But Anton doesn’t care what I want.
He never has.
My fingers curl slightly at my side as I stand there among them, surrounded by black coats, lowered eyes, and forced respect that tastes nothing like honor.
He didn’t just take this moment from me.
He reshaped it.
I’ll make him pay for this. I promise.
The burial is over.
It happens too quickly. Too cleanly. Like something carefully edited to remove anything real from it. The earth is covered. The final words are spoken. The final respects performed under the watch of people who don’t deserve to be here.
I stand beside the coffin until the very end. Silent. Still. Dignified in a way that costs me everything inside.
I don’t cry. Not here. Not in front of them. Not in front of him.
When it’s done, there is no lingering. No space to breathe. No room for grief to settle properly. We’re moved back into cars, escorted, guided, controlled, even in departure.
Back to the estate.
Anton is already there when I arrive.
Of course he is.
He’s in one of the main rooms, as if he never left. As if the burial was just a short interruption in whatever he’s building. The same folder is in his hand again when I walk in.
The documents.
He places them on the table without ceremony.
“You were emotional earlier,” he says casually. “So I’ll give you time.”
I don’t respond.
My eyes stay on the folder. Then on him.
“You will regret this,” I say quietly. “If you think I’ll ever let this slide, then you’re a joke—and more stupid than I thought.”
Anton laughs. Short. Disgusted.
“No one cares about your speeches, little girl,” he snaps. “Sign the documents—or I’ll have your head blown off and do it myself.”
Something cold creeps into my chest. Survival instincts tightening like a wire pulled too hard.
My gaze shifts subtly around the room. The exits. The guards. The distance to the doors. I’m already mapping it without meaning to.
I need out.
Now.
Then—
Gunfire erupts outside.
Sharp. Immediate. Close enough that the windows don’t just shake—they explode inward in a violent spray of glass.
