Chapter 2
Evelyn’s knees buckled slightly, but she caught herself against the edge of a mahogany pew, her gloved fingers leaving faint smudges on the polished wood. The sheer audacity of Julian’s act hung heavily in the air, mixing with the scent of lilies and old wax. She looked from Arthur’s rigid posture to Julian’s wild, bloodshot eyes, a deep, primal terror settling into the pit of her stomach. She had signed the papers. They all had.
"Julian, please," Evelyn whispered, her voice trembling beneath the heavy shroud of her veil. "Put the metal down. You’re inviting a disaster far worse than any of us can manage."
"A disaster?" Julian laughed, a jagged, broken sound that held no humor. He kept his gaze locked on the opening in the white wood. "The disaster happened three hours ago when you all helped seal her inside this box without a doctor’s signature. Evelyn, look at me. Did you actually check her pulse, or did you just listen to the silence he manufactured?"
Arthur stepped into the narrow space between them, his posture rigid and authoritative, a masterclass in controlled intimidation. He reached out, his grip firm on Evelyn’s trembling arm, pulling her slightly behind him as if shielding her from a contagion.
"Control yourself, boy," Arthur commanded, his voice hardening into steel. "The estate attorneys will be here within the hour. If word gets out that you vandalized a funeral service under the influence of grief-induced delusions, the foundation will strip you of your commission, your apartment, and every last cent left in your trust. You’re ruining your own life over a phantom."
May you like
Julian ignored the threat, his attention entirely drawn back to the dark interior of the casket. Through the jagged splintered hole, a pair of terrified eyes blinked against the sudden influx of daylight. Clara’s forehead was beaded with sweat, a strip of heavy silver duct tape sealing her lips tight. Her wrists were bound securely to the satin lining with thick hemp rope, the fibers digging cruelly into pale skin.
"Clara," Julian whispered, the anger instantly evaporating into a heartbreaking tenderness. He dropped the golden candlestick; it hit the marble floor with a dull, heavy thud. He fell to his knees beside the white box, ignoring the jagged splinters that bit into his trousers and skin. He reached his bare hands inside, desperate to find the ends of the ropes, to tear away the adhesive that kept her voiceless.
