A performance.
The maids stood frozen at the edge of the dining room, whispering like they were afraid to be noticed.
“She’s still holding that urn…”
“She didn’t even defend herself…”
“I heard she went to the ocean alone with it…”
My chest already felt like it was empty long before their words reached me.
Vincenzo’s eyes finally dropped to my arms—to the white urn I was holding like it was something alive.
“What is that?” he asked.
Before I could move, he grabbed it from me.
“No!” I shouted—but it came out too late.
He held it up, turning it over in his hands like it was nothing important. Something disposable.
“So you’ve been walking around the city with this?” he said coldly. “Crying to people for attention?” He shook it slightly, almost mocking. “What is this supposed to be? Another one of your pathetic attempts at sympathy?”
My stomach dropped.
My breath caught.
“It’s an urn,” he said with a scoff. “Who died this time? Your pride?”
Lena let out a quiet laugh behind him. Noel snorted like he was watching a joke unfold.
I stood there, blood still drying on my lip, heat burning through my face.
And finally, I spoke.
“Give it back.”
Vincenzo lifted it higher, taunting me with it.