Chapter 2: A King’s Last Stand

“Megan, help me go deal with that ungrateful child.”

My voice was steadier than I felt. Megan appeared at my side in an instant, her eyes red but her posture unbroken. She slipped her arm under mine, lending me her strength.

I beckoned my daughter-in-law to the door and looked out at the two of them in the rain. Showtime.

The scene outside was almost cinematic—the kind you’d see in a black-and-white movie, all shadows and drama. The rain made everything shimmer, and the two figures in the driveway looked like ghosts.

They were really making a scene—soaked through, yet someone still held an umbrella over them.

A young maid, bless her heart, stood off to the side, trying to shield them from the worst of the downpour. The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

I glanced at the butler beside me. He knew what I meant. Jenkins gave the maid a look, and she quickly stepped away, leaving my son and his lover to the mercy of the storm.

Soaked by the rain, my son seemed like a different person.

His hair plastered to his forehead, his suit ruined, he looked more like a rebellious college kid than the future king. The rain had washed away whatever dignity he had left.

“Dad, I have to marry Ellie.”

His voice was desperate, almost pleading. I wondered if he even heard himself.

“You’ve sat on the throne so long, you couldn’t possibly understand what real love is.”

The accusation stung, but I kept my face blank. Let him get it all out.

“If you won’t approve, then I don’t even want the family legacy!”

He threw the words at me like a challenge, daring me to call his bluff. The relatives behind me gasped, and I saw Aunt Linda clutch her chest.

Listening to his grand declaration, I finally understood why Megan had laughed. Now I wanted to laugh, too.

My lips twitched, but I managed to keep a straight face.

Now I was starting to wonder if this idiot was really my son.

It was the kind of thought you’re not supposed to say out loud, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe the hospital had mixed up the babies. Stranger things had happened in this family.

I’ve read too many mystery novels—there’s one about a switched-at-birth heir I can’t forget. For a second, I actually wondered if mine had been swapped.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. No son of mine would act like this—not after everything I’d taught him.

Thinking this, I stared at him suspiciously.

I narrowed my eyes, searching for some sign, some clue that would explain this madness. Maybe he’d been hypnotized. Maybe it was a prank. God, I wished it was a prank.

For the first time, I understood why my father used to love smashing coffee cups.

I felt the urge to grab the nearest object and hurl it across the room. The urge was almost physical—a need to break something, anything, just to feel in control again.