“Why? Who is it even supposed to be? What is this act now—collecting ashes for attention?”
I didn’t blink.
“My son,” I said quietly. “Gabriel.”
Everything stopped.
Vincenzo’s hand froze.
Lena’s smile vanished.
Noel’s expression dropped.
Even the maids went silent.
For a moment—just one breath—no one moved.
Then it slipped.
Or maybe he let it.
“No—!” the sound tore out of me.
It hit the floor.
A sharp crack echoed through the room.
And then everything broke.
Ashes. Bone fragments. Ceramic shards.
My son—what was left of him—spread across the marble like he had never been held, never been loved, never even lived.
My scream came out raw and broken. I dropped to my knees instantly, hands shaking as I tried to gather him back together. My fingers scraped the floor, but I didn’t feel the pain. I didn’t feel anything except the emptiness growing inside me.
Behind me, Vincenzo sighed like he was bored.
“Stop screaming like someone died,” he said flatly. “You’re not the victim here.”
My hands were covered in ash now. My breath came in uneven gasps. My vision blurred, but I couldn’t stop.
Then he spoke again.