Chapter 3 Sabrina is the Slanderer
I officially moved into Nicholas's place.
He lived on the third floor, with his study on the second. I'd occasionally go up to call him for meals. Apart from cleaning the house, I spent most of my time on the first floor—reading in the living room, sketching designs, tending to the garden outside.
Life felt peaceful. So peaceful I almost forgot Sabrina existed.
Until one day, the dean of students called.
"Sabrina claims you stole her design drafts. I suggest you come to campus so we can clear this up."
That reminder brought back the design team I'd dissolved after my falling out with the Rosewood family. The school and DI, an international luxury company, were co-hosting a jewelry design competition.
In my past life, my brothers had coaxed and pressured me into partnering with Sabrina so she could secure an internship at DI. Afterward, Sabrina stole my designs, claimed credit as the lead designer, then pinned the plagiarism on me. My brothers sided with her, kicked me off the team, and I lost that crucial DI internship opportunity.
This life, even though I'd ended the partnership with Sabrina early and submitted my designs for review first, she still wanted to steal my work?
When I arrived at school, I found the dean, a DI executive who introduced himself as Mr. Gordon, Sabrina—and Michael.
Michael's presence didn't surprise me. Throughout our lives, Sabrina had always received more of my brothers' affection. They'd rather involve themselves in her affairs than mine.
The dean's expression was stern. "Sabrina says you stole her design drafts. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"
My gaze didn't linger on Michael. I addressed the dean directly. "From the start, Sabrina joined the competition as my assistant—as a design assistant. She claims I stole her drafts. Does she have proof?"
Sabrina instinctively looked to Michael. "I trusted Catherine. I never thought she'd do this... I..."
I cut her off. "So no evidence then?"
Michael frowned, his voice sharp with reproach. "Catherine, can you speak civilly?"
He turned to the dean. "Sabby often shares her design process and drafts with us."
Michael produced photos of Sabrina's so-called drafts.
The dean examined them, frowning. "Just photos?"
Michael looked stunned. "Photos aren't enough?"
I smiled slightly. "Michael, real evidence isn't just snapping a picture. Every design goes through countless discarded drafts, revisions, and documented thought processes. Sabrina opens her mouth and claims I stole her work—so where are the original drafts? Show them."
Sabrina's composure crumbled. She wasn't trained in design, just a dabbler. How would she know any of this?
"I... I'd draw and leave the sketches on my desk. I didn't think you'd take them."
I let out a derisive laugh, ignoring her to address the dean instead. "This is exactly why I ended my partnership with Sabrina. Someone who casually accuses the lead designer of plagiarism without a shred of proof is worth being wary of."
"By the way, in those photos Sabrina took of my designs—they all bear my signature. The pattern is a mirrored 'C,' duplicated and overlapped. C is the first letter of my name."
The dean nodded in understanding, glancing at Mr. Gordon, who'd been quietly observing. Confirming Gordon had no objections, the dean turned to Sabrina with clear disapproval.
"You're about to graduate, and instead of focusing on honest work, you're making false accusations against your teammate. This goes on your record. Go home and reflect on your actions."
Sabrina's face went deathly pale. Michael immediately jumped to her defense.
"You're being this hasty? Sabby isn't like that."
He redirected his attack toward me. "Catherine, do you hate Sabby so much you'd steal her designs and refuse to admit it? When did you become this vile?"
I gave Michael one cold glance, not bothering to respond. I politely said goodbye to the dean and Mr. Gordon.
Michael tried to grab me. I dodged smoothly and headed for the door, only to collide unexpectedly with Nicholas.
He caught himself, instinctively pulling me into his arms. "Where's the fire?"
I froze, looking up at him. "What are you doing here? I thought you were swamped at work?"
Then I noticed Nicholas exchanging nods with Mr. Gordon. They clearly knew each other.
The dean seemed equally surprised by Nicholas's appearance. His attitude toward this distinguished alumnus who'd graduated years ago was deeply respectful.
"Mr. Harrington."
Nicholas nodded, glancing at the pitiful-looking Sabrina and Michael with a frown. "Them again?"
"Don't these people have anything better to do? Buzzing around like flies. So annoying."
I watched Michael's face turn thunderous.
"Who the hell are you to meddle in Rosewood family business?"
Nicholas asked me, "Are you part of the Rosewood family?"
I gestured for him to remove his hand from my waist, shaking my head. "I have the Rosewood name. But I'm not one of them."
Michael probably thought I was just being dramatic. "Catherine! You don't get to deny it! The Rosewood family raised you—not so you could act out like this!"
Nicholas laughed. "Raised her? You mean gave her food to eat, ignored her existence, then when she grew up, forced her to donate blood, made her a... guinea pig, forbade her from fighting back or questioning anything. That's what the Rosewood family calls 'raising' someone?"
My heart clenched. I couldn't help but lower my eyes, hiding the turmoil beneath.
Nicholas's palm pressed silently against my back, offering gentle comfort.
He looked at Michael's expression—ugly but unable to deny anything—and continued unhurriedly. "If you can't do it right, might as well let me raise her instead."
"We didn't—Cate, she—"
Michael seemed ready to argue, but Sabrina grabbed his sleeve. "Mike, my heart doesn't feel right..."
That one sentence threw Michael into a panic. He forgot whatever he'd been about to say.
He gathered Sabrina in his arms and rushed out, heading for the hospital.
I watched Michael's retreating figure. Nicholas asked, "Does it hurt?"
I shook my head. "Not anymore. Not for a long time."
On the drive home with Nicholas, James called.
I answered to his gentle voice, laced with false warmth.
"Cate, are you really not coming home?"
I stopped walking, staying silent.
"The pendant thing—Jason made that call on his own. Deep down, he still cares about you. He just got confused for a moment, made a mistake. None of us expected you to get this angry."
"Come back. We're family. I know Sabby joining the Rosewood family is hard for you to accept right away. We can take it slow..."
"James."
I cut off his attempt at reconciliation, choosing directness instead. "Sabrina's condition is getting worse, isn't it?"
Silence on the other end. Only breathing.
I gripped the phone tighter, my eyes dark with understanding. "Only when Sabrina needs me do you remember to sweet-talk me."
"Am I really that pathetic? You can scold me, berate me, and when I get upset, all you need to do is say a few soft words and I'll come running back like an idiot, happy to be Sabrina's blood bag again?"
James sounded shocked. "Cate, why would you think—"
"Enough!"
My voice cracked. "Stop calling me! I'm not coming back."
"Just pretend I'm dead. Can you do that? Stay away from me—I'm begging you!"
Nicholas appeared at my side, took my phone, and hung up for me.
He asked, "What's for dinner?"
The emotion drained out of me all at once. I stared at him blankly.
He smiled, his expression softening. "I'm starving. What's my chef thinking for tonight?"
"Lobster," I answered. "Let's do lobster."