Before I could refuse, she shoved the scalding bowl into my injured hand.
Her eyes flicked to the bandages around my palm, her tone dripping with disdain.
“Don’t play the martyr.”
“Adrian Walker, honestly, if you have time to throw tantrums, you’d be better off reading a book and learning some refinement.”
“Compared to Ethan, you’re really not even close.”
The burn in my palm was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.
I poured the porridge out right in front of her. The bowl shattered against the floor, hot broth splattering everywhere.
I spread my hands. “Claire, maybe it’s your brain and eyes that need checking.”
“I don’t need to compare myself to him.”
Her jaw tightened with fury.
“Adrian, how could you? Claire made that porridge herself!” Ethan’s voice came from the doorway.
I turned to him, my glare sharp. “You want it?”
He froze, not yet understanding, before I grabbed him by the collar.
“Claire made this for you, right? Then you finish it all!”
I shoved his face into the steaming mess. Ethan thrashed on the floor, gagging and choking.
“Adrian, you’re insane!” Claire kicked me hard in the back, dragging him into her arms.
I ignored her screams, walking straight back to my room.