The moment Lennox took the handkerchief from me, I spun around and walked away before I did something reckless. Luckily, he didn't call me back. I wasn't sure what I would've done if he had.
I returned to my room, closed the door behind me, and let out a long, shaky breath. Dropping onto the bed, I pressed my palms to my face.
How much longer can I keep this up?
How much longer can I pretend to be someone else—someone I'm not?
Before I could gather my thoughts, the door creaked open. Damien stepped inside with a familiar scowl on his face.
"What you did at the table," he said sternly, "should never happen again."
I didn't respond. I wasn't in the mood to argue with him. I just stared past him at the wall.
He stood silently for a moment, then added, "You should get ready. We're attending the first funeral ritual."
My head snapped toward him. "Hell no," I snapped, my voice sharp. "You expect me to stand there and watch while they perform a funeral service for me when I'm still alive?"
Damien's eyes darkened with frustration. He stepped closer, towering over me. "You don't have a choice," he said coldly. "You're no longer Olivia. You're Rebecca. And you're my wife now. So act like one. You have ten minutes. Be downstairs."
He left before I could say another word.
Shaking, I forced myself up and went to the wardrobe. My fingers trembled as I pulled out a white gown.
I dressed quickly and made my way downstairs, my heart thudding in my chest. Damien was already waiting by the entrance. He didn't speak, just gestured for me to follow him.
We walked through the corridor in silence, and then stepped out into the garden where the ceremony was being held.
Everything stopped in me when I saw it.
My photos—everywhere.
There were flowers, white cloth draped from the trees, candles flickering in soft circles. A large framed photo of me stood at the center of the altar, with a golden ribbon tied across it.
The pack was gathered—dressed in white, heads bowed, lips trembling. Some were crying. Real, heavy tears.
And there… just a few feet away, I saw them.
Lennox, Louis, and Levi. All dressed in ceremonial white. All standing still, like statues carved from grief.
Lennox's face was blank, but his eyes told a different story. Red, puffy, broken.
Louis stood with his arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched like he was trying to hold himself together.
Levi's hand covered his mouth, like if he opened it, the sob might escape.
I stood there frozen.
Did they ever love me ?
Why did it take losing me for them to show it?
The Elder began to chant, starting the first funeral ritual. Everyone lowered their heads, murmuring the ancient words of passing.
But I couldn't join them.
My chest ached. My body felt like it was going cold. The weight of it all, watching people mourn me while I stood among them—was too much.
I swayed slightly on my feet.
Then everything spun.
The last thing I saw was Lennox's face turning toward me—his eyes widening with concern.
I woke up to a dull ache in my head and the cold feel of stone beneath my palms. My lashes fluttered as I tried to move, only to realize I was lying on the ground—on the floor of the garden.
The ceremony had stopped. Murmurs filled the air. Somewhere in the blur, I heard Damien's voice before I even saw him. This update is available on novelꜰire.net
"I told you not to come," he muttered, his voice low but sharp enough to sting. "But you insisted, didn't you?"
I tried to speak, but my throat was dry, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
Damien let out an exasperated sigh, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. "Relax, Darling," he said, faking a concern that didn't reach his eyes. He looked over his shoulder at someone I couldn't see. "She'll be fine. She always does this. Ever since she lost her parents, funerals make her faint… It's a thing—she can't handle it emotionally."
I wanted to tell him to stop lying, to scream at him that none of this was normal—that none of this was me—but my lips wouldn't move. I could feel eyes on me. Whispers. Murmurs of pity. They believed his lies.
"Don't just stand there gawking," Damien snapped at whoever was behind him. "Go back to the ritual. Show some respect."
I flinched when he slid an arm under my knees and the other behind my back. His grip was strong, almost gentle, but there was no warmth in it. He lifted me like I weighed nothing—like he'd done it a hundred times before.
My head lolled against his chest as he turned away from the garden, the funeral chants fading behind us.
He carried me up to the room we now shared, laid me on the bed with mechanical care. For a heartbeat, I braced myself for him to yell—ready to scream right back at him. But surprisingly, he didn't. Instead, he moved to the couch and sat there across from me.
A tense silence hung in the air as neither of us said a word. The air in the room was heavy—almost too heavy to breathe in. I could feel Damien's presence just across the room, sitting on the couch with that familiar stiffness in his posture, like he was calculating his next move.
For a while, neither of us said a word.
But I couldn't hold it in anymore.
My voice came out hoarse. "You know, don't you?"
He didn't answer. Didn't even look my way.
I sat up slightly, ignoring the pounding in my head. "Gabriel and his sister… they tried to kill me. And you know why."
Still, he was silent, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped.
"I deserve to know," I pressed, louder this time. "I saw the hate in their eyes. I felt it. That kind of rage isn't born out of nothing."
A long pause, and I thought he wouldn't answer me at all.
But suddenly, he exhaled and leaned back slowly against the couch, tilting his head to the ceiling like he was debating how much truth to spill.
"It's because of your mother," he said finally, his voice low.
My heart skipped. "What about her?"
"She slit their mother's throat, Olivia. And their father… never spoke again after that night."
I stared at him, stunned. "What…?"