Three weeks had passed since Julia Augustine’s passing, yet the world still felt hollow to Sarah.
Every morning, she woke to the same quiet emptiness that followed loss — the silence of a house once filled with Julia’s voice, her laughter, her firm but gentle presence.
Now, that warmth was gone.
The day of the burial arrived beneath a dull, gray sky that threatened rain. London had turned out in full to honor its fallen icon.
Streets were lined with black cars, and the air carried a low murmur of grief mixed with curiosity.
Reporters crowded discreetly outside St. William’s Cathedral, where the funeral mass was held, whispering about the life and empire of the woman they called The Iron Matriarch of Business.
Inside the cathedral, chandeliers glimmered softly over a sea of dark s
