Chapter 7

Time flew by. In the blink of an eye, three days had passed. In all that time, Claire, as Ruby's mother, hadn't made a single call to ask how Ruby was doing.

32, Falcon Ridge was the address of Ravelton's funeral home.

The sky was a solid sheet of gray with low clouds pressing down as if they might crush the world. A howling wind tore past, whipping the trees into a frenzy, making the leaves hiss and rustle. Still, the rain held off.

The weather at that moment was just like Tristan's grief-stricken heart. His sorrow surged like a tidal wave, wild and overwhelming. Yet it was as if his tears were blockaded by a dam—they refused to flow, no matter how heartbroken he was.

The funeral home staff slowly carried Ruby's body out and set her down to the side so her family could say their final goodbyes.

Tristan's legs felt like they were filled with lead as he dragged himself forward, one heavy step at a time. When he finally reached her side, his hands trembled as he lifted the white sheet. Ruby's familiar yet bloodless face came into view once more.

In that instant, every ounce of grief, longing, and reluctance to part crashed over him all at once. He couldn't hold back his agony anymore and broke down like a child, sobbing out loud.

His wails were gut-wrenching, echoing through the funeral home as if he were trying to pour out every last bit of pain that was bottled up inside his heart.

Maybe even the heavens were moved by his misery. Lightning and thunder suddenly split the gloomy sky, and the clouds finally burst. A torrential downpour came crashing down. Huge raindrops hammered against the ground, exploding into sprays of water.

One of the staff members let out a soft sigh when they saw Tristan fall apart like that. "Sir, I'm so sorry for your loss, but it's time for the body to be moved for cremation."

Heath hurried forward and grabbed Tristan's arm, steadying him. "Tristan, she's gone. You've gotta take care of yourself. Don't let the grief consume you…"

Tristan checked the time, then looked off into the distance. Claire still hadn't shown up. His heart froze over as he nodded.

The staff wheeled Ruby's body away and carefully pushed her into the cremator. As the heavy metal door slowly shut, Tristan felt like his own heart was sinking into a bottomless abyss.

His face turned steely, and the rage inside him erupted like a volcano. He let out a harsh, bitter laugh, his voice shaking with fury. "Claire Grayson, I never thought that your so-called true love was all that mattered to you. Our daughter just got sent to be cremated, and you couldn't even be bothered to come see her one last time!

"I gave you a chance. I told you to come to 32, Falcon Ridge, and you chose not to. You refused to even look at Ruby one last time. Your heart is made of stone!"

…

On the other side of town, Claire was equally furious. Her beautiful face was dark with anger, and her brows were drawn tight.

"That bastard Tristan has really got some nerve! He's gone three days without coming home, and he hasn't even called to apologize! Even if he gets down on his knees and begs me this time, I'm not forgiving him!"

Standing beside her, Adrian wore a faint, smug smirk. He said soothingly, "Claire, why bother getting mad over a guy like that? He's nothing more than a mutt wagging his tail at your feet.

"Give it a little time—he'll come crawling back. He'll drop to his knees in front of you and beg for forgiveness. Come on, don't let him ruin your mood. How about I take you to Skyline Mall and buy you some new makeup?"

As he spoke, he gently took her hand, his gaze tender and warm.

Claire's anger eased a little at that. She shot him a playful look, then smiled sweetly and reached up to carefully straighten his collar. "If only that useless piece of trash were half as thoughtful as you, Adrian. We've been married for years, and he's never once bought me any makeup."

She ended with a soft sigh, a flicker of disappointment and resignation flashing through her eyes. She'd conveniently forgotten that every time Tristan did buy her something, she always found some excuse to reject it—either it was too cheap, too tacky, or not classy enough for her.

Adrian laced his fingers through hers and led her down the stairs, the two of them chatting and laughing as they walked.

From a distance, Gordon spotted them coming down the stairs, still holding hands. His face darkened instantly. When they got close, he jabbed a finger at Claire and roared, "Claire, how many times have I told you that you're a married woman? How can you be holding hands with some other man like this? What do you think you're doing?"

Instead of backing down under Gordon's reprimand, Claire only tightened her hold on Adrian's hand. She lifted her chin and locked eyes with Gordon, her voice sharp and defiant. "Grandpa, I'm not a child anymore. My life is my own, and I don't need you meddling in it!"

With that, she turned and walked off with Adrian, leaving Gordon standing there, trembling with anger.

As Gordon watched Claire's figure grow smaller in the distance, he let out a long, helpless sigh. He muttered to himself, "Forget it. Maybe I really am getting too old to keep my own granddaughter in line anymore."

He slowly shook his head, his face lined with loneliness and sorrow. Then he left the house, too.

He'd learned that a friend of his had suddenly passed away. He decided to go to the funeral home in person to pay his final respects, so he called the family driver and told him to take him there.

…

Ruby's remains had already been cremated and sealed into an urn.

Outside, the sky had opened up completely. Sheets of rain pounded the earth. Huge raindrops hammered against everything in sight, drumming out a deafening roar.

Tristan clutched Ruby's cold urn tightly to his chest, walking forward through the curtain of rain. Every step felt heavy, as if it took everything he had just to move his feet.

Tears streamed down uncontrollably from his eyes, mingling with the relentless downpour. They ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the soaked ground.

Heath followed close behind, holding an umbrella as high as he could to shield Tristan from the storm, but the rain was coming down so hard that his effort barely made a difference.

Heath's heart ached with grief and helplessness as he stared at Tristan's desolate back. He said hoarsely, "Tristan, I bought a burial plot with a good view for Ruby. Let's go lay her to rest properly."

Tristan lifted his head a little when he heard that. His empty, lifeless eyes dropped to the urn he was hugging so tightly. After a long moment, he gave a faint nod.

The two of them trudged on in silence, heading toward the burial plot. Just as they were about to reach there, Tristan stopped.

A black sedan was slowly pulling up not far ahead. It rolled to a stop by the side of the road. The door opened, and Gordon climbed out with the driver's help. The rain was so fierce that his expensive overcoat was soaked through almost instantly.

The moment Gordon stepped out, his eyes locked on the urn in Tristan's arms. He froze, puzzled by why Tristan was at the funeral home. Whose ashes was he holding?

An awful sense of dread washed over him.

Gordon ignored the downpour and hurried toward Tristan as fast as his legs would carry him. His face was twisted with shock, and his voice was strained with nerves as he asked, "Tristan, whose… whose ashes are those?"