Her Daughter's Funeral, Their Wedding Night

Elenora Carlson's daughter was dead.

There had been no funeral. No burial. She hadn't been able to afford even the cheapest plot in the pauper's cemetery. All that remained of Poppy-her laughter, her sticky fingers, her ridiculous questions about why the sky was blue-fit inside a single black urn.

On the television mounted in the funeral home's waiting area, a royal wedding played out in obscene, glittering excess. The groom was Elenora's ex-husband. Poppy's biological father. The bride was the woman he'd always loved-his precious white moonlight, the one who got away and finally came back.

He had everything he'd ever wanted.

Elenora walked out of the funeral home clutching the urn to her chest. Outside, the sky had split open. Rain hammered the pavement in sheets so thick she could barely see three feet ahead.

Chloe, the young assistant who'd helped her with the paperwork, hovered in the doorway. Her voice was careful, the way people's voices got when they were talking to someone whose child had just died. "Ma'am, it's really coming down out there. Is someone coming to pick you up?"

Elenora looked down at the urn.

No one was coming. The only family she had left was standing at an altar right now, sliding a ring onto another woman's finger. He didn't have time for this. He didn't know Poppy was dead.

And even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.

Donovan Montgomery IV hated her with a cold, methodical thoroughness that left no room for exceptions. And by extension, he had hated their child.

The accident had happened six days ago. Delphine Vance had been driving her son home when she'd blown through a red light and T-boned the bus carrying Elenora and Poppy. The impact had thrown Poppy against the window. She'd been knocked unconscious before she even had time to scream.

Elenora had spotted Donovan in the crowd of first responders immediately. His height. His bearing. The way people moved out of his path without realizing they were doing it.

She'd launched herself at him, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, her voice shredding in her throat. "Donovan! Poppy's hurt-she's dying-please, you have to help us, she needs a hospital-"

He'd shoved her. Hard. Her skull had cracked against the asphalt, and for a moment the world had gone white and ringing.

"Elenora." His voice had been bored. Disgusted. "This pathetic act is getting old."

Without another glance, he'd scooped up Delphine's son-a boy with minor scratches and a theatrical pout-and rushed toward the ambulance, his face tight with panic.

Still dizzy, blood trickling into her eye, Elenora had grabbed his pant leg. She'd been beyond pride. Beyond dignity. "I'm begging you. Poppy's dying. She's your daughter too-"

Donovan had looked down at her like she was something he'd scraped off his shoe.

"I've told you a hundred times. The only child I will ever acknowledge is the one Delphine gives me." His voice had been calm. Almost kind. That was the worst part. "You and the bastard you spawned are garbage I never wanted. Now bring me the goddamn divorce papers."

He'd kicked her off and climbed into the ambulance without looking back.

Because of that thirty-minute delay-thirty minutes of bleeding on the pavement while her daughter hemorrhaged internally-Poppy had died on the operating table.

And now the boy Donovan had saved was skipping down the aisle at his wedding, serving as ring bearer, showering rose petals on the happy couple.

Elenora laughed. It was a terrible sound, scraped raw.

"I'll get home on my own," she told Chloe. "Thank you."

She stepped into the rain.

Chloe watched her go, wanting to follow. But she'd heard the name Montgomery. She knew better than to get involved in that family's business.

Elenora walked through the downpour, tugging off her thin jacket and wrapping it around the urn. She hunched over it, trying to shield it from the worst of the rain.

"Don't worry, baby," she whispered. "Mommy won't let you get wet."

Headlights cut through the gray, followed by the blare of a horn. A black Maybach pulled up beside her, slowing to match her pace.

She didn't stop. She kept walking.

---

Thirty minutes later, she stood in the living room of the house that had once been her marital home. Now it belonged to Donovan and Delphine. Red and gold decorations festooned every surface. The air smelled like expensive champagne and Delphine's cloying perfume.

Elenora was soaked to the bone. Her hair plastered to her skull. Her shoes leaving puddles on the marble.

The maid wouldn't even let her step past the foyer. She was afraid Elenora would dirty the freshly mopped floors.

Fine. Elenora set the urn down, pulled the crumpled, waterlogged divorce papers from her pocket, and handed them over.

The maid took them. Then she nudged the jacket-covered urn with her foot.

"What's this garbage? Take it outside with you."

The jacket slipped. The urn's engraved nameplate caught the light.

The maid froze.

*Poppy Montgomery Carlson.*

That was her daughter's name.

Elenora pulled the jacket back over the urn, covering it carefully. She turned and walked out without a word.

---

An hour later, she stood at the edge of the ocean.

The waves were gray and churning, whipped into a frenzy by the storm. The beach was empty. No one to stop her. No one to care.

Elenora clutched the urn to her chest and walked into the water.

It was freezing. It stole her breath. But she kept walking.

"Don't be scared, Poppy," she whispered. "Mommy's here. Mommy will always be here."

The water rose to her waist. Her chest. Her shoulders.

She closed her eyes.

And let the sea take her.

At the wedding reception, the champagne was flowing.

Delphine swept out of the dressing room in a burgundy gown that hugged every curve. She looked radiant. Triumphant. Exactly like a woman who'd finally gotten everything she'd ever schemed for.

"Donovan, darling. All the guests are waiting. Come toast with me."

She held out her slender hand. Perfect manicure. Eight-carat diamond glittering on her finger.

Donovan took her hand, his dark eyes soft. "Of course."

He led her toward the ballroom. Toward the applause. Toward the life he'd always believed he deserved.

His executive assistant burst through the doors.

Linden Hayes' face was white. His tie was askew. He looked like a man who'd just seen a ghost and was about to become one himself.

"Mr. Montgomery." His voice cracked. "Elenora Carlson walked into the ocean. She's dead."

The room went silent.

Then someone-one of Delphine's bridesmaids-laughed nervously. "Elenora who? She's his ex. Her life is none of his concern. Don't ruin the wedding with this nonsense."

Donovan was already standing in front of Linden.

His face had gone terrifyingly blank. The kind of blank that preceded violence.

"What did you say?"

He laughed. Cold. Sharp. As if he was trying to convince himself of something.

"Impossible. She's lying. That woman is too conniving to ever-"

"It's true, sir." Linden's voice was barely above a whisper. "The coast guard pulled her body out twenty minutes ago. And..." He swallowed. "They found her daughter's urn with her. She was holding it when she went under."

The man everyone believed could never be moved by Elenora Carlson suddenly went gray.

His eyes-those famous dark eyes that had looked at her with contempt for years-went completely blank. He stared into the distance, unseeing.

No one in the room dared breathe.

Delphine ran to him, grabbing his hand, her eyes wide and liquid. "Donovan..."

He didn't look at her. He wrenched his hand free and walked out.

All the color drained from Delphine's perfect, porcelain face.

---

Montgomery Manor.

Elenora stared down at her hands. Young hands. Unwrinkled. Unscarred. The hands of a girl who hadn't yet been destroyed.

She sat in the vast, opulent living room, and slowly, piece by piece, she accepted the impossible: she had been reborn.

Cornelius Montgomery, the patriarch of the family, fixed her with a sharp, assessing look from his seat on the leather sofa. His voice was old parchment and gravel.

"Elenora. Are you certain you want to accompany Donovan on his business trip to City?"

Her eyelashes fluttered.

She remembered this moment. This was the turning point. The fork in the road that had led to every disaster that followed.

Donovan was going to Hua Shui City, supposedly for business. But everyone knew the real reason. Delphine Vance was there. His first love. His obsession. The woman he'd been waiting for since high school.

In her last life, Elenora had thrown a spectacular tantrum. She'd begged and pleaded and made herself completely pathetic until Cornelius had agreed to let her go. She'd thought she was fighting for her marriage. She'd thought she was protecting what was hers.

What a joke.

Her father had been Cornelius' driver, and he'd died saving the old man's life. Out of a sense of obligation-not love, never love-the Montgomerys had taken her in. They'd given her a room and an allowance and treated her like a mildly annoying pet.

So when she'd begged, Cornelius had indulged her. The way you'd indulge a dog that wouldn't stop barking.

She looked past Cornelius to the man sitting beside him.

Donovan Montgomery IV. Impeccable in a tailored black suit, every button fastened, every hair in place. He lounged in his chair like a predator at rest, one strand of dark hair falling over sharp, indifferent eyes. His mouth was pressed into its habitual thin line of displeasure.

Just looking at him made her chest seize.

All the memories crashed back at once. His coldness. His cruelty. The way he'd looked at her like she was something foul he'd stepped in. The way he'd let her kneel in the courtyard all night while Delphine stayed in his bedroom. The way he'd kicked her away while their daughter bled to death.

Her heart stopped. Her blood turned to ice.

This was the man who had controlled her entire life. The man who had treated her like garbage.

She hated him.

Hated him with a ferocity that made her hands shake. Hated the memory of his contemptuous eyes, his dismissive voice, the way he'd made her feel small and worthless every single day.

Donovan's fingers tapped against his knee. His annoyance was becoming more obvious by the second.

Elenora knew that look. It meant he was running out of patience.

He was already certain she would beg. Already certain she'd make a fool of herself, as always, clinging to him like a desperate child.

But not this time. Never again.

Before she could speak, her mother's voice slithered into the room.

"Of course she wants to go!" Joleen Pruitt practically curtsied, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Elenora and Mr. Montgomery are so close. She can't bear to be apart from him for even a day-"

"No."

Elenora's soft voice cut through Joleen's simpering like a blade.

Everyone turned to stare.

Everyone except Donovan, whose face remained carved from ice.

Elenora lifted her chin. Her eyes-clear and bright and utterly steady-met Cornelius' gaze.

"Grandfather Montgomery, I have my college entrance exams soon. I need to focus on my studies." Her voice didn't waver. "I won't disturb Donovan on his business trip."

Cornelius' eyebrows rose.

Joleen's face went purple. She grabbed Elenora's wrist, nails digging in, and hissed in her ear. "Are you insane? You know how badly you wanted this! Grandfather, don't listen to her-she's just being silly-"

"Mom." Elenora extracted her wrist with deliberate gentleness. "I really do need to study."

Joleen didn't understand. She'd never understood. But Elenora did.

Cornelius Montgomery seemed kind and generous, but he saw her as nothing more than a charity case. Entertainment. In her last life, when everything had fallen apart, he hadn't even bothered to visit her in the hospital. He'd never once looked at Poppy-his own great-granddaughter by marriage.

So Elenora repeated, firm and clear: "Grandfather Montgomery. Donovan. I was being childish before. But I can see how busy Donovan is. I won't bother him this time."

Before Cornelius could respond, Donovan stood up.

His patience had clearly expired. He shot Elenora a single, dark look.

"Suit yourself."

He walked out without another word.

Cornelius didn't press the issue. He waved them off to their rooms, looking vaguely disappointed that his evening entertainment had been canceled.

Elenora let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

---

Outside the manor, in the back of the Maybach, Linden Hayes kept stealing nervous glances at Donovan in the rearview mirror.

As Donovan's executive assistant, Linden knew everything about the family's dirty laundry. He knew Donovan despised the unruly, clinging girl who was always throwing herself at him. He knew Donovan had been dreading this visit, expecting the usual histrionics.

And now Donovan looked even angrier than before.

Linden assumed the ward had pulled some new stunt. Probably insisted on coming on the trip. Probably made a scene.

He glanced out the window. No sign of her chasing the car. That was unusual.

He ventured cautiously, "Mr. Montgomery, I think you should have just told Miss Carlson no outright. She needs to learn her place."

Donovan's eyes snapped up, dark and cold. "Shut up and drive."

Linden's mouth clicked shut. He started the engine.

After a few minutes of silence, Donovan rubbed his temples. "What?"

Linden hesitated. "It's just... Miss Carlson isn't here. She always follows you everywhere, especially on weekends."

Donovan's lips pressed together. His eyes flicked briefly toward the manor gates.

The driveway was empty. Only the maids going about their business. No sign of the girl who was usually glued to his side like a barnacle.

Something flickered in Donovan's chest. Something he refused to name.

"Just drive," he said. "Forget about her."

Linden nodded and pressed the accelerator.

So she really had angered him this time. Good. About time someone put that girl in her place.

Donovan leaned back and closed his eyes. But he couldn't stop replaying what Elenora had said.

*"Won't disturb"?*

It was obviously a manipulation tactic. A clumsy one, at that. She was trying to make him chase her. How transparent.

He refused to give her the satisfaction.