Inside the room, there was another scream, followed by the sound of pots and bowls hitting the floor.
My lips twitched, feeling somewhat speechless.
Someone like Elizabeth Rodriguez, a pampered young lady, who never lifts a finger in the kitchen, how could she possibly cook? I could imagine how the kitchen must look right now.
"Sigh! Everything was fine, why bother cooking!"
I shook my head, opened the door, and walked in.
After closing the door, I immediately heard a commotion from the kitchen, followed by an "ah" scream, as if someone was injured.
I walked over and saw Elizabeth squatting on the floor, holding her right hand. Her fair, delicate little finger had a small cut, and fresh blood was oozing out.
Her brows were furrowed, and she drew a sharp breath of pain, yet she gritted her teeth, not letting a sound escape.
She looked up and saw me, her pretty face flushed red, and she lowered her head with some embarrassment.
I glanced around and almost laughed out loud.
