"What''s the connection between Chairman Montgomery and Giselle?"


    "Was Chairman Montgomery''s ident really just an ident, or...?"


    "Now that Chairman Montgomery is gone, what changes will there be at Montgomery Holdings? Pleasement!"


    "Ms. M, can you tell us-?"


    The barrage of cameras and microphones pressed in from all sides, reporters pelting her with question after question, the noise so suffocating she could barely breathe, let alone speak. Her chest felt about to burst. Only when a team of bodyguards forced the crowd back and Leonard ushered her into the waiting car did she get a moment of relief.


    Leonard nced at her, apologetic. "I''m sorry. Word still got out.”


    M just shook her head.


    There was no hiding a story like this: the current head of the Montgomery family, chairman of the board, dying suddenly and in public-at a g, no less, with half the city''s social elite in attendance. It was impossible to keep something so big under wraps.


    But she never imagined that, under these circumstances, her own rtionship with Lysander would be exposed as well. What did it matter now, with him gone? The living and the dead were worlds apart; nothing else seemed to matter.


    Kingsford Peace Grove. A fine, misty rain blurred the world.


    Clutching a white rose, M stood at the head of the small crowd, dressed in ck. Leonard stood quietly at her side, holding a ck umbre over her to shield her from the rain.


    M turned her head slightly, ncing back at the others.


    This funeral hadn''t been announced to the public; only the Montgomery family''s closest rtives had been invited, and even most of the business associates had been left off the list. Oddly, none of the main family showed up at all.


    Carrol, Lysander''s cousin and closest friend, wasn''t there—maybe he was away on duty with the military, that would make sense. But Conrad hadn''te either. Felicity''s absence could be exined if she hadn''t heard the news, but Conrad was Lysander''s father. How could he not be here? M didn''t know what to think.


    Heartless? That didn''t sound right.


    Maybe she was still numb from everything that had happened. Staring at Lysander''s faded portrait on the headstone, M felt as if none of this was real.


    What was she even doing?


    Attending Lysander''s funeral?


    That impossibly strong, always-in-control man, now lying underground forever-it was just too absurd.


    She let the white rose fall gently onto the grave.


    The solemn image of a woman in a ck dress standing alone at a gravesite, white rose in hand, was captured in a thousand photos. By dawn, the news had exploded online-not just about Lysander''s funeral, but also the rumor that he''d been secretly married for seven years.


    M, at the center of it all, felt nothing.


    After the funeral, she was handed a new phone with a recement SIM card. The screen lit up with a flurry of messages, but one caught her eye: a notification that the divorce application had been withdrawn-the day after she''d secretly left the country, Lysander had filed to cancel it.


    But none of that mattered now.


    He was gone.


    As the world outside the car window sped by, M''s mind wandered back to thosest, heated arguments with Lysander not long ago, when she''d shouted, in a fit of anger, that she wished he were dead. She never


    imagined those words would


    be reality.


    All she ever wanted was a little freedom, never to hurt anyone. So why did things


    always turn out this way?


    Now, she finally had her freedom.


    She should be happy. So why couldn''t she make a sound?


    Why did it feel as if every sound in the world had faded away?


    ...


    That evening, the car stopped in front of Crimson Gardens.


    She stopped Leonard from following her in, took a steadying breath, and stepped inside the house she''d lived in for seven years-a ce that was at once achingly familiar and now somehow foreign.


    Harper met her at the door, eyes red.


    "Ma''am-?"


    M shook her head, silencing whatever Harper had been about to say. She climbed the stairs slowly, finally stopping outside her son''s bedroom.


    She pushed the door open.


    The room was dark; no lights on.


    If she listened closely, she could hear the faint sound of stifled sobbing. M walked in, quietly closing the door behind her, plunging the room into deeper shadow.


    She fumbled for the little nightlight, and with a soft click, its warm glow filled the darkness. There, on the floor, Adrián sat hunched over a


    broken model airne, S


    shaking. M walked to him and gently ced a hand on his small back, but he jerked away.


    Adrian turned, about to shout, but then he saw her face. His red-rimmed eyes grew even wider.


    "M-mom..."


    He grabbed her hand, the same hand he''d just pushed away. His eyes-so much like his father''s-shone with tears. "Mom, the model ne Dad gave me is broken. I can''t fix it, no matter what I do. I just can''t..."


    M couldn''t find any words.


    She didn''t know what to say. All she could do was pull her son into her arms and gently rub his trembling back, holding him close in silentfort.


    The boy whimpered softly.


    "I won''t cry, Mom. I promised Dad I wouldn''t. I''m supposed to be brave-he said real men don''t cry."


    "But..."


    "But I''m so sad, Mom."


    "I''m really, really sad. Dad never lied to me before. He promised he wouldn''t, but why won''t hee home?"


    "Dad''s a liar!"


    Adrian''s wails pierced the air, shattering the numb fog that had wrapped itself around M''s heart Everything suddenly felt painfully real. She hugged her son tighter, soothing him as best she could. And as she did, for the first time, her own tear slipped free, tracing down her cheek before falling into his tousled hair.