Chapter 5

Chandler POV:

The funeral was a blur of black suits, hushed whispers, and the suffocating scent of lilies. My mother, usually so composed, was a shattered porcelain doll. Charlton, my rock, looked two decades older, his shoulders heavy with the weight of both grief and the crumbling empire he now inherited. I stood beside them, a hollow shell, every breath an effort. My father. Gone. And I wasn't there.

The bitter taste of absence lingered, a constant reminder of Julian' s choice, of Hayden's 'academic emergency'. I had missed saying goodbye, missed his last words, missed holding his hand. It was a wound that would never fully heal.

As the last mourners filed out, a figure detached itself from the shadows near the back. Mark Davidson. The man who had attacked me in Gale' s apartment. He walked towards us, a smirk playing on his lips, an envelope clutched in his hand.

"My sincerest condolences, Mrs. Evans, Charlton," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. His eyes, however, were fixed on me, a predatory glint within them. "And to you, Chandler. Such a tragedy. Especially after... certain events."

My blood ran cold. The sheer audacity of him showing his face here, after what he' d done.

"Get out," Charlton snarled, stepping forward, his fist clenched.

Davidson merely chuckled, unfazed. "Just wanted to offer my sympathies. And perhaps... a small token of my regret." He extended the envelope towards my mother. "For your family. Five million dollars. A genuine gesture of goodwill. No strings attached."

My mother, her eyes red-rimmed, took the envelope, her hand trembling. Five million dollars. The exact amount Charlton had "donated" to Julian's lab. The irony was a punch to the gut. This was his twisted way of mocking us.

"We don't want your blood money, Davidson," I spat, my voice laced with venom.

He ignored me, his gaze sweeping over my mother and Charlton. "I heard about the stroke, Mr. Evans. Tragic. Especially with all the stress of your company's... recent difficulties." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You know, some say it was triggered by a certain anonymous email. A very stressful one. Full of very damaging information."

My heart hammered. Anonymous email? Charlton's face went white. My mother gasped, clutching her chest.

"What are you talking about?" Charlton demanded, his voice dangerously low.

Davidson' s smirk widened. "Oh, nothing. Just gossip. But it's funny how these things escalate, isn't it? One little email, and a mighty empire crumbles. And a mighty man... falls." He looked directly at me. "Such a shame. If only someone hadn't been so... emotionally invested in protecting a certain scientist's little pet project."

A chill snaked up my spine. He was talking about Julian. About Hayden. He knew.

"You sent that email, didn't you?" I accused, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. "You sent a stress-inducing email to my father, knowing his condition!"

Davidson merely shrugged, a chilling lack of remorse in his eyes. "Anonymous. Untraceable. Just... information." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "But you see, Chandler, some people are very good at finding 'information.' Especially about things that are meant to be kept secret. Like a certain neuroscience project called 'The K.W. Initiative.' And the very particular patient that project was designed to save."

My blood ran cold. He knew about Hayden. He knew about the $5 million. He knew it all.

"Julian never cared about you, Chandler," Davidson continued, his voice softer, more insidious. "He simply saw you as a means to an end. A five-million-dollar means to save his precious Hayden. A sad little replacement for his dead beloved."

A red haze descended over my vision. He was attacking Julian. He was attacking me. He was defiling my father' s memory with his grotesque insinuations. The pain of my father' s death, Julian' s betrayal, Hayden' s manipulation-it all converged into a blinding, searing rage.

"You' re a monster!" I screamed, my hand flying up, a desperate, uncontrolled surge of fury. My palm connected with his face, a sharp crack echoing in the quiet funeral hall.

Davidson reeled back, a red mark appearing on his cheek. His eyes, now devoid of amusement, burned with pure hatred. "You bitch!" he roared, spitting the words at me. "You just sealed your family's fate. And yours. You're going to pay for this, Chandler Evans. You, and your dead father, and your crumbling empire."

"Get out!" Charlton bellowed, lunging forward, but two of Davidson's men, who had materialized seemingly out of nowhere, blocked his path.

"And as for your beloved Julian," Davidson sneered, wiping the blood from his lip, "he knows all about your little escapade with his precious Hayden. He knows you drugged him. He knows you forced yourself on him. And he hates you for it." He grinned, a truly evil, triumphant expression. "He will make sure you rot."

My world crumbled. He knew. Julian knew. And he hated me. The one night I had stolen, the one moment of desperate intimacy, was now a weapon against me.

Before I could react, a familiar figure appeared at the entrance of the hall. Julian. His eyes, cold and hard, swept over the scene-Davidson, the men, my distraught family, and finally, me, my hand still raised, my face streaked with tears and rage.

He saw the red mark on Davidson's face, the challenge in his eyes, and the fury in mine. Without a word, Julian walked up to me, his gaze glacial, and backhanded me across the face. The blow sent my head snapping to the side, a ringing in my ears. The taste of blood filled my mouth.

"How dare you," he said, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth, utterly devoid of recognition. "How dare you defile Kathryne's memory by mentioning her name in the same breath as your pathetic schemes. And how dare you strike anyone, you spoiled, reckless child."

My cheek burned, more from the sting of betrayal than the physical pain. He had actually hit me. For Davidson. For Kathryne.

Hayden, of course, was right behind Julian, her face a mask of angelic concern. "Julian, darling, is everything alright? I heard a commotion." Her eyes slid over to me, a flash of triumphant malice replacing the concern for a split second. "Oh, Chandler. What have you done now?"

Julian, his hand still stinging from the contact with my face, turned to Hayden, his expression softening instantly. "It's nothing, Hayden. Just some unpleasantness. Let's go." He put an arm around her, leading her away.

"Get out!" I screamed, my voice raw, broken. "Get out of my father's funeral! You and your little harlot!"

Julian paused, his back to me, his shoulders stiff. He didn't turn around. He simply continued to guide Hayden out, leaving me standing there, my cheek burning, my heart screaming, utterly, completely broken.

I watched them go, the two figures walking away, Julian' s hand protectively around Hayden, who leaned into him, fragile and innocent. My anger, my grief, my humiliation-it all converged into a single, unbearable ache in my chest. I felt like I was drowning, suffocating under the weight of it all.

Charlton rushed to my side, his face a mixture of shock and fury. "Chandler! Are you okay? Did he-"

"I'm fine," I choked out, pushing him away, my hand covering the burning imprint on my cheek. "Just get them out. Get them all out."

The funeral, a sacred space for grief, had been desecrated. My father' s memory, sullied. And the man I had once loved, the man I had once believed I could save, had struck me down, defending the very people who had caused my family so much pain.

My heart hardened, turning to a block of ice. There was no going back now. No redemption. Only vengeance.