Desperate Funeral

Chapter 3

Shirley turned the camera back on my face.

"How about this? Pretty dramatic, right? This is exactly how a homewrecker should end up!"

"Smash that like button, and share this livestream with every woman who's ever been wronged!"

"Anyone who destroys a family deserves death!"

There was no room left in the hall, every emergency exit was jam-packed with guests. Up front, two staff members holding my father's ashes and his funeral portrait stood frozen, panic all over their faces.

Shirley spotted them immediately. She pointed and shouted,

"Break whatever they're holding! No need to keep up this charade!"

"No!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.

"Don't touch that! You can't break it!"

I tore myself away from the bodyguards and bolted toward the front. I swear, I've never run faster in my life.

But it was too late, the bodyguards shoved the staff to the floor. Clutching their heads, they let the urn and portrait roll out of their arms. Faced with fear, they'd chosen to protect themselves.

The moment a guard raised his foot toward the urn, I threw myself over it.

A crushing kick slammed into my back. Pain exploded through my organs, like everything inside me had been dislocated. Tears blurred my vision, a metallic taste coated my throat.

That bodyguard had smashed everything in his way but never laid hands on anyone, until now. And as he stood frozen, panicked by his own violence, Shirley casually raised her camera and strolled over.

I bit back the scream rising in my throat.

"Stop it. I swear I'll make you pay! Are you insane?! He's just a man! This is my father's funeral!"

Shirley shoved the phone in my face.

"Look at her! She's still threatening me! Mistresses really have no shame these days."

"Ooooh, I'm so scared! Should I drop to my knees and apologize?"

She paused, leaned down, and sneered at me.

"You're hugging that jar like it's sacred. What, afraid we'll find out it's just flour? Girl, with those acting skills, why aren't you in Hollywood?"

Then she straightened, turned to the stunned bodyguard, and snapped,

"Smash it! She's faking it! It's just flour, and she's putting on a show!"

"Is this how you scammed my husband? He might believe your act, but I'm not that dumb!"

The guard hesitated. Shirley rolled her eyes and barked,

"Well, don't just stand there! If one can't do it, get someone else! My husband will handle the consequences!"

"Whoever breaks that thing in her arms gets twenty grand! Twenty thousand!"

The bodyguards perked up instantly. Their eyes lit up with greed.

I clutched the urn tighter and shouted,

"Someone call the cops! I'll pay two hundred thousand, just get me help!"

The guards rushed forward like a mob. I rolled on the floor, screaming,

"Don't touch me! Get away! That's my dad's ashes!"

At that moment, hotel security finally stormed in. Shirley snapped, completely losing her patience.

"You can't even wrestle an urn from one woman? Pathetic! You want the rest of your bonus or not?"

Then she spun to the hotel guards and yelled,

"Stay back! If you touch me, I'll sue! My husband can buy this whole damn hotel, I'll have all of you fired!"

Fueled by panic and her threats, the bodyguards threw their full weight into it.

I was backed into a corner, pinned by a table leg. No way out. Someone grabbed my ankle and yanked me toward Shirley.

She was livid, her face flushed red, her foundation cracking under the sweat.

"Why are you dragging me?! You want me to do it myself?" she shouted, aiming the camera back at me.

Then she picked up a broken shard of porcelain from the ground and slammed it into my back.

I didn't scream. I wouldn't. But the jagged edge ripped through my clothes, cutting deep. Blood soaked through.

My clothes were still wet from the wine she'd poured earlier, and now every inch of the wound burned like fire.

I kept my grip on the urn.

I gritted my teeth so hard, my jaw trembled.

Brian. Shirley. I swear, I'm dragging you both to hell with my father.

But she wasn't done.

"Break it already! Step on her damn shoulder! Snap her arms if you have to!" Shirley screamed.

The guards moved in again. My blood was pooling on the floor.

Finally, the hotel security dialed the police. When Shirley heard them on the phone, she completely lost control.

She straddled my back and pressed down on the wound. I screamed from the depths of my soul.

That was all the guards needed. One finally wrenched the urn from my arms and hurled it to the ground.

It shattered.

The sound echoed through the hall like a death knell.

I lay there, broken. My sight blurred into gray.

My father's portrait was the next to be smashed. Another guard raised it and slammed it to the floor like it meant nothing.

They were all high on greed. Just for twenty thousand dollars.

Shirley finally stood tall, brushing her hair back, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She faced the camera again.

"You all see that? This is what happens when you sleep with someone else's man."

"And I'm not done! She's going to pay back every single cent my husband spent on her!"

"Anyone who comes after my man in the future? You'll get worse than this."

But just as her words faded, a piercing siren wailed outside.

The police burst in.

And Shirley immediately flipped the script.

"Officer! This woman conned my fiancé out of millions! Arrest her now!"

I coughed, blood in my mouth, and forced out the words.

"She's my husband's mistress. She ruined my father's funeral. She destroyed his ashes."

"Arrest them, make them pay. Tenfold. Right now!"