Evangeline Bumped into Me

I was sent flying by the impact, crashing to the ground. A sharp pain shot through my elbows and knees, and it felt as if my bones were vibrating. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself up, my fingertips trembling slightly. The pain spread little by little, and cold sweat trickled down my temple. When I finally lifted my head, I saw them. Nathaniel, Marielle, and Julian — all standing around the girl in the white feather couture gown. She was being protected in the middle, her tearful eyes glistening with pitiful fragility. “Evangeline, are you alright? Are you hurt?” “Sweetheart, does it hurt? Let me see where you got hit.” Hearing their overflowing concern, I suddenly felt like a joke. Even the pain in my body seemed to fade into nothingness. Evangeline’s eyes shimmered as she whimpered softly, “Dad, Mom, Brother… it hurts so much, wu-wu…” Julian immediately frowned, his eyes turning cold as he pointed at me and shouted, “Can’t you watch where you’re going?” I looked at him, the corners of my lips curling faintly. The smile held almost no warmth. —This scene, I’ve seen it in my dreams countless times. They would always see Evangeline fall, But never the one who was knocked to the ground. I was already feeling depressed, and his condescending tone instantly ignited the fire in my chest. Pushing myself up from the ground, pain throbbed sharply through my injured leg, almost making me lose balance. I gritted my teeth and glared at him viciously. “Julian, you really do speak without thinking, don’t you? She was the one who ran into me, yet you accuse me without a second thought. What’s wrong? You’ve gotten so used to blaming me that you think there’s no price to pay anymore?” His face darkened, and just as he was about to speak, I cut him off with a cold laugh. “There are dozens of eyes watching. Tell me, am I the blind one here—or are you?” The guests who had been murmuring earlier fell silent. The elegantly dressed men and women turned to look at me, their expressions mixed and uncertain. Of course, they all looked down on me—a woman who had been in prison, forever marked by that “stain.” But even the proudest among them could see what was really happening. Finally, someone spoke softly, “Julian, it really was Evangeline who ran into her. We all saw it.” Once one person spoke up, others began nodding in agreement. Julian’s expression darkened, inch by inch. That look in his eyes—I knew it too well. He wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at a stain, something that embarrassed him. In his mind, I was deliberately causing trouble, disgracing the Locke family at Evangeline’s birthday party. “Even if she did bump into you,” he said coldly, “it was an accident. Couldn’t you have just moved out of the way? You clearly did it on purpose.” His words made my blood surge, a buzzing filling my head. Move out of the way? I can barely walk without limping—need the railing just to get up the stairs—and he expects me to dodge? Oh, right. He’d never believed my leg injury was real, not since the day I got out of prison. He could see Evangeline being “hit” by me— But he’d never see me being knocked down by her. Since that’s how it is, why bother keeping up appearances for them anymore? Before everyone’s eyes, I lifted my sleeve. The air seemed to tighten all at once. Blood was still flowing. The skin at my elbow was torn open, raw flesh exposed, vivid red streaking down my pale arm. Blood seeped from my scraped palm, dripping steadily onto the floor. I raised my arm high so everyone could see clearly. “Do you think I’d choose to throw myself down like this?” My voice trembled, but every word cut like a blade. “I did this to myself just to hear you scold me? What do you take me for—someone so low that I enjoy being trampled on?” I saw his pupils constrict, his face shifting between blue and white, unable to meet my gaze. Marielle gasped, instantly letting go of Evangeline and rushing toward me. Her hand lifted, then hesitated midair. “Aria, you’re hurt—does it hurt?” she asked softly, eyes full of worry, as if my pain were her own. I looked down at her oh-so-perfect act and let out a cold laugh. Evangeline was already crying. Her voice was as soft and sweet as sugar. “Sister, I’m sorry. I just panicked because the gown Julian had custom-made for me somehow got torn, and I accidentally bumped into you. Please don’t be mad at my brother, okay? He only misunderstood you because he was worried about me. I can apologize on his behalf.” As she spoke, she lowered her head, tears falling one by one. That delicate, pitiful face—like a white flower beaten by rain. She said she was apologizing, but the way she looked made it seem as though I had bullied her. Three years ago, she was like this every time. Three years later—nothing had changed. —She cried, and I became the villain. “So what you mean is—your brother can slander me however he likes, as long as it’s out of concern for you, is that it?” My voice was icy, the kind of cold that seemed to drop the temperature of the room in an instant. Evangeline froze, her gaze flickering before she shrank into Marielle’s arms like a frightened fawn. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “Sister, how could you misunderstand me like this…” She cried so gracefully, so beautifully—as if building a perfect stage for everyone’s sympathy. Naturally, Marielle pulled her into a protective embrace, her tone tender with a sigh. “Aria, you’ve really misunderstood Evangeline. She’s always been sensible—she’d never do something like that. Today is her birthday. Just apologize to her and wish her a happy birthday, all right? Let’s put this behind us.” I lifted my head, meeting her eyes, one brow arching slightly. “This kind of thing has happened before. Marielle, do you really not know whether I’ve misunderstood her? Should I remind you what happened three years ago—” “Enough.” Marielle’s voice rose sharply, her face turning pale. That look in her eyes—guilt mixed with fear. I gave a soft laugh. It scraped out from my throat, cold and cutting. Heh. So three years later, nothing has changed. She’s still the same—shielding Evangeline without hesitation. Unable to bear even a scratch on her well-behaved adopted daughter, yet perfectly willing to watch her own flesh and blood be trampled, blamed, and destroyed. —How ironic. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest, dulling even the anger that had been burning there. Forcing myself to ignore the pain in my body, I straightened my back and limped toward the door. But before I could take more than two steps, a hand suddenly clamped down on my arm—hard, almost yanking me backward. “Explain it.”