The rain over Westbridge City didn't just fall; it felt like the sky was weeping alongside Amelia. It was a cold, relentless downpour that turned the manicured grass of the cemetery into soft, dark mud.
Amelia Ward stood before the open grave, her black dress soaked at the hem, her heels sinking slightly into the earth. She stared at the mahogany coffin being lowered into the ground, but her mind refused to accept what her eyes were seeing.
Ethan.
Just three days ago, he had kissed her forehead before leaving for work. He had laughed about the burnt toast she'd made. He had promised to be home early for their anniversary dinner.
Now, he was a headline. "Tragic Accident Claims Life of Young Ward Heir."
The car crash had been brutal. The police said the brakes failed on the highway. They said he didn't suffer. But standing here in the freezing rain, Amelia felt like she was the one suffering enough for both of them. She felt hollowed out, as if her heart had been buried in that box along with him.
A sea of black umbrellas surrounded her. Hundreds of high class people had come, politicians, business tycoons, socialites. They were the elite of Westbridge, people who claimed to know the Ward family. They murmured their condolences, their voices buzzing like flies.
"So young."
"A tragedy for the dynasty."
"What will happen to the company now?"
Amelia wanted to scream at them to leave. They didn't care about Ethan's laugh, or the way he hummed when he cooked, or his kindness. They only cared about the Ward empire.
She shivered, the cold finally seeping through her coat. She swayed slightly, her vision blurring.
Suddenly, a presence appeared beside her. Large. Solid. Warm.
A heavy black umbrella moved over her head, shielding her from the rain. The sound of the downpour changed from a battering noise to a soft drumming against the fabric.
Amelia looked up slowly.
It was Damien.
Damien Ward, Ethan's older brother.
He was taller than Ethan had been, broader in the shoulders, with sharper features that always made him look formidable. Where Ethan had soft blue eyes, Damien's were dark, almost black, like obsidian. He was known as the "Iron Wolf" of Westbridge, the ruthless businessman who ran the Ward family empire while Ethan played the role of the gentle face of the company.
Today, however, the Iron Wolf looked broken.
His jaw was tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek. His dark eyes were red-rimmed, filled with a raw, silent agony that mirrored her own.
"Amelia," he said, his voice deep and rough, vibrating through the air between them.
He didn't offer empty platitudes. He didn't tell her it would be okay. He simply stepped closer, positioning his body to block the wind from hitting her.
"I can't believe he's gone," she whispered, her voice cracking. It was the first time she had spoken aloud in hours.
"I know," Damien replied softly. He shifted the umbrella so she was completely covered, leaving his own left shoulder exposed to the freezing rain. "I know."
The priest finished the final prayer. The crowd began to disperse, people eager to get back to their warm cars and dry homes. But Amelia couldn't move. Leaving the gravesite felt like leaving Ethan behind in the cold dark earth alone.
"Come," Damien said gently. He didn't grab her arm; he offered his elbow, a gesture of old-world respect. "You're freezing. Let me take you home."
"I don't want to go back to that empty house," she confessed, a fresh tear sliding down her cheek.
Damien turned to her, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that took her breath away. "You are not going back to an empty house. You're family, Amelia. And I protect my family."
He guided her through the mud, his grip on her elbow firm and steady. When the paparazzi surged forward near the cemetery gates, cameras flashing like lightning, Amelia flinched. She wasn't used to this. She hated the attention.
Damien's demeanor shifted instantly. He pulled her flush against his side, shielding her face with his coat. He glared at the reporters with such cold, terrifying ferocity that they actually lowered their cameras and stepped back.
At that moment, Amelia didn't see a ruthless tycoon. She saw a shield. A protector.
They reached his black limousine. The driver opened the door, and Damien helped her inside before sliding in next to her. The interior was warm, smelling of leather and the faint, expensive cologne Damien always wore that smelt like sandalwood and something sharper, like storm air.
As the car pulled away, leaving the cemetery behind, Amelia began to tremble. The adrenaline was fading, leaving only the shock. Her teeth chattered.
Without a word, Damien took off his suit jacket. He wrapped it around her shoulders, the silk lining warm from his body heat.
"I'm sorry," she stammered, pulling the jacket tighter. "I'm a mess."
"You're grieving," he said firmly. He reached into a compartment and poured a small glass of amber liquid. "Drink this. It's brandy. It will stop the shaking."
She took the glass, her fingers brushing against his. His hand was large, calloused despite his wealth, and incredibly warm. She drank. The liquid burned her throat, but it settled the cold in her stomach.
"What am I going to do, Damien?" she asked, looking out the window at the rain-streaked city. "Ethan handled everything. The bills, the house, the decisions… I was just…"
"You were his wife," Damien finished for her. "And now you are his widow. But you listen to me, Amelia."
He waited until she turned to face him.
"You don't have to do anything," he promised, his voice low and hypnotic. "I will handle the bills. I will handle the press. I will handle the investigation into the accident. Your only job is to breathe. Can you do that for me?"
Amelia looked at him—really looked at him. She had always been intimidated by Damien. Ethan used to joke that his big brother was "all bark and bite." But right now, sitting in this car, he felt like the only thing tethering her to the earth.
"Why?" she whispered. "You're hurting too."
A shadow passed over Damien's face. For a second, he looked almost guilty, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
"Because," he said, reaching out and gently tucking a stray strand of wet hair behind her ear, "Ethan loved you more than anything in this world. And the only way I can honor him… is to make sure nothing harms you."
His fingers lingered on her cheek for a fraction of a second too long. His skin was electric against hers.
Amelia leaned into his touch, her eyes closing. She was so tired. So incredibly tired.
"Thank you," she breathed.
Damien didn't smile. He just watched her, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the car. He looked like a guardian angel dressed in mourning black.
Amelia didn't know then that the devil was also an angel once.
She closed her eyes and let the darkness take her, feeling safe for the first time in days, unaware that the car wasn't taking her to freedom, but driving her deeper into a web she wouldn't see until it was too late.