The scent of wilting lilies and stale grief clung to Corelia like a shroud. She stirred, the polished mahogany of the pew digging into her hip, and blinked at the sombre assembly. Black-clad figures dotted the vast hall of the Grand Consortium’s private mausoleum, each face a carefully constructed mask of sorrow for Grandfather Gavriel. Corelia, however, felt a strange hollowness, a sense of déjà vu so profound it made her stomach clench. Then it hit her. The way the light slanted through the arched, stained-glass windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the heavy air. The precise, droning cadence of Father Anselm’s eulogy. The faint, sweet perfume of Vianna Salto, two rows ahead, clinging to her fiancé, Cervan Loxari, like a determined vine. This wasn't just a funeral; it was *the* funeral. The one that had marked the beginning of her suffocating descent into a life she endured only through stubborn spite. She was back. Back to the day her nightmare truly began, the day she had first agreed to marry Cervan, believing his feigned comfort was genuine affection. Corelia stifled a sigh. The thought of reliving years of emotional manipulation, of trying to win the love of a man who only saw her as a stepping stone, felt utterly exhausting. Revenge, however, now that was a concept that had a certain elegant appeal, especially if it involved minimal effort on her part. “My darling Corelia,” a voice, smooth as polished obsidian, purred beside her. Cervan. He slid onto the pew, his hand gently covering hers. His eyes, usually glittering with ambition, were suitably downcast, portraying the perfect image of a devoted, grieving fiancé. His carefully tailored ebony suit was impeccable, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He leaned in, his breath a whisper against her ear, “I know this is difficult, but we will face it together. Always.” Corelia felt the familiar tremor of revulsion, but this time, it was tempered by a peculiar calm. She glanced down at their joined hands. His fingers were long and slender, but she knew they were also capable of ruthless calculation. She had learned, over years of bitter experience, the true nature of the man who now offered her false solace. He was a fraud, an embezzler, and a philanderer. And in her past life, she had loved him. She slowly withdrew her hand. The empty porcelain espresso cup, a forgotten relic from her frantic morning, was still clutched in her other hand. Corelia met Cervan's gaze, a blank, tired look replacing the desperate longing he was accustomed to seeing. Then, with a casual flick of her wrist, she placed the empty cup directly into his outstretched, comforting palm. “Here,” she said, her voice a low murmur, faint against Father Anselm’s prayers. “You look like you could use something to hold.” Cervan’s carefully constructed composure fractured. His brow twitched, a flicker of confusion and insult replacing his practiced empathy. The empty cup felt fragile, almost ludicrous, in his grip. Onlookers, sensing the subtle shift in the solemn atmosphere, began to cast surreptitious glances. Vianna Salto, two rows ahead, even turned her head slightly, a faint frown creasing her brow. Corelia didn't wait for his recovery. With a quiet rustle of her mourning dress, she rose from the pew. Bypassing the gaggle of Montavi elders who would undoubtedly demand her emotional distress, she moved with an uncharacteristic purpose towards the side exit. Her destination wasn't the consolation line or the family receiving area. It was the estate's fabled Whispering Gardens—a place where privacy was absolute, and a certain terrifying individual often sought refuge. The gardens were a stark contrast to the mausoleum’s gloom. Sunlight spilled across meticulously manicured topiaries and beds of vibrant, exotic flora. The air here was lighter, fragrant with jasmine and citrus. At the heart of it all, a sprawling koi pond shimmered, its jade-green waters reflecting the cerulean sky. And by its edge, a solitary figure stood, his back to her, a silhouette of formidable power against the bright day. Roccano Di’Veltro. The very name carried dread among Orolucce’s elite. He was the untouched, unyielding head of the Grand Consortium, a man whose reputation preceded him like a shadow, dark and all-encompassing. Prickling tension settled in Corelia's collarbone, swiftly swept aside by steady satisfaction. He was exactly where she needed him. His dark, tailored coat seemed to absorb the light, making him appear even larger, more imposing. He was tossing flakes of iridescent food into the pond, his movements slow and deliberate. The koi, enormous and jewel-toned, swarmed towards him, their gaping mouths breaking the water’s surface in a silent frenzy. This was the man her cheating ex-husband worked for. The man who held Cervan's very career in his hands. Corelia approached the pond’s edge, her soft leather shoes making no sound on the polished river stones. Roccano did not acknowledge her presence, his attention seemingly fixed on the fish. She reached into the small, embroidered purse hanging from her wrist. Her fingers closed around a sleek, waterproof Sun-Jewel USB drive. It felt cool and heavy in her palm, a tiny repository of Cervan Loxari’s greed. With a smooth, almost languid motion, Corelia dropped the USB drive into the koi pond. It disappeared beneath the surface with a tiny, sharp *plink*, sending a ripple across the placid water. The jade-green depths swallowed it whole. Roccano Di’Veltro finally turned. His eyes, the colour of deep, ancient amber, fixed on her. They held a predatory intelligence, a stark awareness that made her feel utterly transparent. His gaze drifted to the spot where the USB had vanished, then back to her. A muscle twitched in his jaw. The quiet dominance that always surrounded him seemed to thicken, pressing down on the air. He watched her for a long moment, a silent interrogation in his piercing stare. Corelia met it, her own expression calm, almost sleepy. She had no energy for dramatics. Just results. Slowly, deliberately, Roccano knelt by the pond’s edge. His long, powerful arm plunged into the cool water. The koi scattered, agitated by the sudden intrusion. His fingers closed around the small, glinting object. He withdrew his hand, the waterproof USB drive dripping in his palm, the Sun-Jewel emblem catching the light. He stood, towering over her once more, his presence pressing thick and still over the stone pathway. His eyes, now colder, harder, flicked from the drive to Corelia’s face. A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips, revealing a flash of white, perfectly even teeth. “Are you proposing a business deal, little Montavi, or a massacre?”

A Funeral and a Nap