Chapter 4

Before the press conference, I was forbidden from leaving the house.

I didn't fight. Didn't scream. I just kept telling myself — get through today. Just get through today.

That afternoon, I sat next to Corey on stage and read the script, word for word.

Camera flashes popped like firecrackers beneath us.

Corey smiled and held my hand the whole time.

To everyone watching, it looked like a perfect couple. But my palm was drenched in cold sweat.

The second the press conference ended, Corey stood up and walked straight to Amy, who was waiting in the wings.

I didn't watch them. I went to a flower shop and bought a bundle of chamomile and drove to Rosendale Cemetery.

It had been too long since I'd visited Mom and Dad.

I kept telling myself I'd go once things calmed down. That I'd sit with them and talk, the way I used to. I kept putting it off. Almost waited too long.

When I got to their spot, I froze.

Where were the jade urns?

In their place sat a pot of bright red roses, blooming like blood. Blooming like they owned the space.

I thought I'd gone to the wrong spot. I checked the number three times.

No mistake. No. No. My parents' ashes had been here for ten years. I knew every inch of that shelf.

My head started buzzing.

I'd known Corey long enough to understand him.

When he couldn't do something, he'd rather watch me cry than pretend otherwise.

Like the time I found traces of his affair with Amy and asked him to fire her. Just let it go, I said. Pretend it never happened.

He didn't say a word. His face just said, I can't — he wouldn't even bother lying about it.

So when he promised that if I cooperated at the press conference, he wouldn't touch my parents' ashes — I believed him.

I actually believed him.

I stood there for a long time before I went to find the staff.

"Excuse me — the urns that were here. Where... where are they?"

The man at the front desk didn't even look up.

"Oh, that spot? Boss reserved it for her flowers. The ashes? Moved somewhere, I guess."

"...moved?" My voice cracked. "I paid the maintenance fees. You moved them without telling me? Get your boss here. Now."

He finally glanced up, smirking. "Our boss is Mrs. Francis — wife of the CEO of the Francis Global. And who exactly are you?"

Mrs. Francis?

But when did I ever—

The chamomile slipped from my fingers and hit the ground.

I rushed back to the spot and searched frantically.

Nothing. Nothing left.

My eyes burned. I turned to leave — and tripped over the flower pot.

Dirt scattered across the floor. Something white peeked through the soil. I crouched down and picked it up.

A shard of white jade. Engraved with the letter W.

...it was a piece of my father's urn.

A hand shoved me aside.

"What do you think you're doing? That's Mrs. Francis's flower! You break it, you pay for it!"

I stumbled back.

I watched him scoop the dirt back into the pot — dirt mixed with fragments of my father's ashes — and my whole body started shaking.

"My parents' ashes... were used as fertilizer for that flower?"

He wouldn't look me in the eye, just mumbled something about how people should focus on being good to their parents while they're alive instead of obsessing over ashes after they're dead.

"What difference does it make where they end up?"

I didn't hear the rest.

I turned and walked out.

My mind was blank the entire drive back.

It stayed blank until I pushed open the bedroom door and saw Amy Turner lying in my bed.

That was when my brain snapped back on.

Corey glanced at me, casually tucking the blanket around Amy's shoulders. "The press conference didn't work. The comments are brutal. She's a mess, so I brought her here to keep an eye on her."

I stared at that look on his face — like this was the most natural thing in the world.

"Corey." My voice came out calmer than I expected. "Where are my parents' ashes?"