Chapter 5
"Since you're all so sure I did something bad, how else can I clear my name without calling the police?" Katrina acted surprised. "Bran, you wouldn't be trying to pin this crime on me, would you?"
"Bran." At that moment, Helena called out to Brandon tremulously, hesitating to continue.
Kent only glanced once, as if understanding something. He stayed silent for several seconds, then looked at Katrina with a cold expression. "I'll investigate this matter thoroughly. Go upstairs for now."
Katrina knew he understood but was still choosing to cover for Helena.
Whatever. She was too lazy to keep tangling with this mess. She went straight back to her room without hesitation.
Opening her laptop, she drafted a resignation letter.
Since graduating from film school in July, she'd been interning at an entertainment company under the Fontaine Group. But over three months later, she still hadn't gotten any opportunities for public appearances.
In her past life, she didn't think it was the company's fault—she'd always believed it was her own lack of ability. But later she discovered the truth: they simply refused to give her resources.
The Fontaine men's hearts were all crooked, their eyes only on Helena. All future resources would be poured into Helena too.
Her first priority now was to leave and find her own path.
Katrina browsed online for a while when suddenly her head felt dizzy and heavy, her back going cold.
Just as she was about to grab a thermometer to check her temperature, she ran into Helena at the door.
Helena had just been helped upstairs by a servant to rest. Her face was deathly pale, as if she still hadn't recovered from today's shock.
"Katy, what are you doing?" Helena also spotted Katrina at a glance, along with the abnormal flush on her face.
Katrina ignored her and went straight downstairs to get the thermometer from the living room.
Helena had the maid follow her. Soon they confirmed—Katrina was sick. She smiled coldly and whispered a few words in the maid's ear.
Meanwhile, Katrina took her temperature and looked at the reading with some helplessness. In just this short time, it had spiked to 102.2 degrees Fahrenheit.
Her body alternated between chills and heat. She had no choice but to lie on the sofa first, then used the intercom to call a maid to bring her medicine.
But after several calls, no one answered. The mansion was empty, as if she were the only one there.
Her head grew increasingly foggy, her whole body burning like she was on fire. She had to struggle to get up, leaning against the wall to get water, then called for an ambulance.
At the same time, Helena was being helped downstairs. Her face was pale, her steps unsteady, constantly saying she felt awful.
The Fontaine men were heartbroken. They immediately helped her out the door toward the hospital.
Lancelot saw an ambulance outside the mansion and assumed a maid had called it for Helena. He waved it over, and together with the medical staff, helped Helena aboard.
"Which one of you is Ms. Katrina Fontaine? She's the one who called this ambulance," a nurse asked.
Brandon said coldly, "She called it for my sister. Just take care of my sister."
The nurse fell silent.
"Katrina, honestly. Lena's this sick and she doesn't even come along." Lancelot snorted. "What an ungrateful wretch—petty and rotten to the core."
"I'll call her and tell her to come to the hospital," Kent said, also looking pissed.
But after several tries, he couldn't get through. He grew even more annoyed and cursed several more times.
Helena lay on the gurney, listening to all this with deep satisfaction, though her face showed reluctance.
"Lance, Ken, stop it. I don't blame Katy. It's normal that she can't accept me right away. As long as I'm good to her in the future, she'll definitely accept me sincerely." Her voice trembled, tears brimming in her lashes—utterly heart-wrenching.
Lancelot and Kent exchanged glances, feeling greatly comforted. They both thought this little sister was so much more sensible than Katrina.
Katrina waited at home for over two hours.
This high fever came on strong and fast, nearly burning her dry. Even her bones felt like they were boiling.
"Water, water..." She mumbled to herself, but no one answered.
The whole night passed like this.
The next morning, she was jolted awake by the sound of her door being kicked open.
"Your sister was sick and miserable all night, and you didn't even go check on her. You're still not up? What kind of older sister are you?" It was Brandon.
He strode in with quick steps, his voice cold and frightening.
Katrina was startled. She opened her eyes groggily to see Brandon staring at her imperiously. Those eyes held no warmth—only dissatisfaction.
Katrina honestly didn't understand. She was clearly the Fontaine family's biological daughter, the three brothers' real sister. How could they not treat her like she mattered at all?
Was it simply because Helena was more pitiful? How laughable.
Katrina didn't want to say a single word. Right now she was just grateful she hadn't died—that she'd survived another ordeal.
"Say something!" But Brandon had no intention of letting her off. He grabbed her wrist. "Since you're awake, get up and make your sister some porridge. You're coming with me to the hospital to see her!"
Katrina was yanked so hard she nearly fell off the bed. She lay there, unable to move for a long moment.
"You..." Only then did Brandon notice something was wrong. He felt Katrina's arm burning hot. Her face was terrifyingly pale.
"What's going on with you? Playing sick again?" He frowned, though his voice involuntarily deepened.
He thought of Katrina's attitude toward him yesterday, feeling inexplicably annoyed.
"Get out." Katrina found him irritating. She spoke hoarsely, her throat sharply painful.
She lay half-sprawled on the bed like a puddle of mud, planning to wait until she felt a bit better before going to the hospital herself. She didn't know what happened to the ambulance she called last night—it never came.
Suddenly, someone scooped her up in their arms. Brandon's tense voice reached her ears. "I'm taking you to the hospital!"
Katrina opened her mouth but couldn't say anything. She passed out again.
St. Mary Hospital.
"The patient has acute viral flu. Her fever's already hit 104 degrees. Bran, what the hell were you family members doing? If you'd come any later, whether her brain would be intact is anyone's guess."
The attending physician was named Chris Watson—the younger brother of Brandon's friend, with a master's in medicine.
After examining Katrina, Chris couldn't help but add, "Bran, even if she's your family's adopted daughter, you should at least keep up appearances. Otherwise people will talk behind your backs about how you abuse your adopted daughter."
Brandon was momentarily speechless.
Seeing him say nothing, Chris looked a bit suspicious and turned to Lancelot nearby. "Lance, what do you have to say?"
Lancelot's gaze was complicated, falling on Katrina lying weakly in the hospital bed. She'd already woken up but had turned her back to them, clearly unwilling to acknowledge either of them.
Lancelot felt stifled. He never imagined Katrina had been sick all night, burning up this badly.
And they'd still accused her of not taking care of her sister.
The atmosphere in the room grew tense.
Just then, Kent burst in. "Bran, Lance, Lena's awake. She says she's uncomfortable. You should go check on her."
