I walked past them, spine straight, eyes forward, and left the prison that had devoured all my hope.
The funeral was simple. Or rather, bare.
No priest's grand sermon. No crowds of mourners. No mountains of flowers.
Aiden never had many friends. He'd spent most of his life in a hospital bed. His only social life was online. His only family was me—our parents had long since started new families, tossing us aside likegarbage.
I refused Olga's offer of a lavish funeral. I wouldn't spend a dime of the Orlov family's money to lay my brother to rest. That was Kirill's money. Money from the man who'd hung up on my desperate call for another woman.
If I used that money, Aiden wouldn't rest easy in heaven.
I used my savings from working as a caregiver to buy a simple urn.
The rain fell harder. I held that small box, feeling utterly alone.
"Hey, Aiden," I whispered.
Only the wind answered. No weak but gentle voice calling me "sis." No eyes looking at me with encouragement.
"Do you hate me?" I tried to smile, but my face wouldn't cooperate. "I don't think you do."
I reached out, gently tracing the patterns on the urn.
"But I do. I hate myself so much."
I thought God would show me a little mercy after all my fighting.
"I'm sorry." I pressed my forehead against the rough headstone and broke down. "This is my fault. I was all you had, and I wasn't there when you needed me. How could I..."
Guilt wrapped around my throat like invisible hands.
It was over.
My only reason to stay in this city was gone.
I turned, looking at the gray skyline in the distance. The Orlov Group's skyscraper loomed there like a monster watching over insignificant humans.
Time to end this.
By the time I got back to the manor, evening had fallen.
The whole place was eerily quiet. When the servants saw me, they kept their heads down. No one dared speak to me or even look me in the eye. Their expressions held pity and mostly fear.
Olga must have torn into them.
I didn't care.
I went straight upstairs to the room I'd once cherished.
When I opened the door, that familiar luxury hit me.Expensive handwoven rugs, silk curtains, and the faint scent of cedar in the air—Kirill's aftershave.
Once, that smell had made me feel safe. Made me swoon.
Now it just made me sick.
I dragged out my battered suitcase and stuffed in the few things from the bottom of the closet—a couple faded T-shirts, two pilled pairs of jeans, and an oversized hoodie.
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. Without designer clothes and jewelry, I was back to being that unremarkable caregiver. Pale. Dark circles under my eyes. Bloodless lips.
