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.
"Loser!"
I watched the four of them walk away—a perfect little family, arms linked, backs turned to me.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Tears slid down my cheeks anyway.
"Mom... you see that? The moment you died, your son lost his home."
"Does it hurt to watch? Will you come back? Please? I miss you so much..."
News of my father's remarriage spread through elite circles like wildfire.
During the engagement period, Astrid paraded Frederick at every public event she could find—even the galas reserved for married couples.
Rosemary issued a decree: no one was to call him "the bastard" anymore. He was to be treated with the same respect they showed her.
Frederick made sure I knew.
Video calls. Photos. Messages. Always rubbing it in.