Did this stupid little sister just call him Big Brother earlier?
His memory was very clear—years ago, the tiny child would stiffly address him as Eldest Young Master, her voice trembling like a servant bowing before a tyrant. But now? She dared to look at him with those hazy eyes, soft with fever, and whisper Big Brother like he belonged to her.
Theodore's lips curved—half mocking, half dangerous.
"Heh. Intriguing."
After soaking her sore, petite body in the warm water of the enormous tub, Cassandra Bolton felt so delightfully relaxed that she couldn't resist flopping and swirling around like a tiny, clumsy fish. Her long hair and oversized dress floated around her in soft, undulating waves, making her look like a delicate, drifting jellyfish—cute and utterly helpless in her own little world.
A sudden snort made her freeze. Heart leaping, Cassandra looked up in horror to find Theodore Bolton still standing at the doorway, arms crossed, his deep, cold eyes fixed on her. And yet… there was something unusual. Hidden beneath his usual sternness, a faint, almost imperceptible trace of amusement softened his gaze.
Cassandra's cheeks heated. The thought that her so-called brother had seen her ridiculous, playful antics left her flustered and flailing for dignity. Well… technically, she was still a kid.
Determined to reclaim her pride, she sprang from the tub with a splash that sent droplets flying like tiny diamonds. She waddled over to Theodore, tiny fists balled, and gave him a hard shove that sent him stumbling backward before slamming the bathroom door in his face.
Unnoticed by her, the tips of her ears burned red, and her fair cheeks glowed rosy—not just from the bath, but from the sudden embarrassment that bubbled over like the water around her.
On the other side of the door, Theodore's lips curved into a faint, inscrutable smile. There was something strange in the way he looked at her—part amusement, part curiosity, part indulgence. He shook his head slightly, as if silently acknowledging that this small, spirited girl had a way of disarming him, even in her most ridiculous moments.
Was she shy? Perhaps. Or perhaps she was just irresistibly… stupid.
Cassandra Bolton draped herself in her fluffy yellow bathrobe and stepped into the dimly lit room, where her brother, Theodore Bolton, lounged on her bed with an unsettling ease. His long legs were crossed, and a book rested in his hands, though his lips twitched as if mocking the words on the page.
A small stool near the bed bore the aroma of warm food. Cassandra's eyes flickered over the assortment of soups and porridges, realizing with a quiet calculation that Theodore had left them for her. Yet, her favorite spicy dishes were conspicuously absent. Her stomach, hollow and protesting after days of near-starvation, let out a low growl. Even now, weakened and fevered, she forced a mask of delicate sweetness onto her face.
"So, my little sister enjoys reading these… kinds of books?" Theodore's voice was sharp, almost predatory.
Cassandra's eyes darted over the table, pretending confusion. "What book?" she asked softly, her tone carefully neutral, while her mind weighed every detail of the scene.
"The Princess and her Handsome Knight. The Billionaire's Runaway Bride. Don't Run My Love. The Handsome Father of My Babies…" Theodore recited the titles with an edge of disdain, each one a deliberate probe into her mind. They had been hidden in the bed's secret compartment—books that belonged to the 'original' Cassandra, not her. She could not reveal the truth, not yet.
"Well, everyone has hobbies, don't they?" Cassandra replied with a light, almost coquettish smile, hiding the sharpness coiling beneath her words.
Her pulse thudded beneath her ribs as Theodore's gaze pinned her, scornful and piercing. I don't read those, she screamed silently, her mind whirling with careful, silent plotting. One wrong word, one misplaced glance, and the dangerous man before her could unravel everything.
"Eat your food," Theodore said finally, his tone a low command rather than a suggestion, before rising and moving toward the door.
"Are you leaving, big brother?" Cassandra asked, lacing her voice with feigned reluctance, while her mind calculated every angle of his sudden attention.
"Don't want me to leave?" he murmured, his voice a cold whisper that seemed to crawl into the corners of the room. Then, without waiting for an answer, he exited, closing the door with a deliberate, echoing click.