This time, Irene finally turned her gaze toward him, but her eyes were filled with nothing but contempt and hatred.
She wanted to tell him to get out, but she couldn't move or speak. All she could do was glare at him with eyes full of loathing.
Brian, however, simply acted as if she were throwing a childish tantrum. He gently patted her head and coaxed, "Come on, Irene, don't be like this, okay?"
"Your body hasn't fully recovered yet, and getting upset isn't good for you."
He knew she didn't want to hear any of this, yet he continued to speak.
Irene felt a surge of anger rushing to her head.
Get out, just get out—
She screamed silently in her mind.
Irene hated it—hated Brian's blindness, his inability to see the truth, and hated her own helplessness.
Her eyes blazed with fury, as if she wanted to incinerate the brother who had so thoroughly disappointed her.
Brian, feeling uncomfortable under her hateful gaze, looked away and pretended to busy himself with the items on the bedside table. He kept on murmuring, "Once you're a bit better, I'll take you abroad. It will be better for your recovery."
Every word he spoke felt like salt being rubbed into Irene's wounds.
Go abroad?
Her mind was consumed with thoughts of revealing the truth, of clearing Claire's name, and ensuring Vanessa faced justice. Yet here he was, thinking of sending her away.
Irene's chest heaved with every breath, each one seething with fury.
She fixed her gaze on Brian, finding his face repugnant, wishing she could tear it apart.
Summoning all her strength, her throat felt like it was on fire, and she managed to choke out a single word.
"Out!"
Brian was taken aback, not expecting such anger from his sister.
A trace of surprise flickered in his eyes, followed by a sigh.
"Irene, you're grown up now. It's time to be sensible."
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