I cracked more eggs, let the oil hiss, and tuned them out as they reminisced—about the gala, the penthouse, the sheets soaked in champagne and arrogance. I existed to them only as background noise, a presence that lingered longer than desired. They forgot what shadows could do.
The front door slammed open soon after, laughter spilling inside. Julian strode in with Corinne, the twins trailing behind. Corinne flaunted a new purse and matching earrings—“gifts” from Camille—while Julian poured himself wine though the morning was barely awake. The boys lugged in a massive framed photo: the family portrait from the Starview Hotel.
Camille stood at its center.
Alpha Thorne’s hand rested possessively at her waist. My son and his family circled her like satellites around a brighter star.
I was nowhere in the image.
“Nice, right, Grandma?” Nolan said with a crooked grin. “Looks like a proper family.”
“Too bad you weren’t invited,” Ken added, teeth flashing. “Oh—wait. Guess you looked too much like staff.”