The day of her father's funeral crushed Hellen like a vice—heart shredded raw, throat tight lump that she couldn't swallow, not ready to let go of the man who'd forged her alpha steel from day one, but death's cold hand dragged him under anyway.
Her mother couldn't even drag herself there—curled foetal tight at home under quilts, voice breaking thin on the phone earlier. "I'm a coward, my girl... can't face his still body on that slab, can't breathe the dirt scent. Forgive me."
Mourners swathed black head to toe under weeping gray skies, relatives circling vulture-keen in pressed suits and veils, picking at the will whispers like carrion, when a convoy of sleek black SUVs purred up gravel-crunch sharp—doors swinging wide as a man emerged in a bespoke Italian suit, silk tie blood-red gleaming, a watch flashing diamonds arrogant like he owned the entire damn cemetery.
