But when we stepped outside, we saw a wall of fire. The fields were burning out of control, flames stretching as far as the eye could see.
The field that was now ablaze belonged to the village chief. His crops were seconds from being completely swallowed by the fire, and the fire trucks still hadn’t arrived.
The villagers rushed to help, but the flames were spreading too fast—every bucket of water they carried felt like a drop in the ocean.
In front of the wrecked Rolls-Royce, its owner stood stiffly, face dark with barely contained rage.
My sister had already transformed herself—perfect makeup, a carefully chosen dress that made her look soft and pitiful. She minced toward him, voice trembling just enough to sound sincere.
“Sir, I’m so sorry. My son was playing with firecrackers and accidentally threw them into the manhole, which caused… this.”
She even squeezed out a few tears. “His father passed away early, and I’ve raised him alone. This was my negligence. I’ll compensate you for the car, no matter what it costs. Even if I have to sell everything I own, I’ll make it right!”
She handed him a slip of paper with her phone number. “Here’s my number. Call me once you’ve calculated the damage.”
The man glanced at the note, then said flatly, “Let’s exchange numbers. It’ll be easier to stay in touch.”
My sister lit up instantly, whipped out her phone, and added him on the spot.
When she got home, she strutted in like a peacock. “See? He added me on WhatsApp. That proves he’s interested!”
Her smug grin made me want to laugh. “You do realize he just added you for payment details, right? And now we’re not just talking about a car—you blew up the road and hundreds of acres of crops. How are you going to pay for all that?”
My mother spun around and slapped me hard. “Shut up! You just can’t stand seeing your sister doing well!”
My sister smirked, rubbing her cheek like she was enjoying the drama. “Exactly. Talia, you’re jealous. I’m about to marry into a wealthy family—of course I can afford a few measly crops and a patch of road.”
Then her phone pinged. She shrieked, “Adrian sent me a message!”
My mother nearly jumped out of her seat. “What did he say?”
“It’s a picture—of the damage estimate.” She beamed. “This must be his way of starting a conversation with me. He probably doesn’t even want me to pay, he just wants an excuse to talk.”