Chapter 7

A lace dress with a mid thigh high slit, plunging neckline and open back, is probably inappropriate for a funeral.

But it's black, so I guess that should make up for it.

I step out of my car, looking through my little net veil at the crowd gathered for Mr Newton's funeral. As a billionaire, he had a lot of influence, and while it would have made more sense to have a private funeral, Deckard chose other wise.

Why? I have no clue.

I walk through the crowd and push past the reporters that are here to cover the event, and as I do, I feel all eyes on me.

Perfect. I need all eyes on me when I serve Deckard the divorce papers.

Inside the chapel, I can hear the sad instruments playing, even though the funeral hasn't started yet.

"Sydney?"

I turn around to see Georgia. She's wearing layers of heavy traditional lace, looking like the proper widow that hasn't slept since her husband died. Of course, it's deliberate, because I know she slept plenty in Deckard's arms.

"What on earth are you wearing?" She whispers, her blue eyes scanning me with anger. "This is a funeral, not a whore house! People are still talking about the café incident and this is what your wear here? To disrespect my husband's memory and confirm what they already suspect?"

I place my gloved hand over my hip, staring her down. "And whose fault is it that there is even a café incident? Surely not me. The fact that I already decided to make a statement and pretend that was me, should have you kneel at my feet in appreciation."

Her face pales, then flushes a deep shade of red. She steps closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Coming here looking like this just to spite Deckard? You're making a fool of yourself."

"A fool?" I tilt my head and give a sarcastic smile. "You know, that's very rich coming from you. See, I'd rather start a scandal for being inappropriately dressed to my father in-law's funeral, than to be a shameless parasite who couldn't even wait for the dirt to hit her husband's casket before climbing into his son's bed."

She gasps, her hand flying to her chest. "How dare you–"

"How dare I?" I step into her space. "Everyone sees it, Georgia. You think a stupid statement is going to hide the truth? It's obvious what it is. That you spent years feeding off the father and most probably deliberately killed him off, just so you could move on to the son before the old man is even cold. Pathetic, isn't it really?"

"You...you bitch!" She stammers, looking around to see if anyone is listening. "Deckard loves me, and he will always choose me over you."

"You know," I smirk as I begin to walk away. "He was never really my type, anyway."

I turn fully around and begin to walk just down the stairs when I feel a hand push me from behind.

"Leave my mommy alone!"

The force of the push breaks my balance and my ankle twists, making me lose my footing and before I know it, I'm falling.

I try to regain my balance, or at least break my fall. And in my panic, I reach out for the railings, but it's no use. My arm scratches the rough wall and I crash down the stairs, landing in my back.

"Ouch!"

Heated pain explodes across my skin, especially on my back. I'm at the bottom of the stairs, gasping for air, as my vision goes in and out of focus. I can already feel the warm stickiness of blood soaking into the sleeve of my dress and dripping from my back.

There's a sudden silence from the people nearby, but even then, Georgia walks down the stairs to me.

"Serves you right, you stupid bitch!" She spits, pulling Riley into her arms.

I look at the young boy that pushed me. Riley has always hated me, that's for sure. But this is just plain off the racket crazy. This woman is raising a psychopath!

A crowd is already beginning to gather, and I try to push myself up to my feet, even but it's too painful, and I just give up.

"Sydney!"

Deckard's voice books through the crowd and when I look up, I see him pushing through in a hurry to make it to my side.

His face is squeezed in a really concerned frown, and I mirror his expression, though not out of concern.

Why does he care? His little make believe family did this, and he would always take their stand anyway.

He reaches me in seconds, his hand hovering over my body. "Oh my God, Syd. You're bleeding," he looks at my arm, where the lace is torn and the blood is pooling out from. "What happened? How did you fall?"

"Your brother pushed her," someone from the gathering crowd points out.

Deckard looks around, then nods at security to disperse the crowd. After they're gone, he turns to Riley, who is standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at me with an ugly pout. Georgia is already behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

"Riley!" Deckard literally growls. "You pushed her? Why?!"

Riley flinches, fear suddenly creeping into his eyes. He moves to hide behind Georgia, peeking out from behind her skirt.

Even I am stunned that he'd actually scold him.

"Deckard, stop!" Georgia screams. "You're scaring him! He's just a child and you know he's upset. He didn't mean it. He saw her being mean to me and he was trying to protect his mother."

"He pushed her down a flight of stone stairs, Gia!" He looks at her in disbelief. "He could have killed her. Then what? Huh?"

"She was being mean to me, Deckard." Georgia's voice is harder now.

"So she should die then?" Then he points at Riley. "Apologize, now!"

Riley bursts into a loud cry, burying his face fully in Georgia's skirt.

"Don't you dare speak to him like that!" Georgia screams. "Sydney started this! She was standing there calling me names, saying horrible, disgusting things about your father and me. She provoked him, Deckard! She's been nothing but cruel since she arrived and Riley is upset. His father just died and she's treating us like trash. Yet, you're taking her side?"

This gets Deckard to freeze. He looks at Georgia and then back at me. I'm still on the ground, propped on one elbow, the pain making it hard to breathe.

There it is. The break of his resolve. She has him where she wants him and I know even now when her son almost killed me, he'll still take their side.

"Sydney..." he turns to me, his voice instantly softening up. "Did you...did you say something to her?"

I squeeze my face in disbelief, then it becomes so funny, I start to laugh. "Does it matter? Look at me. I'm bleeding and I'm hurt, and your first instinct is to ask if I deserved it?"

"I'm not saying you deserved it, I just—"

"If my brother knew you were making such a ruckus after his death, he’d probably be out of his casket by now."

The deep voice cuts Deckard off with a kind of authority that just belongs. In the middle of the drama, none of us noticed a sleek silver sedan come to a halt just a few feet away from us, neither did we notice the man who stepped out of it, strolling toward us with an effortless grace.

Clad in a well-fitted overcoat and sunglasses, Owen Kingston stops directly beside me. He lifts a finger to pull down his shades, his grey eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes the world around us blur.

"Uncle?" Deckard stammers, looking like he’s seen a ghost. "You're... you're back?"

Owen doesn't even glance at his nephew. Instead, he reaches down, his large, warm hand gripping my uninjured arm to steady me. With a strength that is surprisingly gentle, he helps me to my feet, and his hand comes to rest at the small of my back, supporting me in case I fall again.

"She's bleeding all over, and you just do nothing?" He then turns to Deckard. "Do you plan on burying your wife, as well as your father, this afternoon?"