Frosting flew everywhere, splattering across the hall and causing a chaotic mess. Guests close to me jumped back in shock, others screamed, and people pointed at Clara, horrified.
"Oh my gosh! You’re bleeding!” someone shouted.
I could barely process the words, and as I sat there, covered in cake, humiliation burned through me.
"She cut me!" Clara shouted, pointing directly at me.
Elena’s POV
“What?!” I stammered, blinking in disbelief. I couldn’t believe her audacity. The whole crowd’s attention shifted onto me, and I froze in place, paralyzed by a mix of shame and a growing, simmering rage.
"You… you cut me," Clara continued, voice trembling, as if she were the real victim. "You took advantage when no one was looking, and you cut my finger!"
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.
"Elena! How dare you hurt her!" Marco screamed, his voice filled with fury. His eyes were wide with rage as he pointed a finger at me, glaring like I was the worst person in the world.
But I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t stand the humiliation, the anger, the betrayal.
With all the strength I had left, I managed to stand.
I shoved past him, pushing through the crowd, not caring about anything or anyone. I ran—away from them, away from the mess, away from my own birthday party.