The sky hung heavy over the cemetery, cloaked in a soft grey, as if mourning with her.
Catherine stood still beneath the canopy tent, her black dress rippling gently in the wind. Her face was pale, her eyes distant, hollow from days without sleep. The sound of earth hitting the casket echoed like thunder in her chest.
Her father was gone.
People moved around her — distant relatives, neighbors, a few café regulars, and Aina, who hadn't left her side once since that call. But Catherine hardly registered them. Her world had shrunk to this patch of ground and a coffin that held the only family she had left.
Aina held her hand tightly, whispering gentle things — that it would be okay, that she wasn't alone. But Catherine didn't answer. She couldn't. All she could hear was her father's voice in her head.
"You are the brightest light in my life."
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from breaking.
Where was Maverick?
She had called him — ten times — the night her father passed. Left messages. Pleaded through tears. And he hadn't picked up.
Not a single time.
Meanwhile — hours earlier, out of town.
Maverick jolted awake in a luxury hotel room, sunlight streaming in through the floor-length windows. The familiar chime of his phone vibrated against the glass table beside him.
When he picked it up, his heart dropped.
10 missed calls
3 voicemails
Catherine.
His stomach turned cold.
He tapped on the first message, pressing the phone to his ear.
All he could hear was Catherine sobbing. Barely able to speak. Screaming between gasps.
"…please… come… I— I can't… he's gone…"
Maverick stood frozen.
He tried to call her back — once, twice, three times.
No answer.
He texted instead.
"I just saw your calls. I'm so sorry. I'll come by tonight. I'm still out of town. Please hang in there."
He stared at the screen for a long moment, running a hand through his hair. His guilt rose like bile in his throat. He should've picked up. Should've been there.
He failed her.
He turned to the window, heart pounding.
Then, soft hands wrapped around his waist from behind.
He felt a kiss press against his shoulder — warm, familiar.
A woman's voice purred against his back, "Is it something to do with that Catherine girl again?"
He didn't answer.
Rose slid around him, her bare body draped in his white shirt, her smile lazy and amused.
"Come on," she whispered, tilting her head. "Let's forget about her. I'm here now. We still have… unfinished business." Her fingers trailed down his chest as she leaned in.
Maverick closed his eyes.
Guilt surged through him, thick and suffocating.
"Not now, Rose," he muttered.
But Rose only smiled that wicked little smile, one corner of her mouth twitching up with a knowing glint. She didn't care. She never did.
She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the bed.
Maverick followed.
Not because he wanted to.
But because it was easier than facing the storm he'd created.
Back at the funeral.
As the last shovelful of dirt hit the grave, Catherine finally let a tear fall.
Not the loud kind. Just a single, quiet one — trailing down her cheek like a crack down a porcelain face.
And somewhere deep inside her, something else cracked too.
Something that might never heal the same again.