Rosemary let out a dismissive scoff. "Oh, please. Frederick isn't some stranger—he's practically family. The poor thing was terrified. What's wrong with me comforting him a little?"
She swirled her drink, utterly unbothered. "Besides, when has Roland ever followed through? He blusters, then forgives. Trust me—even if he finds out, he'll let it go. He always does."
But Rosemary... you've run out of chances.
1.
I drew a slow breath and pushed open the door.
The laughter died instantly. Someone fumbled to kill the music.
The moment Rosemary saw me, she shot to her feet, a flicker of panic crossing her face.
"Honey! What are you doing here? Is the funeral already...?" She caught herself, rearranging her expression into something softer. "Frederick was so shaken up. I figured—he's your brother, and you were busy, so I'd take him out to clear his head. For you."
How touching.
"Rosemary." My voice came out flat. "Did you drink so much cheap champagne that you forgot why my mother is dead?"
Today was supposed to be my parents' twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
Instead, the mistress and her son showed up at our door. They called it a "congratulatory visit." It was a power play. A provocation.