Curiosity gnawed at me. Maybe there was a photo of me tucked inside. A small token of our relationship, proof that I mattered to him.
As I opened the wallet, my pulse quickened. But what I found was not what I had hoped for.
Inside was a photo of young Katrina and young Lewis, smiling together as if they had shared their entire lives.
Anger surged through me, and before I could think, I tore the photo in anger.
My hands trembled with fury, and I did not even notice when they brushed against the hot soup, spilling it onto my arm.
Lewis returned just in time to see the mess.
His face turned to panic as he rushed to clean up the spilled soup and check my hand. "Oh my God, look what happens if I leave you for a second. We’re going to the hospital."
"It’s just a minor burn," I protested, trying to downplay the situation.
Lewis ignored me completely. Before I knew it, he had scooped me up and carried me to the car.
As if fate were mocking me, we ran into Katrina in the hospital corridor. She was hopping down the hall on one foot, clearly struggling with a sprained ankle.
Lewis, who had been so attentive moments ago, immediately shifted his focus to her. He frowned, his worry etched into every line of his face.
“What happened?” he asked, rushing over to support her.
Katrina smiled sweetly, her gaze only focusing on Lewis. "It’s just a sprain. And you?"
My hands curled into fists since she acted as if Lewis was alone there. So, I said mockingly, “We’re here to visit the obstetrician.”
The change in Katrina’s face was instantaneous, but Lewis stiffened, his expression freezing. He turned to me with wide eyes, clearly caught off guard.
“No, no,” he stammered, addressing Katrina. “As I said to you last night, she’s my reckless little sister. Her hand got burned because she was careless with hot soup.”
Little sister?
My breath hitched. Last night, after they kissed, Lewis did not just betray me, but he even introduced me as his little sister to Katrina.
Katrina’s gaze flicked between us, a slow smirk playing on her lips.
“If your hand is injured, you shouldn’t be at a gynecologist but at a general clinic, little sister,” she said, emphasizing the words with relish.
Then, she turned to Lewis, her voice dripping with faux concern, “Lewis, you must be overwhelmed taking care of her, right? So, hurry and take her before it gets worse. I’ll excuse myself then.”