What brother throws their starved and feverish little sister into a tub of cold water the moment she regains consciousness?!
The answer was obvious- her older brother Theodore Bolton.
There was a secret Cassandra Feng had in the past that not even her closest friends were aware of. Her brother complex.
Back in her past life, Cassandra Feng had begged heaven for a brother who would protect her, tease her, spoil her rotten. But she had died an orphan, wish unfulfilled. And now, in this twisted new life, she woke up with one—the very thing she had craved, in the most dangerous man of all: Theodore Bolton.
A small part of the joy and excitement of her reincarnation was having a brother in this body and life.
But reality slapped her face harshly.
Why, oh why, did her dream of having a doting big brother turn into this nightmare? In her fantasies, her brother was supposed to wipe her tears, feed her food, and protect her from the monsters of the world.
Reality? He called her dirty, threw her into the bath like rotten cabbage, and was now watching her like she was a particularly disgusting bug that had crawled into his house.
Sure, she hadn't bathed in two days. Sure, she smelled like boiled socks. But still—!!!
Her teeth gnashed in fury. The nerve! The humiliation! The sheer audacity of this man who shared the blood flowing in her veins!
And yet… the warm water crept into her aching bones, soothing her fevered body, and she couldn't stop the reluctant sigh of relief that slipped past her lips. Damn it. Why did it have to feel this good?
At the doorway, Theodore Bolton stood with arms folded, one hand lazily spinning a dagger between his long, elegant fingers as though he had all the time in the world. His cold eyes never left her.
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 Bolton's lips curved—half mocking, half dangerous.
"Heh. Intriguing."
After soaking her sore, petite body in the warm water of the enormous tub that soothes her taut muscles and joints, 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 Bolton'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. This body of hers is still seventeen.
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 finding it distasteful.
A small stool near the bed bore the aroma of warm food. Cassandra Bolton's eyes flickered over the assortment of soups and porridges and a glass of milk, realizing with a quiet calculation that Theodore Bolton 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.