Chapter 185
Chapter 185:
“You’re not…” Harper gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Skye, you’re not going to wear that to your own funeral p>
Skye smiled. She reached for a tube of lipstick in the same shade of red.
“They want a tragedy,” Skye said, applying the lipstick with precision. “I’m going to give them a resurrection. Beatrice wants a show? I’ll give her the performance of a lifetime p>
Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Alistair.
The church is secured. Half the road is blocked for your convoy. No one stops you.
Skye typed back: Make sure the audio system is hacked. I have a playlist.
She turned to Harper. “Are you ready to be the grieving best friend p>
Harper grinned, a vicious glint in her eyes. “I’ve been practicing my fake cry all morning. Let’s burn it down p>
St. Patrick’s Cathedral was a cavernous monument to old money and older guilt. The air inside was cool, scented with lilies and incense. The pews were packed with the city’s elite—politicians, business tycoons, social climbers—all dressed in somber black, whispering behind their hands.
At the front, an open casket lay empty, surrounded by white roses. A massive portrait of Skye, taken five years ago when she was young and naive, stood on an easel. In the photo, she wore a soft, hopeful smile that the woman currently waiting in a limousine outside no longer recognized.
Liam stood by the altar, swaying slightly. They had pumped him full of sedatives to get him here, but his eyes were wide and frantic, darting around the room as if he expected Skye to step out from behind a pillar. He looked gaunt, his cheekbones sharp enough to cut, his black suit hanging loosely on his frame.
Seraphina stood next to him. She had chosen a white lace dress. It was technically appropriate for a “pregnant” woman, but the lace was too sheer, the cut too tight. It was a statement: I am the new life. Look at me. She clung to Liam’s arm, her face arranged in a practiced mask of sorrow, though her eyes gleamed with triumph as she surveyed the crowd.
Beatrice sat in the front row, dabbing at dry eyes with a lace handkerchief. She checked her watch surreptitiously. The stock had stabilized slightly in anticipation of the sympathy bump. The priest—a man who had likely been paid a hefty donation by the Kensington trust—stepped up to the pulpit.
𝖠𝗅l 𝘆𝘰𝘂𝘳 𝗳a𝗏𝗼𝗋𝘪𝘁𝘦 𝗴𝘦𝘯𝗿𝗲𝗌 𝗼𝘯 𝘣𝗲𝗅ո𝗼𝘷e𝗹s.𝗰om
“We are gathered here today,” he intoned, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling, “to mourn the tragic loss of Skye Sterling Kensington. A devoted wife. A gentle soul. A woman who lived in the shadow of her husband’s greatness p>
Liam made a sound in his throat, choked with revulsion. He tried to pull his arm away from Seraphina, but she dug her nails into his bicep.
“Stand still,” she hissed under her breath. “The cameras are watching p>
“She wasn’t gentle,” Liam muttered, his voice slurred from the drugs. “She was fire. You didn’t know her p>
“And now she’s ash,” Seraphina whispered cruelly. “Let it go, Liam p>
Suddenly, a low rumble vibrated through the floorboards. It grew louder—a mechanical roar that penetrated the thick stone walls of the church.
Heads turned. The heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral didn’t just open; they were flung wide with a boom that cut the priest off mid-sentence.
Light flooded the dim sanctuary.