Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Nine

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Nine

HERMIONE

It is hard to keep myself together as we all assemble for Aiden’s funeral service. My chest tightens so painfully that it feels as though bile is filling my lungs. Dr. May clenches my hand encouragingly throughout the entire service.
Black had once been my favorite color, yet today, it fills me with heart-wrenching pain. I watch as everyone gathers in a minute of silence to honor the dead.
How could he die? How could he die so tragically?
The entire time, I search the familiar faces, but I cannot find the one I seek: Lachlan. He is definitely behind this. He murdered my husband.
I warned Aiden to take precautions, but he believed in the shaman’s protection. However, that shamanic aegis wasn't enough to protect him from burning to ash. There was almost nothing left of him after the explosion.
More tears spill down my face, my throat clogging as the officiant steps to the podium to guide the service. Following the opening prayers, he invites those closest to Aiden to share their tributes.
First, he calls upon Raymond, Aiden’s childhood best friend.
“Aiden and I grew up side by side, sharing dreams that seemed too big for two kids from our neighborhood,” Raymond begins, his voice cracking. “Aiden didn't just dream, though; he built. He was the kind of friend who would give you his last cent and then find a way to make a dollar for both of you. Standing here today, looking at all of you, I realize the world didn't just lose a leader—I lost the person who knew my story before I even started writing it. Rest well, brother.”
Neil takes over from Raymond, followed by Noah.
Noah stands stoically as he speaks. “My job was to be Aiden’s shadow,” he says firmly. “In my line of work, you learn a lot about a man by how he acts when no one is watching. Aiden was a man of courage. He knew the risks he faced, but he never let fear dictate his life. My greatest regret is that I couldn't stand between him and the fire. It was my honor to serve him.”
Dad wraps an arm around me, guiding my face to his shoulder. The gesture only makes it worse. I don’t want to reveal my pain to the world, but the agony is beyond what I can contain.
My body stiffens as the officiant announces that the deceased’s mother-in-law will offer the final family tribute.
Dad tenses too as Mom steps up to the podium. She dabs at non-existent tears with a lace handkerchief, her composure terrifyingly brittle. How she manages to be apathetic in the face of this tragedy confounds me. She clears her throat, her voice projecting with a practiced, somber resonance.
"It is an agonizing injustice that a man of such vitality has been extinguished in so gruesome a fashion. I do not doubt for a moment that there were malevolent forces conspiring against him," she says, her gaze sweeping across the congregation with predatory precision, as if hunting the culprit amongst the pews.
"Aiden was a paragon of his generation—an outstanding man with a luminous future that had only just begun to crest. It is a tragedy beyond words that his life was severed at the very moment he began to soar. We wish him a final, hallowed rest." She turns her head slowly, pinning me with her stare. "Hermione," she says, her voice softening into a silk-wrapped blade.
"Fortify your heart. The loss of a life partner is a shattering of the soul, a void that feels impossible to bridge. But you are resilient. You will endure this shadow, for you do not walk it alone. You, and the precious legacy he left behind—the mini-Aiden you now carry—will surely find the strength to survive."
What the actual fuck?
Dad’s head swivels toward me at the same moment I look at him, a question in his eyes. I am too overwhelmed to disprove her lie immediately—not with the media cameras firing off in a frenzy and whispers blooming over her declaration of a non-existent child.
I am left to wonder what Mom is aiming for. To her, we are all just tools—Dad, Aiden, me, Chairman Mendes. Anger sparks within me. I shouldn't have let her come.
As the service concludes and the recessional music swells, the pallbearers carry the casket to the waiting hearse. We follow in a somber motorcade, driving through the chapel gates toward the same private plot where Aiden’s mother was laid to rest only recently.
The sight of the fresh earth beside her headstone makes my breath hitch; they are finally together again, though in the most tragic way possible.
Once the final prayers are spoken and the casket is lowered into the dark earth, the crowd begins to thin, leaving only the inner circle standing amidst the gravestones.
Chairman Mendes approaches me. The old man looks more frail than ever, and his grief is palpable. He recently lost Aiden’s mother, and now he has lost Aiden. I can relate to the depth of his sorrow.
"Hermione," Chairman Mendes says. He clutches both of my hands in his, squeezing them firmly.
I am held tongue-tied when he asks if it is really true that I am carrying Aiden's child. I can only break down into more tears, sobbing into my palms.
"It’s alright, darling," he murmurs, guiding me into his embrace.
I am humiliated on my mother’s behalf, yet I cannot bring myself to disappoint him by letting the lie stand. Cultivating false hope within him is wrong; I need to quench it before it blooms further. Dashing his hopes of his beloved son having a successor will be agonizing, but it is better to do it now than later.
Just as I withdraw from his embrace to reveal the truth, one of his security detail approaches with a phone in hand. "This requires your urgent attention, sir," the man speaks, his tone conveying the gravity of the situation.
Chairman Mendes excuses himself. "I will see you around, Hermione," he says before departing with the man.
As the remaining mourners linger, Raymond expresses his condolences, followed by Neil, then Noah and Jordan. Kash, Silas, and a long list of Aiden’s high-profile associates are in attendance. I meet Rheanon, too; the shaman couldn't make it because her health worsened drastically upon hearing the news of Aiden's demise. A sneer surges within me at the inefficacy of her powers, but I remind myself that even magic has its limits. No protection could have withstood an explosion like that.
"Do you know where Lachlan is?" I ask Noah, aware he is the one Aiden typically uses for tracking people down.
He affirms with a tight nod, his face dark with grief.
Jordan leans in closer to whisper so his words aren't caught by the media, who are being cordoned off by the security detail—a wall of bodies blocking their path.
"Aiden called me on the day the accident occurred," Jordan says. "He told me he’d found evidence to prove Lachlan's involvement in his mother's death. I never received it."
"Neil believes Lachlan is behind Aiden's death, too," I say, recalling my meeting with the secretary. He related the incident where Lachlan beat Aiden to a pulp and destroyed his phone. That was definitely his way of hiding the truth.
"He already gave names of the accomplices and they are being tracked down as we speak," Jordan states. "But without binding evidence, we can't convict Lachlan."
I look at Noah. "And you have no idea of the source where he got the information?"
Noah shakes his head. "I do not. I've been looking into it. I will ensure he's avenged."
"Thank you," I whisper.
I refuse Noah’s request to chauffeur me, choosing to depart with my Dad. I have every intention of unleashing hell on my mother once we have privacy. I didn't want to disrupt the funeral, which is why I held my tongue—but she will take back her words. She will confess the truth to the world with the same tongue she used to lie.
Dad offers me a drink when we reach home. I shake my head as he extends a glass of whisky toward me, and he helps himself to another instead. He empties the contents of his glass in one go, the amber liquid vanishing as he sets both glasses down with a heavy thud.
I sit on the edge of a chair in the living room, a predator in wait, anticipating Mom’s arrival. My feet tap a relentless, frantic beat on the floor; my gaze is fixed on nothing. I am poring over the wreckage of the day, my mind a blur of black suits and hollow prayers. The quivering in my belly has finally subsided, replaced by a cold, cavernous hollowness that swallows everything else. This void is the only testament to the grief screaming inside me.
I still cannot wrap my mind around the finality of it.
When I regained consciousness at the hospital, I expected the world to be right again—I expected to be told that this was just a cruel, feverish dream. But the nightmare refuses to break.
My husband was snatched from me, his life extinguished before he could even reach his peak.
Tears cloud my sight once more, a violent shiver racking my frame. The truth hits me like a physical blow: Aiden is gone. Aiden is dead.
I huff, a jagged breath catching in my throat as I press my lips together until they bleed. Grief stabs at my chest with a jagged edge, and as I bury my face in my hands, the tears don't just fall—they erupt. My entire body convulses with the force of it.
How am I supposed to survive a pain that feels like it’s tearing the very soul out of my body?