chapter four

The cemetery was too quiet for New York.

Wind skimmed across the grass in thin, cold ribbons, carrying the scent of autumn and the distant sound of city traffic a reminder that life, real life, continued somewhere far away from the place where Clara Langford stood trembling beneath a gray sky.

Three headstones.

Three names carved into cold marble.

No bodies beneath them,No coffins.

Just symbols. Empty symbols meant to represent lives stolen by fire and gravity.

Edward Langford.

Eleanor Langford.

Liam Langford.

Her father,Her mother,Her baby brother.

The markers were arranged in a perfect line, as if the universe insisted on torturing her with the illusion of order in the midst of chaos.

Clara stood before them wrapped in a borrowed black coat, the collar pulled tight around her throat. The fabric was too big, swallowing her slender frame. Her eyes were hollow, shadowed by sleepless nights and the exhaustion of grief that no amount of rest could repair.

Snow, Liam’s little white dog, pressed against her leg, whining softly, as if he too knew this arrangement of stone meant something final.

A priest murmured prayers she barely heard. His voice was distant, blurred by the ringing in her ears. Photographers lurked behind the cemetery gates, their cameras ready to feed off tragedy like vultures.

Clara ignored them.

Her focus remained fixed on the names burned into her memory long before they were etched into marble.

She stared at her father’s headstone first.

Ethan Langford.

The man who once seemed invincible, very powerful..

The man who used to carry her on his shoulders while Liam ran after them shouting, “My turn! My turn!”

She remembered the warmth of his laugh.

The way he smelled of cedar and peppermint.

The steady way he said, “Morning, princess,” every single day.

Her throat tightened.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking before the words even formed. “I didn’t even know you were drowning dad”

Bankruptcy. Debt. Desperation.

Things he hid behind tailored suits and soft smiles,Dang ,he was so jovial .

He carried burdens alone until the sky stole him away.

Her gaze shifted next to her mother’s stone.

Eleanor Langford.

Very Beautiful, Gentle, Soft-spoken, A woman who painted sunlight better than the sun itself.

A woman who always smelled of lavender oil ,when she bakes in the kitchen it’s just so beautiful watching her ...

Clara’s fingers trembled as she clutched the cracked silver necklace around her neck the one that had been found near the wreckage. Her mother wore it every day of her life, and now Clara wore it like a wounded heartbeat.

“I miss you,” she whispered. “So much that it even hurts so much to breathe.”

Then her eyes fell on the last headstone.

Liam Langford,Her little brother.

Her best friend,Her shadow,Her Buddy .

Her reason to laugh when the world felt heavy.

His headstone was smaller, but somehow it hurt the most.

Clara sank to her knees, hand trembling as she traced his carved name.

“I’m sorry, Liam,” she whispered, her voice cracked and small. “I should’ve protected you.”

Her vision blurred until she saw nothing but liquid grief. She pressed her forehead against the cold stone, her tears soaking into the carved letters.

The priest paused in his prayer as her quiet sobs broke through the silence. Snow whined louder, pawing at her, confused and grieving in the only way a small dog could.

Clara wiped her tears with cold fingers, but they kept coming, flowing silently like a broken river. She was numb and burning all at once.

The priest gently brought the ceremony to an end. “May their souls find eternal peace,” he murmured. “And may you find healing in the days to come.”

Healing. She sighed ,the idea felt absurd.

Nothing about this was healable.

Nothing could fill the hole carved into her chest.

When the priest walked away, Clara remained kneeling before the gravestones long after the last prayer faded into the wind.

Minutes passed.

Maybe hours.

She couldn’t tell.

Her breaths came in shaky waves, but she forced herself to stay. She needed to be here,she needed to give them something resembling a goodbye, even if the world stole their bodies from her.

The sky darkened as clouds gathered overhead. The cemetery grew colder, quieter, heavier.

Clara finally stood on trembling legs.

She brushed dirt from her knees and placed three white roses at each headstone ,white, because her mother always said white flowers were a symbol of hope.

A cruel irony.

She turned away, intending to leave, but her breath caught in her throat.

Someone was watching her. She felt it.

At first, she thought it might be another reporter. They had been trailing her since the news of the Langford bankruptcy leaked, hungry for photos of the “fallen heiress.”

But this felt different.

This presence was still felt so Detached, Focused entirely on her. Like he wanted to tell her something.

She slowly lifted her gaze toward the line of tall oak trees bordering the cemetery.

A man stood half-hidden between their shadows.

Tall, Broad-shouldered ,Dressed in black.

At first, she thought he might be a mourner from another funeral—someone who simply paused in the wrong direction.

But he wasn’t looking at the graves.

He was looking directly at her ,a very cold stare .

His posture was rigid, tense, as if he was fighting an urge to step closer but forced himself not to.

A gust of wind pushed his hair slightly, revealing the sharp shape of his jaw, the pale glint of his eyes,eyes that didn’t look like they belonged to a stranger.

They held something familiar.

Something unsettling.

Something almost… remorseful.

Clara’s breath lodged in her throat.

The man didn’t blink.

Didn’t look away.

Snow growled softly, his body pressing protectively against Clara’s leg.

She took an involuntary step back, her heart pounding.

The man noticed.

His expression changed not dramatically, just a subtle tightening of the mouth, a flicker of something like pain in his eyes.

As if her fear hurt him.

He lowered his gaze briefly, as though battling with himself, then stepped back into the shadows.

Clara froze.

“Wait sir ” she whispered, though she didn’t quite understand why the word slipped out.

The man paused mid-step.

But he didn’t return.

Didn’t reveal himself.

Didn’t explain why he was standing in the shadows watching the funeral of a family he couldn’t possibly know.

He simply vanished between the trees, swallowed by the gray horizon.

Clara stood frozen, staring at the spot where he disappeared.

Her heartbeat thudded loud in her ears.

For a moment, she wondered if the exhaustion was making her hallucinate, and make her see things .

But Snow barked sharply in the direction the man had gone.

He saw him too.

Clara swallowed hard.

Something wasn’t right,she felt it in her chest

Who was that man?

Why was he watching her?

Why did his eyes feel strangely familiar ,so familiar it hurt?

The wind howled through the cemetery, shivering through her coat.

Clara gripped the cracked necklace, suddenly aware that her life was shifting again ,moving toward something darker, sharper, and far more tangled than grief.

She took one last look at the gravestones, whispered a trembling goodbye, and turned toward the gates.

She didn’t know it yet.

But she wasn’t as alone as she believed.

And the man in the shadows…

Was only the beginning.

Because someone had been watching her long before today,

And someone wasn’t ready to let her go.

Not yet.

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