Chapter 6
As she stepped out of the funeral home, her eyes fell on a long procession of luxury black sedans stretching down the street. Each one sleek and somber, radiating quiet power-the kind of tribute that spoke volumes about the man who had passed.
Just then, the door of the car closest to her opened, and someone stepped out with an umbrella, shielding the person inside from the rain.
A tall, lean figure emerged slowly.
Though the umbrella shadowed most of his face, Aline caught a glimpse of his sharp, chiseled features-an elegant nose, pale lips slick with rain-and his hands: long, lean fingers with defined knuckles, exuding a quiet, deadly grace.
They were the hands of someone built for violence.
Then their eyes met.
His were dark-so dark they seemed bottomless. Narrow and deep-set, with slightly upturned corners like a phoenix’s. Beautiful, yes. But devoid of life.
There was no warmth, no flicker of emotion. Just cold detachment, as if nothing in the world could stir him.
He was clearly here for the funeral, yet his face was unreadable. No sorrow. No joy. Nothing.
The man holding the umbrella bowed slightly and said with deference, “Mr. Fuentes, this way.”
‘Mr. Fuentes?’ Aline’s heart skipped. ‘He’s from the Fuentes family?’
Before she could react, the man had already walked past her.
Only when she got back to her car did she realize her palms were covered in cold sweat.
She pulled out her phone. There was a message from Clayton.
Clayton: [My mom and Tanisha have left. Come back when you’re done with the urn arrangements. We need to talk.]
Aline stared at the message for a long moment, then started the engine and drove back to the villa.
Inside, Clayton was sitting on the couch. As soon as he saw her walk in, he stood and approached.
“Did you get your parents’ ashes taken care of?”
“They’ve been settled,” she replied, her tone flat.
“My mom… she’s just old, a little superstitious. She didn’t mean to upset you.” He gently reached out, pulling her into
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Chapter 6
his arms. “Aline, I’m sorry. I know today was hard. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Make it up to me? A wave of quiet sorrow welled in her chest.
His embrace was warm-but it chilled her to the bone.
Because the people who had truly been wronged today weren’t her. They were her parents.
Heroes who gave their lives for their country. And even in death, their ashes weren’t welcome in their daughter’s
home.
What could Clayton possibly offer that would make up for that?
There was a time she had clung to his warmth, told herself it meant safety, told herself it was loye.
But now, she saw it clearly: it was nothing more than a hollow comfort.
Aline gently pushed him away and looked him in the eyes-this man she had once loved. “Clayton… let’s get a di- vorce.”
Clayton frowned. “Divorce? Just because my mom wouldn’t let you bring your parents’ ashes into the house?”
He said it like it was nothing-like it wasn’t worth getting upset about.
A coldness spread through Aline’s chest. In that moment, she knew-there was no point holding on to hope for this
man anymore.
“It’s not just that,” she said calmly. “There’s also Joyce. If we get divorced, you’ll finally be free to marry her.”
“I told you-Joyce and I are just friends. Stop reading into things,” he said, clearly irritated.
Aline almost laughed. It was ridiculous. Everyone could see there was more between him and Joyce, but he insisted on hiding behind the word “friend” to cover up the truth.
“I’m tired, Clayton,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I don’t want to keep going with a marriage like this.”
There was no greater sorrow than the death of love. And hers had died long ago.
