After the priest finished the ritual and praised God, the incense still lingered in the air, curling slowly toward the carved ceiling of the ancestral hall.
The low hum of whispered condolences filled the space, blending with the faint rustle of black garments.
He called the family members forward to pray for the deceased.
Celine, Alex’s young stepmother, stepped up first.
She played her role as the perfect grieving wife.
Her shoulders trembled before she even reached the front, and by the time she stood before the portrait, tears were already streaming down her face as if they had been waiting for their cue.
“Eric!
Eric, why?” she wailed, her voice cracking just enough to sound real.
“Why did they take you away from me?
From your children?” She cried so hard that she won the sympathy of everyone there.
A few elderly women dabbed their eyes.
Some guests shook their heads in pity, murmuring about how tragic it was for such a young wife.
But behind the veil of grief, her eyes flickered — sharp, observant, calculating.
Luke couldn’t hold it either.
The sight of the portrait, the weight of the incense, and the echo of Celine’s cries pressed down on him all at once.
He broke down crying too, though his grief came out quieter, heavier, less performative.
His chest rose and fell unevenly as he tried to steady himself.
After Celine finished, Alex walked up to his father’s portrait.
The photograph stared back at him — calm, composed, forever frozen in a moment that no longer existed.
“Father,” he said, voice shaking, “I’ll avenge you.
I’ll avenge Mother.” He laid down a rose.
His fingers lingered on the edge of the frame for a second longer than necessary, as if letting go meant accepting reality.
Maria also stepped forward, dropped her flower, and the ritual ended.
She kept her expression controlled, respectful, careful not to draw attention.
But her eyes briefly lifted to the portrait, studying it — thinking.
Once the ancestral hall emptied, the silence felt heavier than the noise had been.
Celine stayed behind to thank the guests who came to pay their respects.
She bowed slightly, offering polite words, her earlier breakdown now replaced with composed gratitude.
No one would have guessed how quickly she could switch roles.
Eventually, the last guest left.
The doors closed.
The performance ended.
Later, Celine went to Luke’s room.
The hallway was quiet, her heels making soft, deliberate clicks against the polished floor.
She didn’t knock immediately.
Then she knocked.
“Come in,” Luke’s voice came from inside, strained but steadier now.
“You wanted evidence about Maria,” she said, handing him a stack of photos.
“This will prove to you who Maria really is.”
Luke took the folder slowly, his brows already furrowing.
There was hesitation in his movements, like part of him didn’t want to open it.
But curiosity — and something darker — pushed him forward.
Luke opened the folder.
The photos showed Maria knocking on a car door, then getting inside.
The sequence continued — grainy but clear enough to follow.
The car wasn’t Alan’s, but Maria had used a different one.
When she came out, her face looked different from the woman Alan knew.
Luke couldn’t tell if the driver was male or female.
All he knew for sure: Maria got into a stranger’s car.
He flipped through the images again, slower this time.
His jaw tightened.
Luke stared at the photos.
“So this is who she is,” he said, standing up.
The anger in his voice now had direction.
“Let me go and confront Alex and tell him who she really is.”
For a moment, it seemed like he would storm out immediately.
“No,” Celine said, grabbing his arm to stop him.
Her grip was firm, her tone sharper than before.
“Don’t go.
If you tell him now, she’ll deny everything and we’ll lose our chance.
You have to take matters into your own hands and force a confession from her.
Then you’ll have evidence to show your brother.”
Luke looked at her, torn.
The anger was still there, but doubt crept in.
His eyes dropped briefly to the photos again.
“Okay, Mom.
How do you say we do it?”
Celine’s voice dropped, almost to a whisper.
“Let’s take her to one of your hidden villas.
Away from everyone.
There, she won’t be able to lie her way out of this.”
The room fell silent after she said it.
Even Luke didn’t respond immediately.
Something about the plan felt irreversible.
*Corrected scene: Maria is lured out*
The evening air outside carried a faint chill, unusual but not unwelcome.
Streetlights flickered to life one by one, casting long shadows along the pavement.
Alex dropped Maria in front of her apartment. This story is hosted at g.com.
“Maria, I want to go tell my uncle about the successful burial,” he said.
“Please stay safe.”
Maria nodded.
“I know.
Go ahead.” She went inside.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment.
The silence of the apartment wrapped around her, heavy but familiar.
She exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the unease that had followed her since the funeral.
Alex was reluctant to get back in the car.
His instinct told him Maria would be in danger if he left.
His hands stayed on the steering wheel longer than necessary, his eyes fixed on the building.
But he remembered that his uncle’s men were watching Maria closely, so he drove off.
Still, he checked the rearview mirror more than once.
A few minutes after he left, Maria’s phone buzzed.
The sudden sound cut through the quiet like a warning.
A text from Celine: _Leave home now.
Meet me at the shop down the street.
If you don’t come, you don’t want to know what will happen._
Maria’s fingers tightened slightly around her phone as she read it again.
Her brows knit together.
Something about the message felt wrong — too direct, too threatening.
Her mind raced through possibilities.
Was this a trap?
Or something worse?
Maria felt she had no choice.
She went out.
She grabbed her bag quickly, hesitating only briefly at the door before stepping into the hallway.
The air outside felt colder now, or maybe it was just her nerves.
When she reached the shop, Celine wasn’t there.
The street was quieter than usual.
A single light flickered above the shop entrance, casting uneven shadows.
Maria turned to go back, her instincts now screaming at her to leave.
But before she could move —
A faint sound behind her.
A shift in the air.
Then,
Before she could react, someone struck her.
Pain exploded at the back of her head.
Her vision blurred instantly.
She was knocked out cold.
The ground rushed up.