out the window. "Fireworks… you can see them right now."
He left, and moments later the sharp whoosh—bang of fireworks split the night.
Brilliant lights blossomed across the sky, their glow illuminating Juliette's delighted face.
Inside, only the two sisters remained.
Juliette turned her head toward Jerissa. The fragile expression she wore a moment ago vanished, replaced by something darker.
"Sis, did you see? Franco set off fireworks just for me. He treats me so well."
Jerissa said nothing. Her silence only deepened Juliette's mocking smile.
"Do you know? All my life, there has never been anything I wanted that I couldn't get."
She raised a hand, pressing it lightly against her chest, her laugh sharp as poisoned thorns.
"The heart beating here? It used to belong to your mother. But now—it's mine. The master bedroom is mine too. And as for the position of Mrs. Alba… I think I'd like to try that as well."
Jerissa's gaze lingered on her twisted expression. Slowly, she stepped closer, her own lips curving into a faint smile.
"I hope everything you schemed so hard to steal… doesn't end up disappointing you."
The words had barely left her mouth when Franco pushed open the door.
Almost at the same time, Juliette's wrist tilted and the porridge bowl at her bedside toppled, spilling across her hand.
The porridge had been sitting for a while—it wasn't even hot. But her eyes still welled up with tears as she pouted pitifully.
Franco rushed forward, dabbing at her hand, his voice tight with anger.
"How can you call yourself a sister? You can't even take care of your own little sister properly!"
"Franco, don't blame her…" Juliette's voice trembled as if she were defending someone. "She just seems a little upset. Maybe it's because I've been staying in the master bedroom. I should've stayed in the guest room—how could I take that from her?"
"She has no right to be upset. This house isn't hers to decide," Franco snapped.
Jerissa let out a cold laugh. "Of course, I have no right. Otherwise, why would I stand by and let my sister and my husband be so… close?"
Franco's face darkened. "What nonsense are you spouting? She's your sister. Naturally, I treat her like my own sister."
"You actually want me to believe that?" Jerissa stepped forward, meeting his furious gaze head-on.
"I've never seen a sister call her brother-in-law with such tenderness. And I've never seen a man carry his sister-in-law into the master bedroom, while sending his wife to the guest room."
"Jerissa!" Franco's roar shook the room as he lifted his hand high.
The next second, a sharp slap cracked through the silence.
