Daphne sniffed hard, her fists clenching around the hem of her sweater.
“And Vivian…” she continued, voice trembling with bitterness,“she said he’s the heir now. That Dad would do anything for him. And that now… now I don’t matter anymore.”
Nina closed her eyes for a second.
Of course. Vivian.
How she hated that woman.
“She’s lying,” Nina said, her voice cold and certain.“You’re Frank Osborne’s daughter. His blood. His family. Nothing can change that. Ever. But be careful around that woman, Daphne. She’s manipulative, and she’ll twist your father against us if you let her.”
Daphne nodded, though fear still flickered in her eyes—the fear of a world cracking apart beneath her feet, where truth and lies tangled into something impossible to separate.
Nina wanted to shield her from all of it.
But how, when she herself was drowning in the same mess?
“And when I confronted Dad, do you know what he did?”Daphne’s voicejumped to a near-hysterical pitch.“He cut my card limit! By ten times, Mom! So I guess they matter more to him than I do!”
She spoke calmly, but firmly:
“Take a breath, sweetheart. Go wash your face,” she said softly.“I’ll make us some tea, and we’ll sit down and talk about everything, okay? We’ll get through this. I promise.”
Daphne nodded quickly and hurried into the bathroom.
Nina stood there for another moment, watching her disappear, her hands curling into fists.
How could Frank possibly think this was a“good idea”?
Did he actually expect Daphne to embrace his mistress and his five-year-old son with open arms?
She moved to the kitchen and set the kettle on, but her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
She tried to steady herself — failed.
Maybe she shouldn’t call him.
Maybe she should just handle this quietly.
But the moment the thought of Daphne’s tear-streaked face flickered in her mind, she grabbed her phone and dialed Frank.
That bastard could do whatever he wanted to her.
But he wasn’t allowed to hurt their daughter.
To her surprise, he actually picked up. After tonight she wasn’t sure he’d even bother.
“What is it, Nina?” he asked, his voice tired, irritated.
Probably Vivian had been gnawing at him nonstop after being humiliated at the gala.
“Frank, what the hell is going on?” Her voice cracked with fury.
Enough. She’d taken enough. Been quiet long enough.
“Nina,” he replied evenly, coldly,“didn’t we agree to handle things without unnecessary emotions?”
Her jaw clenched. He was always calm, always so damn collected.
