Caspian’s attention snapped to Ophelia, his concern for her evident in the way he gently cradled her in his arms. She had taken full advantage of his sudden shift in focus, leaning into him as if she were a fragile porcelain doll. The slap I had landed with all my might had left a red handprint on her fair cheek, and her eyes were now brimming with crocodile tears.
Seeing Caspian tenderly wiping her tears away was a painful reminder of what we once shared. I could still remember how he used to be kind to me when we were younger—how he would help me up if I fell and wipe away my tears with the same tenderness he now reserved for Ophelia. The realization that those moments were long gone, replaced by this cruel charade, was almost unbearable.
“Claire,” Caspian said, his voice cold and devoid of the warmth it used to hold. “Apologize to your sister.”
I lifted my chin defiantly, straightening my spine. “No!” I said firmly, not willing to give in. The audacity to defy him, to challenge him like this, seemed to surprise him. It was almost as if he couldn’t reconcile this version of me with the one he used to know.