Outsmarting You For Strawberry Cake

I was the most pampered son of the Carlisle dynasty, and the high-society circuit's favorite punchline: the idiot heir.

I couldn't read. I didn't observe social decorum. When spoken to, I merely grinned like a child who had stared too long at the sun.

My mother had summoned every world-renowned neurologist and pediatric specialist money could buy, crossing continents only to arrive at a quiet, bruised surrender: she simply wanted me to stay alive, safe, and breathing.

The truth was, I wasn't an idiot.