The Funeral That Changed Everything
Serena’s POV
Grief had a way of making time feel warped—like the world was moving forward while I was trapped in the past, unable to catch up.
The funeral was almost over.
The cemetery stretched endlessly around us, rows of gravestones standing like silent sentinels, each bearing a name, a date, a life reduced to a few carved words. The sky was an unforgiving gray, heavy clouds pressing down as if mourning alongside us. The air smelled of damp earth and freshly cut grass, but beneath it lingered something colder, something final. The scent of loss.
A biting wind rustled through the trees, making the white atop Eleanor’s casket tremble. I watched them sway, delicate yet unyielding, just like she had been.
The priest’s voice droned on, solemn and composed, but his words barely registered.
My sister was gone.
I swallowed hard, my throat aching as I fought against the grief clawing its way up. I had promised myself I wouldn’t break in front of everyone. Not here. Not now. But as the casket was lowered into the ground, something inside me cracked.
A gentle touch on my shoulder made me tense. My mother.
She stood beside me, her face pale, almost lifeless, her usually sharp features softened by grief. Her eyes, swollen and red-rimmed, were fixed on the grave, as if staring hard enough could somehow bring Eleanor back. My father was next to her, his jaw set, his arm wrapped tightly around her trembling frame. He hadn’t cried. Not once. But the stiffness in his posture spoke volumes.
I turned away, my gaze drifting across the crowd until it landed on him.
Damien Laurent.
He stood a few feet away, separated from the rest, his broad shoulders rigid beneath his tailored black coat. The crisp fabric molded to his tall, commanding frame, the sharp cut emphasizing the strength he carried so effortlessly. Even in mourning, he looked composed, untouchable—an unshakable force in a world that had just fallen apart.
His dark hair, usually impeccably styled, was slightly disheveled, as if he had raked his fingers through it too many times. Shadows clung to the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the stark planes of his cheekbones and the firm set of his jaw. His features, carved with an almost cruel precision, bore no visible trace of emotion. But his hands…
His hands were curled into fists at his sides, the only sign that anything beneath his composed exterior was cracking.
I forced myself to look away.
The priest finished his prayers, and one by one, people stepped forward to toss a handful of dirt onto the casket. I watched numbly as the soil rained down, dark against the polished wood. When it was my turn, my fingers trembled.
I hesitated, gripping the dirt too tightly, as if letting go meant losing her all over again. My heart hammered against my ribs as I finally released it, watching the earth crumble, disappear.
It felt too final.
I stepped back, my body unsteady, the weight of grief pressing down like an unbearable burden. My parents moved away next, but I stayed, unable to leave just yet.
Damien didn’t move either.
For a long moment, we stood in silence, the weight of everything unsaid between us pressing down like a storm about to break.
Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough. “She would have hated this.”
I turned my head sharply, startled by the sound of his voice.
He wasn’t looking at me. His gaze was fixed on the grave, his dark eyes unreadable, his lips pressed into a hard line.
“She never liked lilies,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She thought they smelled like death.”
I swallowed hard. “Then why did you choose them?”
Damien exhaled slowly, his broad shoulders rising and falling. “Because that’s what people expect.”
There was something bitter in his tone, something that made my stomach twist. He was grieving too. I knew that. But the quiet torment in his voice unsettled me.
I didn’t want to feel anything for him—not sympathy, not understanding. Not anything at all.
Tearing my gaze away, I took a step back. “I should go.”
Damien didn’t stop me.
As I walked away from the grave, from him, from the life Eleanor had left behind, I felt the weight of his gaze on my back. Heavy. Unrelenting.
Eleanor was gone.
And somehow, I knew this was just the beginning.
