The Billionaire widowers Last Wife

"He killed her."

That whisper cut through the chapel. sharp, thin, and once it was out there, it couldn't be unsaid. No one turned. Not all the way, anyway. Grief demanded you keep yourself together, and keeping yourself together meant pretending you didn't hear things that made the room feel colder.

"They all die," someone muttered. "Every single one of them."

A man next to the speaker hissed, "Angela, keep your voice down."

"Why?" The first voice didn't drop. "Everyone's thinking the same thing."

Eloise Laurent heard every word, though. Her hand tightened on her handbag until the leather squeaked, but she let go before anyone noticed. She kept her face forward, her expression calm, like she belonged there in all that black silk and polite mourning.

She didn't.

She wasn't family. Not a friend. No invitation. She was just curiosity dressed up for a funeral.

Up front stood Cassian Blackmoor. The man rumor had turned into something part flesh, part ghost story. He stood beside the coffin of his latest dead wife.

Closed lid. White roses. Silver handles so shiny they caught the candlelight and shook it like nerves. The whole setup looked intentional, elegant, and expensive.

So did he.

His suit fit perfectly, like it'd been sewn just for him. Broad shoulders, straight back, hands at his sides, still in a way most people never are unless they've practiced. Black hair slicked back, jaw set. not in anger, not in grief, just steady. Controlled.

He didn't look strong.

He looked worn out in a way sleep couldn't fix.

The priest talked quietly about peace and mercy, about how death wasn't really the end. The words drifted around, light as smoke. Nobody clung to them.

Eloise didn't listen. She watched Cassian.

She didn't mean to. She couldn't help it. Something about the way he stood pulled her attention. Not wrong, not guilty. something stranger. Like gravity bent toward him, like the air itself played by different rules around him.

Another mourner leaned in close: "I heard the last one fell down the stairs."

His companion whispered back, "This one, they said it was fever."

Eloise didn't turn. The voices didn't matter. The words did.

Every single one.

Her eyes went back to Cassian. Seventeen marriages, people whispered. Seventeen funerals. All different stories. Accidents, sickness, bad luck, fate. Patterns hide themselves well.

The priest's voice softened. "Please stand."

Chairs scraped. Fabric rustled. Somewhere behind her, a woman sobbed, too raw for a room this careful. Someone hushed her. Someone sighed.

Eloise stood with the rest.

Cassian didn't move.

Not when the prayer ended. Not when the first mourner stepped forward. Not when the condolences started up, soft and practiced.

A gray-haired man squeezed his shoulder. Nothing.

A woman dabbed at her eyes and tried to say something kind. Cassian didn't nod.

A younger man gripped his arm. Cassian didn't blink.

It wasn't indifference. It was something else, like he'd locked away something dangerous and thrown out the key on purpose.

Eloise's pulse thumped once, hard, in her throat.

She should've been scared.

But really, she just felt aware.

She noticed his stillness, the way people gave him space, the heavy air around him, as if it pushed back when you got too close.

One by one, mourners left, their whispers trailing out with them.

Eloise stayed put.

Leave, she told herself.

Her feet wouldn't obey.

The last mourner stepped away. Silence settled.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Eloise stepped into the aisle.

Her heels made a single, soft click on the floor. She shifted her weight and tried to walk more quietly. She went to the coffin first because that's how it's done.

A photo stood on an easel. The dead woman smiled behind the glass. Bright eyes, smooth skin, beautiful in that permanent, untouched way only pictures manage.

Eloise met that smile for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, not sure who she was talking to, or why.

Then she turned to him.

Up close, Cassian was worse.

Not scary.

Just present.

He was tall enough that she had to tilt her chin up, and his presence hit her like warmth from a fire she hadn't noticed until she was too close. He kept his eyes down, somewhere over her shoulder, refusing to see her or anyone else.

Eloise swallowed.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said, keeping her voice low.

She made sure it didn't waver. That mattered to her.

Cassian didn't respond.

She wondered if he'd even heard. Then his fingers curled at his side, just once, slow and careful, like he'd caught himself before anything could slip.

Her stomach dropped.

He saw her.

Not out of politeness. More like instinct.

Eloise dipped her head, cutting the moment short before it turned into something else, and started to go.

One step.

Another.

The chapel lights flickered-just a blip. Probably nothing, but she caught it. Her eyes lifted to the chandeliers overhead, their crystals still and glittering above all those bowed heads.

Nothing moved.

She kept going.

Behind her, fabric rustled. Barely a sound. Just a shift in the air.

Cassian turned.

He didn't hesitate. Every move was precise, like he wasn't asking permission from anyone.

Eloise felt it, even before she saw it.

She glanced back.

His eyes were on her.

Not lazy. Not curious. Focused. Unblinking.

Her breath snagged.

He didn't look gentle. He looked like he'd just noticed something that didn't fit.

His gaze swept over her face, quick and clinical, never resting long enough to be rude, like he was scanning for answers only he could see.

Eloise's back straightened on its own.

The rest of the chapel faded.

Cassian lifted his hand, not reaching for her, just turning his ring hard against his finger, like the metal burned.

Then his eyes darted past her.

Checking, searching.

Eloise shifted, trying to follow his gaze.

Nothing. Just mourners in black, heads lowered, the kind of hush that pretends to be respectful.

She looked at him again.

For the first time, his composure slipped.

Only a flicker, nothing anyone else would catch.

But she saw it.

A flash. Urgent and sharp.

His lips moved.

No sound.

Run.

Her heart hammered.

She didn't move.

Cassian's jaw clenched.

Someone shifted behind him.

Eloise's eyes jumped past his shoulder and landed on a woman alone in the front pew.

Black pearls. Perfect posture. Makeup untouched. Bright eyes, curious in a way that had no place at a funeral.

The woman met Eloise's stare and smiled.

It wasn't friendly.

It was known.

Cold washed down Eloise's spine.

She stepped back.

Cassian watched her, calculating distance, time, risk.

The woman in pearls tilted her head, like she'd just confirmed something.

Eloise turned and left.

Not rushing and not running. Just steady, measured steps toward the doors. Every sense stretched thin, aware of every sound, every shift in the room.

Behind her, the whispers started again, sharp and eager.

"Who is she?"

"Did you see him look at her?"

"She came alone."

She grabbed the door handle.

Pushed.

Light spilled in.

For a moment, she thought she'd made it.

Then the reflection in the glass caught her. The woman in pearls, right behind her.

Still smiling.

Eloise had just set foot on the last step when a voice called out behind her.

"Excuse me."

The word was polite. The tone wasn't.

She turned, slow and careful.

Three people stood there, watching. Then another drifted over, and then one more, all of them dressed in black, eyes too bright, the sort of hungry curiosity that doesn't belong at a funeral.

They didn't crowd her right away. They just gathered, forming a loose circle, like the path itself had decided she was staying put until they finished with her.

A woman in a black dress looked Eloise up and down, not rushing, eyes sharp, as if she were hunting for answers in the way Eloise stood.

"I don't recognize you," the woman said.

"Neither do I," said a man beside her, stepping closer. His breath smelled like mint. His eyes were sharp with judgment.

"Were you invited?"

Eloise stayed quiet.

The silence made them lean in, hungry for her to break.

Someone behind the man murmured, "She was inside."

"I saw her near the front."

The air got tighter, thicker.

The woman tilted her head. "Strange. I remember her friends. I remember faces. I don't remember yours."

Still, Eloise said nothing.

The man frowned. "Did you know his wife?"

She left that question hanging.

Then, softer, another voice: "You do know who he is, right?"

Curiosity sharpened. Suspicion crept in.

"So you're brave," someone said, almost a whisper. "Or just greedy."

A thin smile touched the woman's lips. "Tell me you're not one of those girls who thinks a funeral's a shortcut. Rich widower. No ring. Easy climb."

Heat rose in Eloise's chest. She forced it down, throat tightening, a metallic taste blooming on her tongue.

A new woman stepped in, soft scarf wound at her neck, eyes anything but gentle. "Are you even from here? Because everyone here knows what happens. Women show up. Women disappear. Then we wear black all over again."

Someone else cut in, "Stop pretending you came for respect. You came to be seen."

Another voice: "She sat close enough to be noticed."

That one stung. Not because it was true, but because it was loud. Grief still hung in the air, heavy and raw, and they used it like a weapon.

"People talk," someone said.

"Everyone talks."

"You must've heard something."

Eloise met the man's gaze and held it.

He shifted, unsettled.

Silence did that to people.

"Then why are you here?" the woman asked.

"To pay my respects," Eloise answered.

"That's not what she asked," the man shot back.

Tension rippled through the group.

"Say it plain," said the scarf woman. "Are you a friend, or are you shopping?"

Eloise's fingers tightened on her bag strap. Her palm felt damp, but she didn't wipe it. She wouldn't let them see even that much.

Another woman stepped closer. "You shouldn't linger near him."

Eloise met her eyes.

The woman didn't flinch. "Women who linger near him don't stay long."

A whisper: "Seventeen."

"No. Eighteen."

"I heard nineteen."

"The number doesn't matter," the woman said softly. "The ending does."

The man nodded. "Bad luck follows that man."

"Bad luck?" someone echoed. "That's one word for it."

A dry, humorless sound ran through them.

"You should leave town while you still can," the man added. "Unless you've got debts. Unless you're chasing a rich widower."

That one landed.

Eloise's breath caught, sharp and fast, but she pulled herself steady.

"You don't know anything about me," she said.

"Then tell us."

She kept her silence.

It pressed in, heavier now.

"You don't belong here," the woman said.

"I know."

Eloise stepped forward.

They parted, just enough for her to pass, waiting for her to falter.

She didn't.

Gravel shifted under her heel. She stepped out onto the path. Behind her, the chapel doors looked smaller now, like the building itself had turned its back.

"Who are you... Do I know you?"

The voice came from behind-low, rough, careful.

She stopped.

The air changed.

Conversations faded. Movements slowed. Even her interrogators pulled back a little, like something invisible had slipped into the space between heartbeats.

She turned.

Cassian Blackmoor stood a few feet away.

Up close, he looked worse for wear.

Not weak.

Just worn down and like the thing keeping him upright had been at it too long. His suit fit perfectly, but grief had carved deep marks. His eyes were bloodshot at the edges-his jaw tight, the kind of ache that comes from too many sleepless nights.

He watched her, steady, like he was hunting for a memory just out of reach.

She didn't break eye contact. She didn't answer, either.

His gaze narrowed a little.

He studied her with this quiet intensity that felt almost physical, like the space between them had weight. His eyes drifted across her face, learning it, memorizing. It made her skin prickle. Not with fear, but with the strange, sharp feeling of being truly seen.

Behind Eloise, the woman in the scarf muttered, "Mr. Blackmoor, you don't need to."

Cassian ignored her. He lifted his chin just a touch, and the crowd loosened its grip but not out of kindness, just instinct. People always back away from something that feels dangerous.

A trace of emotion flickered across his face and vanished before anyone could name it.

Eloise unsettled him. She could see that.

Cassian's fingers twitched at his side.

Eloise kept quiet.

The world shrank to that thin line between their eyes. Her heart thudded, one hard beat, like a door slamming shut. She hated that he'd just asked something that made her feel like she didn't belong, when all she wanted was to disappear.

For a moment, the coffin flashed in her mind again. The flowers, the way someone said the widow's name like passing sentence. She'd promised herself not to get tangled in anyone else's grief. Yet here she was, stuck under the gaze of a man who wore his sorrow like fatigue, surrounded by people hungry for a story.

Eloise forced herself to relax her shoulders. Breathe. In and out, slow and steady. Just take a step, she told herself. One step and you're out. Don't give them today.

Then she felt it.

Not a sound. Not movement.

Awareness.

Her gaze drifted past Cassian's shoulder and stopped.

A man stood by the iron gate, watching her. He didn't hide or try to catch her attention. Hands in his pockets, posture easy, head tipped a little, like he already knew how this scene would play out.

His face was blank. No curiosity, no threat, nothing that explained why he watched her so intently.

Eloise didn't recognize him.

But she knew, with a cold weight sinking in her gut, that he'd been watching her long before she noticed him. And he didn't look at anyone else.

Cassian followed her gaze. His body went still not tense, just absolutely still. The kind of stillness that means you know exactly who you're seeing.

Eloise's stomach dropped.

The man at the gate met her eyes and let his mouth twitch up, just barely. Not a friendly smile. Not exactly cruel either. More like he enjoyed not being understood.

She didn't know his name, but she got the message. I see you. I can get to you.

Cassian's eyes snapped back to Eloise, sharper now, like the question he'd asked had twisted into a silent warning.

She had no idea who the man was.

But she knew, with a sudden and total certainty, he wasn't a stranger to Cassian.

And that was much, much worse.

"If you stay, they'll blame me if anything happens to you."

Cassian didn't have to raise his voice. He never did. His words hit hard anyway, the kind of weight that comes from living through moments like this, not just talking about them. The words just sat there between them, heavy and real.

Eloise looked straight at him.

Not past him. Not around him. Right at him.

"I didn't ask anyone to blame you," she said. "I'm leaving."

He didn't move aside, but he didn't block her either. He just stood there, still, watching her. It felt deliberate, like he was trying to memorize her face and didn't want to admit why.

"You think leaving fixes this?" he said. "It doesn't. Not after they've seen you with me."

Behind her, she could feel those eyes on he still watching, even if everyone pretended otherwise. The crowd acted like they'd gone back to their mourning, but she knew better. Curiosity pressed against her, sharp as a breath on the back of her neck.

"You mean them," she said.

"I mean everyone."

He glanced over her shoulder at the iron gate, just for a second, then looked back at her. It wasn't fear in his eyes.

No, it was just awareness.

Her pulse jumped once in her throat.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"That's not true."

Something shifted in his eyes. Not annoyance, more like recognition. Like she'd caught him off guard, she said something he didn't expect.

"You came alone," he said. "Most people wouldn't."

"Most people weren't invited."

"Neither were you."

She nodded. "No, I wasn't."

Silence dropped between them. Not awkward or empty, just there, filling the space, almost like the air itself wanted to listen.

He studied her face again, careful, thoughtful. Not bold or shy. Just searching, as if he was trying to figure out what he'd gotten wrong about her.

Her pulse stuttered.

"Say your name," he said.

She hesitated. Not from fear, but because saying it out loud suddenly felt like handing him something she couldn't take back.

"Eloise," she said. "Eloise Laurent."

He repeated it quietly, almost testing the sound. "Laurent."

He didn't say it like a name but more like he was rolling it around in his head, checking if it fit, tucking it away.

"What now?" she asked.

He glanced at her mouth, just a flicker, then met her eyes again. Quick, almost accidental, but it tightened something low inside her anyway.

"Now," he said, "you walk away."

"I was trying to."

"For your sake."

She raised an eyebrow. "Mine or yours?"

"Yours."

He answered too fast. That, more than anything, made her look at him harder.

A hand touched his arm gently, familiar, certain.

"Cassian."

The voice was warm, easy.

He turned. Eloise did, too.

The woman by his side looked like she was born to quiet rooms where no one ever needed to shout. Her black coat hung just right, everything about her neat and calm. Pearls at her throat. Her face was composed, kind, and paying attention.

Her hand stayed on Cassian's sleeve. Not like she owned him. Just comforting.

"Your aunt is asking for you," she said softly. "She's worried you haven't eaten."

"I'm fine."

She smiled a little. "I know. But she won't believe me unless she hears it from you."

Her eyes found Eloise. They softened right away.

"I hope they weren't troubling you," she said.

Eloise blinked. "No."

The woman kept going, gentle as ever. "They forget their manners when they're grieving. Curiosity wins out over kindness. I'm sorry if they made you uncomfortable."

Cassian spoke, quieter. "Mother-"

So, this was his mother.

The thought just settled in, no fanfare.

She smiled. "You don't have to sound so grim when you say it."

Cassian stayed silent.

She turned back to Eloise. "I'm Valarie."

No title, no last name. Just that.

"Eloise," she repeated softly after hearing it. "It's kind of you to come today. Not everyone honors someone they never knew."

Something genuine in her voice made Eloise's usual suspicion fade.

"I thought she deserved that much," Eloise said.

Valarie's smile warmed. "I agree."

For a moment, nothing about her seemed dangerous. She just looked like a mother making sure her son didn't have to go through a hard day alone.

Still, Cassian kept his eyes on Eloise.

Valarie noticed. She gave his arm a soft, distracted pat before letting go. A gesture so natural it didn't need to mean anything at all.

"Well," she murmured, "I shouldn't keep you out here in the cold."

She gave Eloise a polite nod. "It was lovely meeting you."

"You too."

Valarie's face softened just a bit more, then she turned, already offering that same gentle sympathy to someone else before she'd even gone three steps.

Eloise watched her leave.

That was his mother.

Not scary. Not harsh. Not suspicious. Just gracious.

Eloise felt her shoulders slowly relax, almost before she realized it.

"You should go," Cassian said quietly beside her.

She looked at him. "You keep telling me that."

"And you keep ignoring me."

Still, she started to back away-one step, then another.

The gravel shifted under her heel as she turned for the road. The air felt colder over here, thinner too, like she'd left a space she hadn't even realized was holding her up.

She was almost to the end of the path when someone grabbed her wrist from the side and yanked her hard into the narrow gap between the chapel wall and the hedges.