CHAPTER 1 — MY EX-HUSBAND'S FUNERAL

Sophie POV

I divorced Adrian Cross seven days before he died.

I told myself it was the right choice. I told myself a cold man doesn't deserve tears.

I was wrong about all of it.

I stood outside the church doors, my hands trembling.

"Are you sure about this?" I whispered to myself.

My fingers wouldn't stop shaking.

I pushed the doors open anyway.

The smell of lilies hit me first. Heavy. Suffocating. Thick enough to choke on.

Rows and rows of black suits filled every pew.

Business leaders. Employees. Family.

Someone gasped near the front.

"Is that her?" a woman whispered, not bothering to lower her voice.

"She divorced him a week ago," another muttered. "How does she have the nerve to show up here?"

"Disgusting," someone else hissed.

I kept my eyes forward, my chin high, even as my chest caved in.

I'm not here for them. I'm here for him. I don't even know why anymore — I just know I couldn't stay away.

My legs carried me down the aisle even as every instinct screamed at me to turn back.

I found a seat in the back, ignoring the stares burning into my skin like fire.

That's when I noticed him.

A man near the front, gray suit, not crying like the others. Not whispering either. Just watching me. Not with judgment — with something closer to calculation, like he was measuring how much I knew.

I didn't recognize him. I filed his face away anyway.

The casket sat at the front, closed, drowning in white roses.

I still don't believe he's in there.

This isn't real. This can't be real.

The priest began speaking. Something about legacy. About loss. About a man who built an empire out of nothing.

I heard none of it.

I was staring at his photo on the easel beside the casket.

He wasn't smiling in it.

His eyes were on me.

I hadn't noticed that before. I wonder what else I never noticed.

My throat tightened until it hurt to breathe.

A woman two rows ahead leaned toward her husband. "Gold digger," she murmured, just loud enough for me to catch.

I didn't flinch. I'd heard worse. I'd believed worse about myself.

If only they knew. If only I knew.

When the service ended, people filed past the casket one by one.

Some cried.

Some just stared, already calculating what his death meant for their shares, their positions, their futures.

The man in the gray suit was one of the last to leave. He didn't approach the casket at all.

He looked at me one more time on his way out. Then he was gone.

I stayed seated until most of them left.

I was almost at the door when a hand caught my wrist. Cold fingers. Strong for someone so old.

"You came," a voice said.

I turned. Adrian's grandmother stood there, sharp-eyed despite her age, her black dress hanging off a frame that had grown thinner with grief.

"I didn't think I should," I admitted. "Considering everything."

"Considering what?" she asked, her tone cold, cutting. "That you divorced him?"

"Yes," I said quietly, forcing myself to meet her eyes.

She studied me for a long moment, her grip tightening on my wrist until it almost hurt.

"You were the only thing he ever wanted," she said.

The words hit me like a slap.

I blinked. "That's not true."

"Is that what he told you?" she snapped, her voice rising.

"He never told me anything," I said, my own voice cracking. "That was the problem. That was always the problem."

"No," she said, releasing my wrist. "He wouldn't have. He didn't know how."

I frowned, my heart pounding. "What does that mean?"

"It means that boy loved you so much he didn't know how to say it without sounding like he was buying you," she said, each word landing like a blow. "So he gave. Quietly. In silence. And let you believe whatever you wanted to believe, because the alternative terrified him more than losing you ever did."

"That's not possible," I whispered, shaking my head. "You're wrong. You have to be wrong."

"Ask his lawyer," she said. "Before you leave this church."

She turned and walked away, her cane tapping against the marble floor, each strike echoing through the emptying nave like a countdown.

I stood frozen, her words looping in my head, over and over.

The only thing he ever wanted.

If that's true, what did I throw away?

I walked outside into the gray afternoon light, my mind still spinning.

"Mrs. Cross."

I turned at the voice, my heart lurching.

A man in a gray suit approached, a small wooden box tucked under his arm — Whitfield, Adrian's lawyer.

"It's Bennett now," I said, my voice sharper than I meant it. "Sophie Bennett."

Something flickered across his face — regret, maybe, or pity. "My apologies," he said.

He held the box out to me, and I stared at it like it might burn my hands.

"Mr. Cross asked that this be given to you," he said, "if anything happened to him."

I stared at it, my hands frozen at my sides. "When did he ask you this?"

"Three years ago," he said. "Before the wedding."

My blood ran cold. "That doesn't make sense. We weren't even married yet."

"I know," he said. "He was very specific. This box. To you. No one else. Not even if the marriage ended."

My stomach dropped. "He knew the marriage might end?"

His expression tightened, guarded. "I can't discuss the details, Ms. Bennett. I'm sorry."

He pressed the box into my hands, and it felt heavier than wood should.

"There's something else," he added, quieter now, glancing around like he was afraid of being overheard.

I followed his gaze. The man in the gray suit from inside the church was standing by a black car across the street, watching us both without pretending otherwise.

Whitfield's jaw tightened.

"Not here," he said. "Something you should know. But not here."

"Then where?" I asked, my pulse hammering.

"My office. Tomorrow. If you're willing."

"I'll be there," I said, gripping the box tighter.

He nodded once and walked quickly to his car, not once looking back toward the man across the street.

I looked over. The stranger was still watching me.

Then he got in his car and drove away.

I stood there a long moment, the box heavy in my hands, a cold unease settling into my chest that had nothing to do with grief.

Who was that? And why was he watching me instead of mourning him?

I got in my car and sat there, staring at the box, unable to make myself turn the key.

I keep thinking — if I hadn't filed those papers, would he still be alive right now?

That night, alone in my apartment, I finally opened it.

Inside were letters. Dozens of them.

All addressed to me.

None of them sent.

"What is this?" I whispered, my voice cracking.

I picked up the one on top, the oldest one judging by the yellowed paper.

My hands trembled as I broke the seal.

I unfolded it and began to read.

"I saw you long before you ever knew my name."

I froze.

That's not possible.

I read the line again. And again.

"Adrian," I whispered into the empty apartment, "what did you do?"

I sat on my bedroom floor for the rest of the night, the letter clutched in my hands, my heart pounding harder with every word.

Whatever I thought I knew about my marriage — I had a feeling it was about to fall apart completely.

And somewhere out there, a man in a gray suit already knew more about it than I did.