Graves And Leashes

CHAPTER 11

(Graves And Leashes)

The graveyard had not been built for chaos. It should have been a place of whispers, bowed heads, and petals tossed in silence.

Instead it had become a stage.

William approached closer, and hauled Anna out of the pit with steady ruthless strength. His arm wrapped firm around her wrist, dragging her trembling frame into the open air as the crowd gasped. 

Her frightened sobs muffled against his hard chest. Dirt streaked her pale cheeks, her dark dress, she looked small and fragile like porcelain dropped on stone.  

But she was alive in his grip.

The noise hadn't yet settled when his gaze snapped to Margaret, whose mouth was still open from the curses she'd hurled at Anna. Her face twisted with fury.

The crowd gasped… then shrieked as William's hand turned on Margaret.

Before she could react, before Vincent could shield her, William shoved.

Margaret screamed, stumbling backward, her heels sinking in the loose soil. Then she tipped forward, collapsing into the grave meant for her daughter.

The audience erupted… flashes from cameras bursting like lightning, reporters shouting, mourners covering their mouths. Margaret scrambled on her knees, veil torn, hair wild, clawing at the dirt.

William stood above her, his dark silhouette framed against the sky. His voice, low and steady, carried over the chaos.

“That,” he said coldly, “is where venom belongs.” 

A ripple of shock silenced even the cameras.

Helena's lips split into a wicked smile where she sat, Nyx the cat purring against her arm. 

Oliver cursed under his breath. Olivia darted to Anna's side, whispering soft reassurances as if to tether her back from shattering. Camille stood frozen, one hand pressed over her mouth.

Vincent leapt into the grave, trying to pull his wife out as she spat curses. “How dare you! How dare you humiliate me like this—”

But William didn't flinch. He tightened his hold on Anna's arm keeping her shielded behind him as his eyes swept the crowd, daring anyone to challenge what they had seen.

The humiliation was complete. The damage… irreversible. And William knew it.

*******

By evening, the Fairchild drawing room became the ultimate battlefield.

Heavy velvet curtains muffled the outside world. The fire hissed in the fireplace, its glow sharp against polished wood and gilded frames.

Two families sat in uneasy opposition, shadows stretching long against mahogany and velvet.

Edward Fairchild in his commanding chair, Katherine like a cold statue at his side. Oliver lounged at the mantel, Olivia planted close to Anna, protective. William remained silent, every line of him taut with control.

Across from them, Margaret seethed, her gown torn, dirt smudged across her face. Vincent sat stiff beside her, jaw locked in shame. Helena sprawled elegantly with Nyx at her feet, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

The fire snapped in the hearth, the only sound before Edward's voice split the room.

“Do you comprehend what you've done today?”

It wasn't a question. It was a sentence.

Margaret scoffed. “What I did,” she snapped, “was to reveal the truth! That girl—” she jabbed a finger at Anna, “is an intruder wearing my daughter's crown. She doesn't belong in our circle, at your table, or bear this family's name.”

Anna flinched, her throat tight. Olivia's hand covered hers, squeezing fiercely.

William's gaze remained locked on Margaret, unreadable stone.

Katherine's words cut sharp. “You humiliated us all. And you disgraced yourself Margaret. Half the city saw you clawing at dirt like a madwoman. You didn't mourn your daughter today… you made a circus of your own daughter's funeral.”

Margaret slammed her hand down on the armrest.

“My daughter is dead! And you all expect me to smile while this pale imposter seats where Lauren should be. Lauren's blood is barely dry, and already Anna is parading herself around the place as though she earned it!”

Her voice cracked, part grief, part venom. “If you cannot see what she is, then you're all blind. She was hidden away for a reason. A disgrace. An embarrassing stain we were forced to endure.” 

Anna bit her lip hard enough to taste iron. The words sank deep. 

But William didn't move. His face is stone.

Then Helena's soft laugh cut through the tension. “If you ask me,” she drawled, stroking Nyx, “Anna looked rather well in that grave. It suited her more than the gown did.” 

Olivia shot up, fury flashing in her eyes. 

“How dare you—”

But Helena only smiled, unbothered. “Sit your ass down Liv.”

“Margaret,” Edward snapped, reclaiming control. His voice deepened, steel and disgust entwined. 

“Do you realize the damage? Do you realize how close you came to destroying both families? The press is feasting on today's scene. 

You've shredded your daughter's memory worse than any rumor could. The alliances we've built, the power we've secured… you've undone years of work in a single afternoon.”

Margaret sneered, unrepentant. “Don't speak to me of memory. You speak of power and reputation while Lauren rots. 

That is all you care about. Not people. Not love. Not feelings.

All of you cared more for appearances than for her. So don't you dare lecture me Edward.”

Edward's voice dropped, lethal. “Vincent.”

Her husband flinched.

Edward leaned forward, eyes narrowing into lethal slits. “What drugs is your wife on, Vincent?”

The words dropped like an executioner's blade.

Vincent stiffened, shame and exhaustion etched in his face. His hands tightening on his knees. “She's grieving.”

“She is destroying you,” Edward shot back.

He jabbed a finger across the space, pointing at Margaret. “This woman will ruin everything you've built if you don't put her on a leash. A short one.”

Margaret gasped as though slapped. “Leash? How dare you—”

“Be quiet!” Edward roared, his authority shaking the air. “You are not in control here. You never were.” 

“If you don't want a leash then perhaps you should stop acting like a mad dog, that's always ready to launch an attack on everyone.” Daniel said coolly, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Keep quiet! Shut your mouth!” Margaret retorted.

Daniel's smirk only grew wider. He knew he had struck a raw nerve.

The fire crackled hard, trembling under the weight of Margaret's glare.

“I see what you all are doing. You're all ganging up on me all because of this bastard.” Margaret spat, turning her hate filled eyes to Anna.

Anna's chest hurt. Olivia sprang to her defense, rising to her feet.

“Don't you dare speak of her that way,” Olivia snapped, her usually bubbly tone replaced by sharp steel. “Anna didn't do anything wrong. You humiliated her today. You humiliated all of us.”

Oliver pushed off the many, voice dry, laced with contempt. “She doesn't care about humiliation, Liv. She's too drunk on her own bile.”

Margaret's eyes narrowed, darting between the siblings, her fury igniting hotter.

But then William's voice cut through—quiet, deliberate, each syllable a blade.

“If anyone,” he said, his eyes locked on Margaret then swept to Helena, “lays a hand on my wife again… they won't just taste dirt.”

He leaned back, gaze glinting with cold fire.

“They'll be buried in it.”

The words landed like a verdict.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Margaret's lips parted, but no sound emerged. Helena's smile faltered, Nyx hissing at the sudden shift in air. Vincent sat rigid, shame sinking him into the cushions.

Edward exhaled, satisfied. Katherine's lips curved in the barest ghost of approval. Oliver muttered something like “finally” beneath his breath.

Daniel and Camille just sat by the corner, quietly observing all that transpired.

And Anna sat frozen, William's words wrapping around her like chains of iron.

For the first time, Margaret looked unsettled.

For the first time, Helena's eyes dimmed.

And for the first time… Anna felt untouchable.

Yet William knew this war was only beginning.

Because snakes never die with one strike. 

They bid. They wait.

And then… they strike again.