As Mother turned toward the exit, leaving with her security team and attendants, her composure restored, the sound of slow, deliberate clapping echoed across the marble floor.
Caden's clap is slow and theatrical, the sound unnaturally loud in the hush of the marble lobby. He leans back against the column as if he'd been paid to provide ambiance. "Bravo brother" he purrs, eyes glittering. "What a show."
He stepped into the light, his grin sharp, his eyes glittering with malice and something darker—something unhinged.
My jaw tightened. "Who invited you to the dinner?"
He spread his arms as if embracing the gilded room. "Father, of course. Who else? You know he loves to keep his wild cards close at hand."
I didn't answer. The sight of him—the smugness, the shadow of resemblance I loathed—was enough to reignite the fury I'd just caged. I watched Caden the way a chess player watches an opponent set a trap — calm, displeased, cataloguing.
