The breakfast table is a painting.

Someone spent hours arranging it—the silver gleaming like mirrors, the porcelain so thin the light passes through, the food set in careful compositions.

Warm breads glisten with butter. Fresh fruit is carved into shapes that belong in museums. Eggs rest in silver dishes, prepared three different ways—each one perfect. Meats curl on platters like sleeping snakes.

Steam rises. Scents drift across the table—butter and honey, roasted things, spices I can’t name. Scents that should make my stomach growl.

My stomach doesn’t.

Extra special.

Because of their prince.

I sit with my arms crossed tight against my chest. My gaze drifts across the table—the extra-perfect preparation, the flowers placed too carefully between the dishes, the extra glass set beside the extra plate.

For him.

Always for him.

Mom and Dad’s eyes are on me. I feel them like weights—staring, waiting. They want to talk. I know it.

I don’t look at them.

I’m not in the mood to argue. My mind is already a mess—tangled, knotted, a wound I keep picking open with my own fingernails. Sometimes I wish I couldn’t read minds. Sometimes I wish the voices would just stop.

Their thoughts. Their judgments. Their hidden knives tucked behind polite smiles.

Their minds scream louder than their mouths.

And today—today every voice makes me want to break something.

"Ellis..."

Mom’s voice—soft, careful. The voice she uses when she’s approaching something fragile.

I don’t look at her.

"What."

"What happened? Why are you staring at the breakfast?"

I don’t look at them. My fingers drift to the edge of my tea cup, tracing the thin rim—back and forth, back and forth. The porcelain is warm. The edge is sharp. I press harder than I should.

"I’m watching you." My voice flat. Empty. "Making the servants work so hard. Just for your precious Beta prince."

I look at them.

Slow.

Deliberate.

"Isn’t that right?"

Dad’s face changes.

I watch it happen—the softening around his mouth hardens, the calm in his eyes sharpens. His brows draw together. Anger settles into the lines around his lips, his eyes, the tight clench of his jaw.

"Ellis." His voice is low. Controlled. The kind of control that means he’s about to lose it. "How many times have I told you to stop this nonsense?"

He pauses. Lets the words settle.

"He has a name. Silas. And now he’s your life partner." Another pause. "Respect him."

He rubs his temple, fingers pressing hard against his skin—like he’s trying to force the headache away. Like I’m the headache.

"We treat him well because he deserves it. Unlike the way you’re behaving right now."

I laugh.

The sound comes out wrong—sharp, dangerous, the kind that cuts the air and leaves a wound. Mom flinches. Just a little. Just enough for me to notice.

"Really?" I tilt my head, letting the poison seep into my voice. "He deserves it?"

I let the question hang.

"Or is it because of him—" I lean forward, just a little, just enough. "—you gain something? Business benefits?"

"Ellis—" Mom starts.

I slam my hand against the table.

The cups rattle. Silverware jumps and clinks. Water trembles in the crystal glasses. Mom flinches again—harder this time.

I ignore her.

My eyes stay on Dad.

"Because I know my father well." My voice drops—quiet now. The quiet before something breaks. "He doesn’t do anything until he sees the benefit. Until he counts the cost. Until he knows what’s in it for him."

Dad’s jaw tightens. A muscle ticks near his temple.

"Ellis." His voice is measured now. Forced calm—the kind that means he’s building a wall. "I already told you. This marriage is separate from everything. Business. Deals. None of it."

He pauses. His eyes drift away—just for a moment—toward the window, toward the garden, toward somewhere I can’t follow.

"Silas’s father was my best friend." His voice softens. Almost. "Before he died, I made him a promise."

Another pause.

The silence between us grows teeth.

"That’s it. Nothing else. Don’t twist it into something else." He looks back at me.

"So stop using your mind on useless things. Stop saying we sold you." His voice hardens again. "It’s not like that."

I lean forward.

Just a little more.

"I don’t believe you."

Dad looks away.

"Why."

"Ellis." Mom’s voice cuts through—louder now, no longer soft. The voice she uses when she’s been pushed too far. "Don’t hurt your parents with your words."

I blink.

Look at her.

Her eyes are starting to shine. Wet. A thin film of tears gathers at the edges. She reaches for the napkin beside her plate—smooth, practiced—and presses it lightly to the corner of her eye. Dabbing. Careful.

"I never thought my son would turn into someone like this."

I stare at her.

Seriously?

She’s blaming me?

After everything they did—

Who am I supposed to blame?

Dad reaches over. Takes her hand. Squeezes. His thumb brushes over her knuckles, back and forth, steady, comforting.

"Levi, honey... relax."

Then his eyes find me.

A glare.

"Ellis. Apologize."

I cross my arms again. Tighter this time. Stubborn. Unmovable.

"Shouldn’t you two apologize to me?" My voice is quiet. Hard—the kind of hard that comes from something frozen too long. "For what you did?"

I let the question sit.

"Maybe then I’ll consider forgiving you."

"Ellis—"

"Don’t you feel anything?" I look between them—her wet eyes, his tight jaw. "You threatened your own son. Disowning him. You forced a marriage on him. You keep pressuring him—again and again—to live a life he never chose."

Mom’s voice trembles. Wavers.

"Son... we didn’t do anything wrong. It’s for your good. For you." She dabs at her eyes again. "Soon, you’ll understand."

My brow lifts.

"I’m already understanding everything."

The door opens.

Everic enters—smiling, light, careless, untouched by the tension choking the air. He walks forward like he owns the room, pulls back the chair beside mine, starts to sit—

"Everic." Mom’s voice stops him. "You can’t sit there."

Everic freezes, his hand still on the chair.

"Why...?"

"Ellis has a partner now." Mom’s voice is calm. Certain. Final. "Silas sits there. With him."

Everic blinks. Looks at the empty chair beside me. Then at me—my crossed arms, my tight jaw, my eyes that probably look like murder. Then back at Mom.

"Ahh." A small smile curves at his lips. "I see."

He walks around the table. His steps slow. Deliberate. He drops into the chair across from me—directly opposite, so I’d have to look at him if I looked up.

His smile returns. Smaller now. Edged with something I can’t quite name.

"But it doesn’t seem like Ellis cares." He glances at me. "Whether his partner sits with him or not."

I stare at him.

My jaw tightens until my teeth ache.

Why is everyone trying to get on my nerves today?