Chapter 2 The Funeral of a Living Woman

Alexander POV

I do not cry.

I stand in front of my wife's closed casket, and I do not cry.

The church is too bright for this. Too clean. Too quiet. Sunlight pours through stained glass like nothing terrible has ever happened inside these walls. Outside, cameras flash in controlled bursts. Reporters murmur in low voices, pretending restraint.

"Billionaire CEO loses wife in tragic accident."

They say her name like it belongs to a headline. Not a person. Not a life.

The air smells like lilies.

I hate that detail more than anything.

Sophia hated lilies. She would wrinkle her nose, tilt her head, and say they smelled like something that didn't belong.

"If anyone brings lilies to my funeral," she once said, half-smiling, "I'll come back just to complain."

My jaw tightens.

The coffin stands at the center of the room. Dark wood. Polished. Closed.

It has to be closed.

Severe fire damage, the report said.

The phrase repeats in my mind like a clause. Final. Unquestionable.

But nothing about that night was clean.

I still hear her voice.

"The brakes aren't working."

Behind me, the Reid board stands in a careful line. Dark suits. Controlled expressions. Watching. Measuring. Waiting.

They are not here for her. They are here for me. To see if I break.

I feel it.

That pressure. That expectation. A hand settles on my shoulder.

Marcus.

"My dear boy," my uncle says softly. "This is a terrible loss."

I do not move.

"She was spirited," he adds.

Spirited.

A word used when a woman refuses to be controlled.

I turn my head slightly. "She was my wife."

He nods, dabbing at his eye with a handkerchief, but his gaze never touches the coffin.

It moves. Scanning. Reading. Counting reactions.

I notice.

I always notice.

Clara stands at the side, tablet held close. Perfect posture. Controlled. She glances at me once. Not grief. Assessment.

The priest begins speaking. Words about peace. About rest. About time.

I hear none of it.

My mind returns to the night.

Rain.

Her voice.

The sudden shift in her tone.

Fear.

And something else.

Something I still cannot place.

The priest clears his throat.

"Would the husband like to say a few words?"

The room shifts.

They are waiting. Watching. Measuring.

I step forward.

No notes. No hesitation. But Control.

"My wife," I begin, and my voice does not shake, "was kinder than this world deserved."

A slight pause.

I almost lose the next word.

Just for a moment. Then I continue.

"She believed love should be simple."

My breath steadies.

"And she trusted people more than they deserved."

Something in the room shifts.

A quiet reaction. Not loud. But present.

I feel it.

My hand tightens at my side.

"If there were misunderstandings between us," I say, "they were mine to fix."

A line I did not plan to speak.

But it slips out.

"I failed to protect her the way she deserved."

Silence deepens. Not sympathy. Awareness.

"Those who knew her..."

I pause.

A brief fracture in control. Not visible. But real.

"...know she deserved better than this."

I step back.

The room breathes again. The ceremony continues. But something inside me remains unsettled.

Then it happens. A shift at the back.

My gaze snaps toward the entrance.

And I see her.

Black dress. Upright posture. Controlled steps.

My chest tightens before my mind catches up.

Impossible.

She walks down the aisle.

Slow. Measured.

Each step is deliberate.

Like she knows exactly what she is doing.

My pulse slows.

My thoughts sharpen.

No.

This is not possible. She is dead. Confirmed. Certified. Buried in data and evidence.

And yet...

She stands in front of me.

Alive.

My breath stills.

Something inside me shifts. This is not a simple return. This is something controlled. Someone is behind this.

Her face is calm.

Too calm.

She looks at me. And there is nothing in her eyes.

No recognition.

No hesitation.

Nothing.

That is what unsettles me the most.

"Sophia?"

The word leaves me before I can stop it. She tilts her head slightly.

"My name is not Sophia."

Cold.

Controlled.

Like a prepared statement.

Not a reaction. Not confusion. A fact.

The room tightens. Whispers begin to rise. I do not move. But something inside me does.

I take a step forward. She does not step back. She holds her ground.

Exactly as Sophia would... when she was trying to hide something.

That thought hits harder than anything else.

"Who are you?" I ask quietly.

She meets my gaze.

"My name is Sophia Voss."

"I am not your wife."

The words land.

Because I heard her that night.

Her fear.

Her voice.

Her certainty.

And this woman...

This version... Does not match. Something is wrong. Deeply wrong.

My pulse tightens. My control returns. But not completely.

There is a fracture now. Something small. But dangerous.

"I identified your body," I say.

She doesn't flinch.

"Then you made a mistake."

The room goes silent. But something else changes.

A deeper tension.

A sense that this is not just about identity anymore.

It feels like something larger is unfolding.

Something deliberate. Controlled.

A test, perhaps. Or a message.

I take a slow breath.

This is not over. Not even close. I study her again. Every detail. Every movement.

She looks like her. She sounds like her. But she does not feel like her.

And that is the first lie. But not the last. Not by a long shot. Because if this woman is not Sophia...

Then who died in that car?

And more importantly...

Who arranged this entire lie?

I hold her gaze a moment longer.

The silence between us is no longer empty.

It is loaded. Dangerous. Unfinished. And somewhere beneath it all, I feel it.

This is not a coincidence. This is not grief.

This is the beginning of something much bigger.

And I will find the truth.

No matter what it costs.