Chapter 7
The cemetery was a quiet, rolling expanse of green hills located three hours outside the city. The afternoon sky was a bright, airy blue, casting a luminous, soft light over the solemn gathering. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and freshly turned earth.
A small cluster of people stood near an open grave. They were mostly older residents of the small town, friends of Sage’s mother. They wore modest, faded clothing, their American accents hushed as the local minister read a brief, comforting scripture.
Standing slightly apart from the crowd was Sage. Her delicate cheekbones and gently squared jaw were etched with profound sorrow. She held the small white box containing the ruined wedding veil tightly against her chest.
Beside her, completely out of place in the modest rural cemetery, stood Tristan Lockwood. His towering, masculine frame, wrapped in a tailored black suit and overcoat, commanded an undeniable, silent authority. He stood with his hands clasped before him, the refined artistic tattoos on his fingers stark against the dark wool. His extremely short stubble and sharply defined jawline gave him the look of a dangerous, protective sentinel.
A discreet perimeter had been established by Tristan’s men, the armed operatives blending into the tree line, their perceptive eyes scanning the surrounding roads and hills for any sign of a threat.
"As we commit her body to the earth," the minister concluded, tossing a handful of dirt onto the lowered casket, "we remember the love she left behind in her daughter."
The small crowd murmured their amens and slowly began to disperse, offering quiet condolences to Sage as they walked past. Sage thanked them with a soft, strained voice, her fair skin pale and exhausted.
Once the last guest had retreated to their cars, Sage stepped forward to the edge of the grave. She knelt gracefully, placing the small white box onto the lid of the casket. She pressed her fingertips against the wood, a final, silent farewell to the woman who had raised her. Tears finally spilled over her lower eyelids, tracking down her softly rounded cheeks.
Tristan stepped forward, standing right behind her. He did not speak, simply offering his imposing presence as an anchor in the storm of her grief.
"Are you ready to say goodbye?" Tristan asked softly, his deep voice carrying over the rustling wind.
"I don't think I will ever be ready," Sage whispered, standing up and wiping her eyes.
"Does grief ever truly leave us, or do we simply learn to carry its weight?" Tristan asked, his cold eyes softening with a deep, personal understanding of loss.
Before Sage could answer, the quiet peace of the cemetery was shattered by the sharp, metallic crunch of tires on gravel.
Four black, unmarked SUVs tore through the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery, moving at high speed. They skidded to a halt near the edge of the burial site, kicking up clouds of dust into the bright, airy atmosphere.
Tristan reacted instantly. He grabbed Sage by the arm, pulling her violently behind the broad shield of his powerful shoulders. His right hand reached beneath his overcoat, drawing a heavy, customized handgun with fluid, lethal grace.
"Are you attempting to ambush me in a graveyard?" Tristan asked the empty air, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that promised immediate death.
From the tree line, Tristan's security operatives drew their assault rifles, stepping out of cover to form a tactical wall between their boss and the arriving vehicles. The luminous, elegant afternoon had suddenly transformed into a heavily armed standoff.
The doors of the lead SUV opened. Men in tactical gear stepped out, their weapons raised. From the passenger seat, an older man with graying hair and an immaculate suit emerged. He possessed the same fair, rosy skin and haughty expression as Cordelia. It was Arthur Ames, the head of the rival syndicate.
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"Tristan Lockwood!" Arthur yelled across the gravestones, his American accent thick with rage. "You humiliated my daughter! You broke a sacred pact!"
"Did you travel three hours just to complain about a broken engagement, Arthur?" Tristan asked, leveling his handgun directly at the older man's chest.
