BONDS UNBROKEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Chapter Nineteen

The hum of voices filled the office corridors as Briella returned after her leave. Whispers followed her wherever she went—curious glances from staff, hushed tones questioning her absence, her cold stride through the building. She carried herself with professional sharpness, her face a mask that revealed nothing.

“Good afternoon, CEO Briella,” someone greeted nervously.

She nodded curtly, heels clicking against the polished floor as she moved into her office. The mask never slipped. Not once.

But when the day drew to a close and the workers began to file out, she found herself slowing down, reluctant to leave. She stayed behind longer than usual, pretending to tidy her desk, rearranging files she’d already arranged twice. Her heart was heavy, as it always was on this date.

By the time she finally stepped out, dusk had painted the sky in tired shades of orange and grey. The parking lot was nearly empty. She was heading to her car when she heard his voice.

“Brielle,” Marcellus called softly, his tone lower than she’d ever heard at work.

She froze. He rarely called her that anymore, at least not where others could hear. Slowly, she turned.

He stood by his car, his suit jacket draped casually over his arm, his expression unreadable but his eyes carrying something she recognized—something fragile.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice clipped.

He hesitated, then said, “I heard… today is her remembrance.” His words were careful, reverent. “Genevieve’s. If you’ll allow me… I’d like to go with you.”

Her chest tightened, the ache rising again at the sound of her sister’s name. She stared at him for a long moment, debating whether to refuse. But something in his voice—gentle, almost pleading—softened her. Without a word, she nodded.

Minutes later, they stood in front of a gravestone. The name etched into it gleamed faintly under the fading light:

Genevieve Tristan

Beloved Daughter and Sister

Forever in our hearts

Briella knelt first, her trembling fingers laying the bouquet of lilies at the foot of the stone. She brushed away a stray leaf with a tenderness only a sister could hold.

“Gen,” she whispered, her throat tight. “It’s me again. Another year without you. I tried… I tried to keep living, to make you proud. I hope I’ve done enough.” Her lips trembled. She forced a faint smile. “You wouldn’t believe how much I still hear your voice in my head. Scolding me, teasing me… telling me to stop worrying so much.”

Tears blurred her vision. She quickly wiped them away, not wanting to cry in front of him.

Marcellus stepped forward next, his tall frame casting a shadow over the grave. He held his flowers a moment longer before kneeling beside them. His voice, usually so cold, came out soft.

“Gen… it’s been too long. I don’t even know how to start. You’d probably scold me for that.” He let out a small, humorless laugh. “I wasn’t here when I should have been. And I’ll carry that guilt for as long as I live. But I’m here now. I promise you, I won’t let her carry everything alone anymore.”

He placed the flowers gently by Briella’s bouquet and bowed his head, staying quiet for a while.

When he finally stood again, Briella rose with him. They walked slowly back toward the gates, the silence between them heavy but not unbearable.

“She would’ve loved to see you,” Briella murmured at last.

Marcellus glanced at her. “And she would’ve told me off for how I treated you,” he said quietly.

Briella shot him a sharp look. “She would’ve done more than that. She would’ve smacked you.”

For a moment, their eyes met, and unexpectedly, they both let out small laughs. The sound was brief but real, like a c***k of light in a dark room.

But just as quickly as it came, it faded. Briella froze mid-step. Her body stiffened, her breath caught. Ahead of them, three figures approached the cemetery path—a man, a woman, and a young man in his early thirties who bore the same sharp Tristan features.

Hatred surged through her veins like fire. Her jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

Marcellus, not noticing at first, offered a polite nod. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Tristan,” he greeted, then glanced at the younger man. “Kendrick.”

The Tristan family.

Briella’s parents. Her brother.

Her heart thundered, rage boiling beneath her skin.

....

✨ End of Chapter Nineteen ✨