"I have a niece," he shrugs. "You pick things up."
Emily's feigned outrage dissolves into laughter, and soon we're all chuckling. The warm moment of normalcy feels precious after yesterday's drama.
But the laughter fades as Mom and Dad exchange a look—the kind parents share when they need to discuss something serious and the atmosphere shifts.
"So…" Dad says, clearing his throat. "We had a very interesting conversation with the Harpers."
I feel Bash tense beside me, his hand finding mine and placing it on the kitchen island.
"And?" I ask, though part of me doesn't want to know.
Mom moves to face us on the other side of the island, her expression grave. "Olivia confessed to adding shrimp bouillon to the lasagna."
My stomach drops.
"She what?" Emily and Bash scream in unison.
"Apparently," Dad continues, his voice barely containing his anger. "Ethan had mentioned to her that you have a 'mild' shellfish allergy. She decided to sprinkle bouillon on top of the entire dish."
"But—why?" The question comes out small, confused. I understand disliking someone, even being jealous, but deliberately causing them harm?
"She claimed she thought it would just give you a slight reaction—make you uncomfortable, maybe cause you to leave early." Mom's hands are clasped so tightly her knuckles are white. "Her exact words were, 'I didn't know she was going to react that badly.'"
I feel sick, remembering the terrifying sensation of my throat closing, the panic as I struggled to breathe. Bash's hand tightens around mine.
"The Harpers are absolutely furious and saddened by the whole situation," Dad says. "Mrs. Harper was in tears, Mr. Harper could barely speak, he was so angry. AndEthan—"
"Ethan was high last night," Mom cuts in. "That's why he was acting so strangely. He claims he had no idea what Olivia was planning."
Emily makes a disbelieving noise. "Convenient."
"Actually," Dad says, "I believe him. He was absolutely distraught when he realized what had happened. He broke off the engagement on the spot."
"He did?" I'm genuinely surprised. Ethan has always chosen the path of least resistance in life.
"Olivia is no longer welcome at the Harpers'," Mom says. "Or in our home, obviously. I told Barbara I don't even want to see her face again."
"I informed her that we could press charges for reckless endangerment, possibly even attempted assault," Dad adds, his lawyer voice emerging. "Her little 'prank' could have killed you if we hadn't had your EpiPen."
The thought makes my skin crawl. I've lived with my allergy for years, careful but never truly afraid. Now, I feel a new vulnerability—the awareness that something so small could be weaponized against me.
I look at Bash and see barely contained fury in his eyes. His jaw is clenched, a muscle ticking along it. He's radiating a dangerous energy I've never felt from him before.
"Bash," I say softly, squeezing his hand.
He meets my gaze, and I watch him struggle to control his anger. "If she had—" he starts, then stops, swallowing hard. "If you had—"
"But I didn't," I remind him gently. "I'm right here."
He nods once, sharp and tight, but I can still feel the tension in him.
"Are you pressing charges?" Emily asks.
Dad sighs. "We're considering it. The Harpers asked for a little time first—they want to handle some things within the family."
"That's their way of saying they want to make sure this doesn't become public," Mom explains. "The Harpers have their social position to consider."
"Of course they do," Emily mutters, rolling her eyes.
