I glanced down and saw her finger dripping blood onto the floor, the red stark against the tiles. The sight of it made people around us gasp and panic, drawing even more attention to her.
“You’re lying! I didn’t do that!” I shouted back, but my voice wavered. The sight of blood, the confusion, and the humiliation were all mixing together in a painful swirl, and I stammered, trying to find the words. “I… I feel…”
Suddenly, I heard Marco and Enzo’s voices, loud and panicked.
"Clara!" they yelled, rushing over to her side. Instead of helping me, they surrounded her, their expressions filled with worry. Despite it being just a cut—a shallow one at that—they fussed over her with urgency.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” they murmured, their attention fully on her.
Meanwhile, I struggled to stand, slipping on the frosting that covered me. Ms. Rossi finally came to my side, offering a steady hand.
“Elena, are you okay?” she asked, her tone gentle and concerned.
But the damage was done. The brothers had chosen Clara, leaving me alone in my own humiliation, and the pain cut deeper than anything Clara could have faked.