Chapter 3 Provocation

The next day, sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, casting beams of light into the hospital room.

Alice opened her eyes, the smell of disinfectant still strong.

"Alice, you're awake?" Clara's voice cut through the silence, laced with her usual sarcasm. "I thought you were planning to sleep forever and join your dead mom."

Alice ignored her, trying to sit up.

"What, not pretending anymore?" Clara pressed on, with a fake, triumphant smile on her face. "Alice, you're really hard to kill. Even a fire couldn't finish you off. Looks like even God thinks you're too filthy."

Alice looked up, her gaze icy as it swept over Clara and Oliver standing beside her. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Bringing my fiancé here to flaunt your love? What, you like picking up the trash I threw away?"

Oliver stood there, looking awkward. Seeing Alice's current beauty, a pang of regret hit him.

"Alice, don't say that," he began, trying to sound conciliatory. "Clara just came to see you. After all, you're sisters."

Alice scoffed, her eyes flicking over their close bodies, mercilessly exposing them. "See me? More like checking if I'm dead so you two can rest easy?"

"Alice!" Oliver's brows furrowed, clearly displeased with her "ingratitude," his voice rising.

"What, did I hit a nerve? Want to hit me?" Alice didn't back down, her gaze sharp as a blade.

"Oliver cares about you. How can you talk like that?" Clara played the victim, her voice trembling with fake tears.

"I can't afford such cheap concern," Alice rolled her eyes, her disdain clear. "If there's nothing else, please leave. I don't welcome trash collectors here."

Clara's eyes darted around, then she suddenly screamed, clutching her arm, her body swaying. "It's so hot! The water is so hot! My hand, it's burning!"

A cup of warm water lay spilled on the floor near Alice, a few drops having splashed onto Clara.

"Alice, what are you doing!" Oliver rushed over, supporting Clara, glaring at Alice. "Are you crazy? Throwing hot water at her? You heartless woman!"

Alice watched coldly, a mocking smile on her lips, not even bothering to explain.

Oliver, furious, raised his hand as if to slap her.

Alice's reflexes were faster than her thoughts. She grabbed Oliver's wrist and twisted it hard.

Oliver screamed in pain, feeling like his bones were about to break.

Alice didn't relent, kicking him hard in the knee.

Oliver was caught off guard, lost his balance, and fell to the ground in a very awkward position.His face turned pale with pain, cold sweat pouring down, his fingers trembling as he pointed at Alice, unable to speak.

Clara was stunned. She never expected Alice to fight back, and so fiercely.

"Alice, you've gone too far! How dare you hit Oliver!" she shrieked, her voice breaking.

At that moment, the door to the room opened.

Henry stood in the doorway, his face grim with anger, his gaze like a hawk's, scanning the room before settling on Alice.

Seeing him, Alice's body trembled slightly. She quickly adjusted her expression, her previous coldness replaced by a look of weakness and grievance. She collapsed back onto the bed, her eyes red.

"Henry." Her voice trembled, carrying a hint of dependence and grievance, like a frightened kitten.

Henry strode to the bed, gently helping her up, his movements tender as if afraid of hurting her. But his eyes were cold as knives, directed at Oliver and Clara, as if he wanted to tear them apart.

"What's going on?" His voice was low, carrying an undeniable authority.

Clara immediately clung to Oliver, crying out, "Henry, you have to help us! Alice has gone mad. She threw hot water at me and hit Oliver! Look at my hand, it's all red!"

She showed her "burned" arm, which was indeed red and looked serious.

Alice kept her head down, silent tears falling, her shoulders trembling.

"I didn't throw hot water at her." Her voice was choked with sobs. "She came in and started insulting me, saying she'd kill me with glass shards."

Henry looked at her, his gaze deep and unreadable.

He turned to Oliver, his voice icy. "Apologize."

Oliver was intimidated by his gaze, his body stiffened, and he stammered, "It was clearly Alice who provoked first."He couldn't believe Henry was making him apologize to Alice. It was worse than death.

"Uncle Henry, I…" he tried to argue.

"Don't make me repeat myself." Henry's tone was cold, brooking no argument, filled with absolute pressure.

Oliver shuddered, knowing Henry was serious. He had always feared his uncle and didn't dare defy him.

He gritted his teeth, lowering his head in humiliation, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry."

Clara was also shocked. She hadn't expected Henry to defend Alice so fiercely. It was completely unexpected.

She wanted to say something, but Henry's glance silenced her, making her shrink back.

"Get out." Henry's voice was cold, devoid of any emotion, as if addressing insignificant insects.

Oliver and Clara, feeling like they had been granted a reprieve, scrambled out of the room, afraid to linger.

The room was left with just Henry and Alice.

Alice kept her head down, her shoulders still trembling, tears falling silently onto the blanket, leaving dark stains.

Henry watched her, silent for a moment, then spoke. "Let me see your hand."

Alice looked up, her eyes swollen, tears blurring her vision.

She slowly extended her right hand, showing a thin, long scratch on the back, red around the edges from grabbing Oliver's wrist.

Henry gently took her hand, his thumb lightly brushing the scratch, his gaze unreadable.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly, his voice like a feather, brushing against Alice's heart.

Alice shook her head, her voice hoarse. "No, Henry, it's just a small scratch."

Henry said nothing more, just quietly watching her, his gaze deep and unfathomable, like a bottomless pool.