"Frederick's grown now. I can't let people keep calling him a bastard behind his back. This is my responsibility as a father!"

Responsibility.

I collapsed into the chair, a broken laugh tearing out of me. Tears spilled before I could stop them.

Frederick sidled up beside me, reaching for my hand with sickening familiarity.

"This is great, brother! Now we're officially family. I don't know all the rules of high society yet—you'll have to teach me, okay? I'd hate to embarrass myself."

"Sure." I met his eyes. "No problem."

Astrid and my father exchanged satisfied smiles.

I wiped my face dry. Lit a cigarette with one hand. Drew in a slow breath.

Then exhaled the smoke directly into Frederick's face.

"Here's your first lesson." My voice was ice. "I'm the legitimate son. You're the bastard. Until I speak to you first, you don't get to open your mouth in my presence."

I leaned closer, letting the cigarette glow between us.

"Understood?"

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.