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KAYDEN I was born with a silver spoon hanging from my mouth. Somehow, that spoon transformed into a blade, scraping, stabbing, and rotting my tongue. You know, rich people’s problems. My half-brother, Grant, never liked me. He was fourteen when I was born, and we grew up in different worlds. Jealousy was the undercurrent of his disdain, mainly because our father didn’t punish me as harshly as he did him. Don’t get me wrong—I got my fair share of "discipline." Being kept in a well with snakes for three days, watching execution-style murders since I was seven, and undergoing poison and pain training weren’t exactly vacations. But honestly, it was probably better than what Grant endured. Courtesy of dear old Dad. Harrod Davenport was the personification of a totalitarian monarch. As the head of the prestigious Davenport family, he ruled with an iron fist. Most people know us as pioneers in imports and exports. They think we’re just one of the four founding families of Graystone Ridge, an