Chapter 1: The Funeral

Veronica Beckett did not cry during the funeral. She did not cry when the casket was lowered into the ground. She did not cry when the first shovelful of earth hit the lid with a thud. She did not cry when the whispers started.

She stood still, dressed in black that fit too well to be called mourning. Her hands were folded in front of her, fingers laced together, unmoving. Anyone watching would think she felt nothing. Most of them had already decided she didn't.

"She has not shed a single tear." The whisper traveled. It was not intended to be discreet. Veronica heard it. She heard all of them.

"She's always been like that." "Cold." "Heartless." "Poor man did not stand a chance."

A few steps behind her, her father stood with his wife, composed and distant, as if this were an obligation he intended to fulfill. Her stepsister lingered close by, her gaze shifting between Veronica and the man standing next to her. On the other side, the Sterlings stood together. Closer. Mrs. Sterling leaned into her husband, her face was turned away. It was as if she could not quite bring herself to look at the casket.

Veronica didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. She could feel the difference in families, the warmth in the Sterlings and the placidity in the Becketts.

Her gaze stayed on the grave.

Her husband. The word didn't feel right to her. It never had. Not in the months since the accident. Not now, not ever. It felt like something borrowed. Something that had never quite belonged to her.

The wind shifted, cool against her skin. It carried the scent of damp earth and crushed lilies. Still, she did not move. She did not give them what they were expecting, a teardrop, a break, anything. Because if she let it start, she was not sure she could stop it. And Veronica Beckett did not lose control. Not here, in front of them. Not in his presence.

She felt him before she saw him, a presence settling beside her, solid, guarded, and close enough to be unavoidable.

Alden Sterling.

As next of kin, he had stood beside her since the service began. Not with his family.

Slowly, Veronica turned her head. Their eyes met. His gaze didn't move. Then it dropped briefly to her chest. The movement was small. Gone almost instantly. But she noticed. Of course she did. Her fingers tightened slightly against each other.

He knew. That beneath the black dress, beneath the composure, beneath everything she refused to show…

His brother's heart was beating.

Adrian's heart.

Keeping her alive.

And still, the way he looked at her hadn't changed. Steady. Unforgiving.

"You should at least pretend." His voice was low. Even. Too steady to be mistaken for calm.

Veronica held his gaze for a moment. Then looked away. "I'm not interested in performing grief."

His jaw tightened. "Of course not. That would require you to feel something." 

She kept her eyes on the grave. "You're right. This must be very convenient for you."

A flicker crossed Alden’s expression, then gone almost immediately. “Convenient?”

"Yes." She glanced at him briefly, then away again. "It's easier to hate me this way."

"It doesn't change anything." The words sat quietly and firmly between them. Her breath paused. Just for a moment.

Then she answered, meeting his gaze. "You're right, you've already decided." She held it. "There's no need for me to argue."

He didn't move. People had started to drift away now, though not far enough to stop watching. They wouldn't. Not yet.

"Veronica."

She turned slightly. Her stepsister stood a few feet away, hands clasped together, uncertainty written plainly across her face. And beneath that, expectation.

"I'll speak to you later," she said to Alden. "Excuse me."

She stepped away before he could respond. The distance opened between them. It didn’t ease anything. As she moved, she could still feel his gaze, steady and unrelenting.

* * *

The car door shut with a muted click, and the outside world dulled instantly, voices cut off and movement reduced to shadows beyond the glass. Veronica exhaled, just enough. Her fingers loosened in her lap, slowly uncurling. For a moment, she let her head rest back.

Her eyes closed. Then,

A phone call.

Her assistant's voice. Adrian's name. An accident.

Then the last thing she had said to him that morning.

The way she had said it.

Her body gave out before she could speak.

Her eyes opened. No. Not here. Not now. She straightened immediately, spine aligning, expression settling back into place.

As the car began to move, the cemetery slipped behind iron gates and disappeared from view. Inside, everything settled back into place, except for one thing.

Her hand lifted, almost without thought, resting lightly against her chest, over her heart. Her fingers stilled there, just long enough to feel it.

Alive.

She lowered her hand slowly. Her gaze shifted to the window, catching her reflection, calm and distant, unchanged. As if nothing inside her had ever fractured. As if nothing inside her had ever been replaced.

At the edge of the cemetery, Alden Sterling remained where she had left him, watching the car disappear through the gates. He didn't move as the others left around him, not when the voices faded, not even when the last car pulled away.

Only when the gates closed did his hand shift slightly, almost unintentionally, resting briefly against his chest, then dropping back to his side.