"You idiot! This has nothing to do with you." Kian turned to glare daggers at us. "Let's see who dares to blame you?"
Meanwhile, Trisha, nestled in Aunt Laura's embrace, cast me a teary but triumphant look from over her shoulder.
Bingo. A classic manipulative "scheming little flower"—playing the victim while throwing shade.
Too bad she picked the wrong opponent.
I smiled sweetly and unleashed my venom.
"So this is the adopted daughter, Trisha? My apologies! For a moment, I thought someone was actually swinging inside the house."
I tilted my head. "By the way, you were trying to hang yourself, weren't you? But who uses a crystal chandelier for that? And what's with that slipknot that loosens the second you tug it? Careful, dear—you might survive the fall but take someone else down with you!"
My best friend clapped her hands, pretending to realize something.
"She's right! That's really dangerous. Good thing I—uh—acted quickly with my foot."
Everyone looked up, noticing the precarious chandelier and the shoddy knot.
Uncle John's face turned black as thunder. "Enough nonsense! What if you hurt your sister?!"
Seeing her act crumble, Trisha sniffled, forcing out another round of sobs.
"I'm sorry, Sister... I just wanted to atone..."
I folded my arms and smiled thinly. "Sister? You must be mistaken. I'm your foster sister. She—" I pushed my best friend forward "—is your real sister. You should be apologizing to her."
That shut her up for half a second—until Kian stormed forward, shielding her like a knight defending his lady.
"Dad! Trisha only wanted to make up for her mistakes! It's Carmela and Yanna who made her fall—they have no manners at all!"
My temper flared instantly.
Damn it—insult me all you want, but insult my best friend? Absolutely not!
"Brother," I said sweetly, "I get that you're trying to play the overprotective hero, but could you at least think before you open that mouth of yours?"
"You're saying Carmela has no manners? Who lost her back then, huh? You did! You're the reason she grew up in an orphanage, and you dare call her uneducated?"
"She's the real daughter of this house—her identity was stolen by your precious little thief. Tell me, where's the logic in that?"
"Honestly, the way you talk, it's like your intestines connect directly to your brain. Even a dung beetle would need to pop open your skull just to check the flavor!"
The room went dead silent.