I ground the cigarette butt into the back of his hand.
Amid the sizzle of scorching flesh and Frederick's shriek, I grabbed his chin and forced his face toward mine.
"You think I don't know? You spoke to my mother alone before she died. I haven't even settled that score with you yet—so don't push me."
"Roland! Have you lost your mind?! He's your brother!"
My father slammed his palm on the table. Astrid rushed to pull the sobbing Frederick into her arms, shooting me a venomous glare.
I dusted off my hands with a dry laugh.
"My mother only gave birth to one son. Where exactly did this so-called 'brother' come from?"
I turned to my father, voice flat. "You know my temper. You want to throw a wedding for these two and officially announce what they are? Go ahead. I dare you. I'll have people tear the whole thing apart before the vows are spoken. Try me."
Perhaps because I was still the Henson family's son-in-law, my father and Astrid's faces twisted with barely suppressed fury.
But before either could respond, a familiar voice cut through from behind me.
"With me here, I'd like to see who dares."
Rosemary strolled in, one hand tucked casually in her pocket.
The moment Frederick saw her, he scrambled toward her like she was his salvation—sobbing, thrusting his burned hand in her face.
Rosemary's expression softened with exaggerated concern. She cooed at him, stroking his hair.
"Poor thing. I'll take you to the best dermatologist in the city. Not a single scar, I promise."
She pinched his cheek playfully. "Our little Frederick still has to be the most handsome groomsman at Daddy's wedding, doesn't he?"
I stared at her, disbelief curdling into something darker. My voice came out raw.
"Rosemary. Do you have any idea what you're saying?"
She lifted her gaze to meet mine. Her lips curved in something that might have been a smile, but her eyes were arctic.
"I heard everything. Men from wealthy families—who doesn't have a woman or two on the side? Your mother died because she couldn't handle it. You're really going to blame Frederick for that?"
She stepped closer, her voice turning sharp. "You got to grow up with a father by your side. Why shouldn't he have the same?"
"No matter what it takes, I'm bringing him into the Sullivan family. Everyone will know he's the legitimate young master of this house—and no one will ever call him a bastard again."
Her chin lifted. "You want to wreck the wedding, Roland? Go ahead. Try me."
I knew she meant it.
The last time she'd made a threat like that, the target's company had been swallowed whole by the Hensons within a week. The man himself had his legs broken, his tongue cut out, and vanished from Seaside City entirely.
And that had only been because he'd made a crude joke about me.
I should have seen this coming.
Rosemary had always been fickle. To her, my father's affair was trivial—barely worth mentioning. She couldn't begin to comprehend what my mother and I had suffered.
But knowing that didn't make it hurt any less—being stabbed in the front by the woman who'd once shared my bed.
My hand moved before I could think.
The slap cracked across her face.
"Get out."
Rosemary let out a soft, humorless laugh and worked her jaw, testing the sting.
Before she could speak, Frederick lunged at me.
"I've had enough of you! Don't you dare touch her again!"
He shoved me—hard.
I went sprawling backward into the two massive potted cacti behind me.
Needles pierced my back, my palms, everywhere. Blood welled up in bright droplets. I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth, the pain white-hot and relentless.
My father's lip curled with irritation.
"A perfectly good breakfast, ruined by your tantrum."
He stood, adjusting his cuffs. "Rosemary, perfect timing. Have you eaten? Let's dine out."
Rosemary didn't even glance my way. She murmured a distracted agreement, too busy fussing over Frederick's hand, and led him toward the door.
At the threshold, Frederick turned back.
His lips moved silently, forming words meant only for me.
