The Burial

Elise's POV

Jade's smile collapsed the moment she saw me. She fumbled with her phone and cut the live, standing up so fast the chair rolled back and hit the wall.

"Mrs. Reeds," she said, her voice suddenly small. "I didn't know you were — he's in a meeting, I was just—"

"Stop." I set the lingerie on the desk between us. "I'm not here for an explanation."

She looked at the lingerie. Then back at me.

The nervous act dissolved. Just like that — like a mask slipping sideways — the wide eyes and the trembling lip disappeared and what replaced it was something cold and almost amused.

"Oops," she said, and picked up the lingerie like it was hers to handle. Because it was.

I looked at her. "You feel no shame at all."

She shrugged, turning the bracelet over on her wrist. "Why should I? You're the one he's cheating on. That's your problem, not mine."

I moved before I thought about it. My palm landed across her cheek with a crack that rang off the walls.

Jade's head snapped sideways.

For one second she just stood there, hand pressed to her face, eyes blazing with something that wasn't pain — it was calculation. Then she crumpled. Slowly, deliberately, like a building choosing which way to fall. She sank to the floor clutching her cheek and cried out.

"Please, Mrs. Reeds, I'm sorry — I didn't ask for this, please—"

I watched her perform.

"Now you want mercy," I said flatly.

I saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

The door burst open.

Adrian came in already furious, his eyes going straight to Jade on the floor, his face rearranging into something I had never seen directed at me before — pure, unguarded contempt.

"What is this?" he snapped at me.

"Ask her," I said.

He crossed the room and helped Jade up, his hands checking her face, his voice dropping into something gentle as he asked if she was alright. He did not look at me once while he did it.

"I'm sorry, sir," Jade said softly, her eyes still wet. "Your wife misunderstood the gift. Please don't be upset with her, it's not her fault."

"Save it," I said. "You deserve a BAFTA."

"Get out." Adrian's voice was quiet. That was how I knew it was serious — not the volume but the quiet.

"Adrian—"

"Get out of my office, Elise." He stepped toward me, his jaw tight. "You do not come to my workplace and create a scene like this. Not ever."

"She is wearing the bracelet you—"

The slap came fast.

Not hard enough to knock me sideways but hard enough. The sting spread across my cheek in a slow bloom and for a moment the room went absolutely silent.

Adrian had never raised his hand to me. Seven years and he had never done that.

I pressed my fingers to my face and looked at him.

He looked back.

Neither of us said anything.

Then Jade made a small sound — sympathy wrapped in satisfaction — and Adrian broke eye contact first.

"Get out," he said again. Quieter this time. Worse.

I walked out.

—

I drove to the cemetery on autopilot, my cheek still stinging, my mind somewhere far from the road.

I found the widow near the front of the gathered crowd and stood beside her through the service, holding her hand when the pastor spoke and saying nothing because sometimes silence is the only honest thing you have to offer. She wept quietly and I stood steady and I thought about how grief looks different on everyone — hers was loud and raw and mine had been a slow leak for two years that I had only just admitted to myself was grief at all.

Then the service ended.

And I heard the tyres.

Ten SUVs. Maybe more. Moving fast, surrounding the cemetery from three sides before anyone had time to process what was happening.

The first shot split the air and the crowd dissolved — screaming, running, dropping behind headstones and each other. I turned and saw Adrian across the crowd.

He had pulled Jade down behind a marble monument, his body covering hers completely.

He didn't look for me once.

I stood there. Frozen not with fear but with something colder than fear — the specific clarity that comes when something you suspected for years is confirmed in a single image.

"Get down!"

A hand grabbed my arm and pulled me hard — I went down fast, my knees hitting the grass, and then the world tilted as something slammed into my side with a force that stole my breath entirely.

Then the pain arrived.

Sharp. Low. Spreading.

"Stay with me — hey, stay with me—"

The voice was close but the edges of it were already going soft.

I thought about the note in the glove compartment.

I thought about seven years.

Then I didn't think about anything at all.