Chapter 36: Obituary of a Queen
Chapter 36: Obituary of a Queen
The morning sky was the color of ash, the sun hidden behind thick, gray clouds that seemed to mourn with the city. The air was damp, the kind that carried the smell of rain and earth, heavy with silence. A siren wailed faintly in the distance, then disappeared, leaving only the echo of unease.
News spread like wildfire: Sienna Lockwood’s car had been found at the edge of the riverbank, mangled beyond recognition. The shattered windshield glistened with dew, twisted steel wrapped around itself as though in agony. Authorities reported that no body had been recovered but declared, with practiced certainty, that the impact and current would have left no chance of survival.
The city gasped as if a queen had fallen.
By noon, the Lockwood estate—once a fortress of pride—was draped in black. Long velvet curtains were drawn, muffling the light. Staff moved silently like shadows, their eyes lowered. Outside the gates, the world waited: reporters with flashing cameras, mourners clutching white lilies, and investors whispering about the empire now left vulnerable.
Inside, the air was thick with incense and polished wood. The grand hall had been transformed into a chapel. A black casket sat at the front—empty, though no one said it aloud. Dozens of floral arrangements encircled it, their fragrance both soothing and suffocating.
People arrived in waves: board members with stiff suits and stiff faces, socialites with tear-streaked cheeks, relatives too shocked to speak.
And at the center of it all stood Eve.
She was dressed in silk the color of midnight, her hair swept into a sleek chignon, a delicate veil covering part of her face. To the untrained eye, she was grief embodied—head bowed, eyes glistening, hands trembling slightly as she received condolences. Yet beneath it all, her composure was unnervingly perfect, each sob calculated, every glance measured.
Daniel stood beside her, his face pale, his jaw tight. He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t. His eyes looked hollow, veins dark under his skin. But he stayed near Eve, as if clinging to her presence to keep from unraveling.
Lucas arrived late.
He entered quietly, his tall frame shadowing the doorway. His black suit fit like armor, his expression unreadable. Unlike the others, he carried no flowers. Instead, he brought silence—thick, piercing silence that drew attention without a word spoken. He moved closer to the casket, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he studied it.
His heart hammered, but not from grief. From suspicion.
He knew Sienna. She was too careful, too sharp, too precise to meet an end like this. No accident could take her so easily. And yet here he stood, staring at a coffin with her name etched in silver across the plaque: Sienna Lockwood.
A title. A lie.
Lucas clenched his fists, forcing composure. He couldn’t make a scene—not here, not yet. But his mind raced. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
The ceremony began.
A choir’s hymn floated through the hall, soft and mournful, each note like glass breaking in slow motion. Faces blurred together in grief. Cameras outside flashed like lightning against the stained glass windows.
Daniel shifted uncomfortably, every word of the priest’s sermon driving a deeper nail into his chest. He stared at the casket, but all he could see was her face—bruised, bloodied, her hair tangled with river water as he carried her lifeless body. The memory clawed at him, the image replaying until his throat burned.
He nearly stumbled when Eve reached for his hand, squeezing it just enough to anchor him back. He didn’t look at her. Couldn’t.
When it came time for the eulogy, a hush blanketed the room.
Eve rose.
The sound of her heels clicking on marble echoed like a gavel striking judgment. She stood before the crowd, her veil catching the dim light, her lips parting with a sigh. She pressed a hand delicately to her chest, pausing as if to gather courage.
“She was…” Eve’s voice broke, soft and trembling. “She was more than a leader. More than a businesswoman. Sienna was… an empire.”
The room stiffened. Some nodded. Some wept.
Eve’s gaze swept over them, her tone gaining strength. “She built a legacy out of nothing. She carried not just her family name, but the hopes of thousands of people who believed in her vision. She stood tall, fearless, unshakable. She was… my mentor. My inspiration. My…”—her voice cracked beautifully here—“…my friend.”
Daniel’s chest twisted at the lie.
Lucas’s jaw locked.
“But empires,” Eve continued, her tone shifting ever so slightly, like silk against steel, “are fragile things. Without careful hands, without the right vision, they crumble. And Sienna would never forgive us—any of us—if we let hers fall.”
Her eyes glistened, but behind them shimmered fire.
“I promise you,” Eve said, voice low yet carrying through the hall, “I will not let it collapse. For her. For all of us.”
The room erupted into quiet applause, respectful yet hesitant. Board members exchanged glances. Investors nodded. Some even looked relieved.
Lucas didn’t move. He didn’t clap. His eyes were fixed on Eve, sharp as blades.
She was performing. Perfectly. Too perfectly.
When she stepped down, Daniel caught her hand. She squeezed his fingers gently, leaning close enough for only him to hear.
Phase Four, she thought. The world mourns her. Now, they’ll follow me.
The funeral concluded with a procession to the cemetery. Black umbrellas dotted the rain-kissed air as mourners gathered around the plot where the empty casket would be lowered. The priest droned final prayers, the sound nearly drowned by the wind.
Daniel’s tears finally fell when the casket began its descent. He turned away, hiding his face. Eve rested a hand on his shoulder, eyes glimmering with false sympathy.
Lucas, however, remained still. He didn’t weep. He didn’t look away. His gaze locked on the lowering casket, his thoughts whispering louder than the rain:
If you’re dead, Sienna… prove me wrong. And if you’re not… I’ll find you.
That night, in the silence of the penthouse, Eve stood before the window, watching the city lights flicker. She raised a glass of wine, her lips curling into the faintest smile.
“To the queen who thought she couldn’t be dethroned,” she whispered, the city reflected in her dark eyes. “Rest in pieces.”
And behind her, Daniel sat slumped on the couch, hands buried in his face, whispering the same name over and over, broken and lost:
“Sienna… Sienna…”