The sky shouldn't have been so blue on the day Damien Voss was buried.
It felt wrong — disrespectful, almost. Like the universe was mocking the grief painted across the estate. Rows of black umbrellas lined the garden, glossy and trembling under the spring wind. The Voss family banner hung over the casket, gold thread glinting in the sun.
Evelyn stood at the front like a porcelain doll someone had forgotten to put away. Her veil fluttered around her face, sticking to her tearstained cheeks. Her wedding dress — the one she should've worn walking down the aisle — had been replaced with a long black gown that made her feel like she was attending her own funeral too.
Elena stood beside her, hand brushing Evelyn's wrist for comfort.
"Breathe," Elena whispered. "You're shaking."
"I'm very fine," Evelyn murmured — but she wasn't.
She hadn't slept.
She couldn't eat.
And every time she closed her eyes, she saw Damien's heartless body again, pale and empty.
Sirens, blood, screams.
His mother collapsing.
Her own mind breaking like glass.
His heart… gone. Ripped out.
Her stomach twisted so violently she thought she might faint.
----
Detective Hale stepped toward her once the casket was set down. His slate-gray suit was rumpled, his expression grim.
"Ms. Moreau," he greeted quietly. "We need to go over a few more details."
Evelyn swallowed. "Now?"
"It's best we keep the investigation active." He lowered his voice. "The brutality of the wound… the missing heart… we cannot rule anything out."
Evelyn's fingers tightened around the funeral program until it bent. She felt Elena step closer protectively.
"What exactly do you think happened?" Elena snapped. "Who the hell rips out someone's heart?"
The detective exhaled slowly. "Someone strong. Someone violent. Someone who wanted Damien dead in the most symbolic way possible."
Evelyn felt her vision tilt. Symbolic.
The word lodged in her throat.
Hale continued, "We found no weapon. No signs of struggle in the hall. And the body was positioned deliberately."
A shiver scraped down Evelyn's spine.
"Deliberately how?" she whispered.
Hale hesitated.
"His arms were crossed over his chest. Eyes open. Like someone… posed him."
Elena swore under her breath.
Evelyn felt bile rise in her throat. Damien hadn't just been killed. He'd been arranged. Displayed.
Like a warning.
Or a message.
But from who?
THE FUNERAL BEGINS
The priest started speaking. Words Evelyn couldn't hear, couldn't feel, couldn't process. The casket lid lowered slowly, painfully, as if time itself wanted to drag out the moment.
Lady Voss sobbed into a lace handkerchief, trembling so hard she had to be held upright.
Lord Voss stood beside her like a statue carved from grief and rage.
But even grief couldn't hide the sharp quick glances they kept throwing Evelyn's way.
Blame was a heavy thing.
And she could feel it sticking to her like tar.
Elena squeezed her hand harder.
"Evelyn," she murmured, "they're going to turn on you. You know that, right?"
Evelyn didn't answer. She didn't need to. She knew it more than anyone.
------
The whispers started right after the burial.
Two women near the garden path hushed their voices:
"I heard the other brother is coming."
"Ruven? God help us."
"He's worse than Damien ever was. Violent. Cold. The kind of man who doesn't blink when someone cries."
"I heard he was expelled from two academies."
"Expelled? Please. The Vosses paid to keep him out of prison."
Elena stiffened. "The fuck are they talking about?"
Evelyn didn't know.
But her blood ran cold.
She had always heard there was another son — the one who never visited, never came to family events, never seemed to exist at all.
Ruven Voss.
Damien mentioned him once, with irritation.
"He's a fucking problem. That's all you need to know."
Another whisper drifted to her:
"He'll have to step in now. He's the next heir."
Evelyn's stomach twisted sharply.
No.
No, surely not.
She would NOT be forced into another arrangement—
"Elena," she whispered, voice thin, "why is everyone acting like he's… dangerous?"
Elena glanced around, then leaned in.
"There are rumors. Fights. Gambling. Violence. Some girl years ago ended up in a hospital after being seen with him." She paused. "He's not someone you marry. He's someone you avoid."
Evelyn's pulse throbbed painfully.
As if her life wasn't already shredded enough.
THE BLACK CAR ARRIVES
The crunch of gravel snapped everyone's attention toward the gate.
A sleek black car rolled in — silent, predatory, too slow, too controlled. The kind of car that made people straighten instinctively.
Lady Voss gasped.
"Oh God," she whispered. "He's here."
Evelyn felt a cold ripple spread through the crowd. Like fear. Like warning.
The car door opened.
A man stepped out.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Dressed in a black suit sharper than broken glass.
His face was a harder, colder version of Damien's — sculpted angles, emotionless eyes, jaw tight with disdainful irritation.
Ruven Voss.
He didn't look grief-stricken.
He didn't look shocked.
He didn't look upset.
He looked… annoyed.
As if this funeral was an inconvenience he'd been dragged to.
Heads lowered as he walked past, but not out of respect — out of fear.
Evelyn's breath caught.
His eyes flicked to her — slow, assessing, invasive — and she felt her stomach drop like a stone thrown into water.
Elena grabbed her arm.
"Evie," she whispered urgently. "Don't look at him. Don't give him anything."
But Evelyn couldn't look away.
Because Ruven Voss looked at her the same way Damien used to.
Like she was a possession.
A problem.
A woman he already considered part of his world.
And something in his expression — the faint curl of his mouth, the chill in his stare — made her realize:
Things were about to get worse.
Much, MUCH worse.