Lady Beatrix's icy glare pierced through me as Kate and Baron Reginald left the dining table. Her fingers drummed against the polished wood, her jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts.
"You've ruined everything," she hissed. "Are you satisfied now, Isabella? You've torn this family apart with your accusations."
I took a slow sip of water, savoring her discomfort. For once, I wasn't cowering or apologizing.
"I didn't ruin anything," I replied calmly. "This family needs to learn accountability. My father stole my inheritance. Clara scarred my face. These aren't accusations—they're facts."
Lady Beatrix's nostrils flared. "Always blaming others for your misfortunes. Your face is not Clara's fault. It was an accident."
"An accident?" I laughed without humor. "She pushed me into that fireplace because I received a compliment she thought should be hers. That wasn't an accident."
"You were always competing for attention—"
