Capítulo 3: Funeral

The car pulled to a stop in front of the mansion, its once happy and peaceful aura overshadowed by the darkness of grief. Claire stared out the window, feeling the weight of it pressing on her chest. Every brick, every shadow seemed to accuse her, casting an eerie stillness over the place she had once called home.

"Get out, Claire," Cain's voice pierced through the quiet, his tone as sharp as the blade of a knife.

She glanced at him, desperate for a glimmer of the kindness they once shared, but his expression was hard, as if carved from stone.

"Can't I just…" she hesitated. "...change this uniform."

Cain's jaw clenched, and he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper. "You have one minute. After that, Claire, you'll regret it."

Her heart thudded painfully as she swallowed and nodded. Cain's words weren't just a command; they were a bitter reminder. If she pushed back against him, she knew the consequences would be swift and severe.

Claire took a steadying breath, grabbed the door handle, and stepped out into the cold air. The silence around the mansion was thick and unwelcoming, and the memories it held seemed to reach out, pulling her back to a time when her grandmother's laughter had filled these very walls, when her arms had wrapped around her with warmth and love. Now, all that remained was an echo.

She took her first steps toward the front door, each one weighted and slow. Her legs felt like lead, as if the very ground beneath her resisted her approach. She forced herself to keep going, her fingers trembling as she reached for the door. She pushed it open, and the somber hush inside swallowed her whole.

The interior of the mansion had transformed. Black fabric hung over the familiar floral wallpaper, and candles cast eerie shadows across the rooms. As she walked in, Claire could hear the muffled sobs and whispered conversations of mourners, but their voices faded into silence when they noticed her presence.

Every pair of eyes turned to her, filled with bitterness, contempt, and accusation. Her heart raced, her pulse roaring in her ears as the full weight of their disdain settled over her. She forced herself forward, her gaze shifting to the casket at the far end of the room.

Surrounded by the flowers lay her grandmother. Pale, cold, and unmoving. Claire's breath caught in her throat, and her legs buckled as grief tore through her like a violent storm. She fell to her knees, staring at her grandmother's face.

She was six when her father passed away. She wasn't able to enjoy a normal life, being bullied at school, being called a fatherless girl. Her mother was a pretty and loving lady. After the death of her husband, grief consumed her. They both had loved each other dearly, and his loss stole the happiness and beauty of her prime years.

But she still remembered how her grandmother was with her all along, even when her entire family was planning to abandon her.

"Mother, let's send Claire to a highly-reputated boarding school. We are busy with our lives, and it might be hard for us to take care of her." Her second uncle Anthony spoke firmly.

Claire stood in a corner in her grandmother's room, unfolding the drapes of the curtain nearby.

"Mom, Anthony is right. You aren't well, and your health keeps on deteriorating. And taking care of Claire wouldn't be less than a burden," said her aunt, supporting the decision of her brother.

Slamming her hands on the table, Grandma stood up in a rage. "You people are selfish; your intentions are evil. How fair it is for you to spend her father's money and make yourself luxurious, yet you want to abandon his child!" Stating that, she walked towards Claire and hugged her. "You will never leave my sight, not until my last breath."

A sharp voice snapped her back to the present. "Well, well, look who finally showed up," sneered her uncle, his voice cutting through the room with icy contempt. His eyes were like daggers, narrowing as they settled on her with loathing. "Come to enjoy the consequences of your actions, Claire?"

Claire's throat tightened, her words tangled in her throat. "Uncle, I…I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean?" Her aunt's voice was sharp, laced with venom. "You think that just because you 'didn't mean' it, you're not responsible?" Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her face twisted in anguish. "She loved you, Claire. You were everything to her, and this is how you repay her?"

Claire's heart crumbled. She tried to take a step forward, but the weight of their accusations pinned her in place. "Please," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I never wanted this. I would have done anything to protect her…"

Anthony, her uncle, took a step toward her, his eyes flashing with fury. "Your arrest, Claire, your selfish, reckless behavior—that's what did this. She couldn't bear to hear what you'd done. It broke her heart." He shook his head, disgust twisting his features. "You killed her, Claire."

A few days ago, Claire was arrested from her mansion while she was still joking around with her grandma, with a strong allegation of murder and conspiring to stage a girl's assault. The shock of her arrest sent her grandmother into a panic, triggering her poor heart conditions and worsening her health. This gave an open path for her family to accuse and blame her for the death of the old lady.

The words struck her like a physical blow, stealing the breath from her lungs. She felt herself falter, the world around her blurring as guilt and despair threatened to drown her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out—just a choked sob.

Zoe, her cousin, stepped forward, her gaze cold and merciless. "You were always trouble, Claire. You just couldn't stay out of it, could you? Always chasing your own desires, never caring about the rest of us. Well, I hope you're happy. You've finally destroyed everything."

The whispered accusations spread like wildfire, a current of resentment sweeping through the room. Claire's vision blurred, her mind reeling as she struggled to make sense of the hatred directed at her. She looked around, searching for a familiar face, for someone who might offer her an atom of comfort. But all she found were glances that spoke of disgust and anger.

Just then, Anthony stepped forward, his face contorted with rage. His hand raised, fingers curled as if ready to strike. "You deserve this, Claire. You deserve every bit of pain you're feeling."

Claire closed her eyes, bracing herself, her entire body trembling. But the blow never came.

"Touch her and you'll regret it," Cain's voice cut through the air like a blade. He stood just a few feet behind her, his gaze hard as steel, his presence commanding a stunned silence in the room. His stance was protective, his raging eyes daring anyone to challenge him.

Her uncle's hand wavered before he slowly lowered it, his face a mixture of frustration and fear. Cain didn't look away from him, his expression cold and sharp.

"Go back to your place," Cain said, his tone low but filled with an edge of danger. "This is neither the time nor the place."

Her uncle hesitated, casting Claire a final look of disdain before retreating, his fists clenched. Cain's gaze shifted to Claire, and for a moment, their eyes met. She saw a flicker of something—pity, perhaps, or understanding—but it was gone as quickly as it had come. She felt a surge of gratitude mixed with shame. How could she feel protected by the very man who had thrown her into this nightmare?

Taking a shuddering breath, she turned back to her grandmother's casket. The pain was unbearable, and as she stared at her old woman's lifeless face, her heart broke all over again. Slowly, she knelt beside the casket, reaching out to touch her grandmother's hand, cold and unmoving.

"Grandma…" Her voice was barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry. I…I should have been here for you. I didn't know. I wanted none of this. If I had just been more careful, maybe you'd still be here." Her voice broke, and tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

The silence of the room was suffocating, each of her family members watching her, their judgment a palpable weight. She could feel their anger pressing down on her, and yet, beside her grandmother, she felt assured.

But reality came rushing back, harsh and unkind. She was alone among the family she'd once called her own, surrounded by strangers filled with bitterness, and protected only by the man who had sent her spiraling into this nightmare.

"Claire," Cain's voice was steady, cutting through her haze. "It's time to go."

She forced herself to stand, wiping her tears with trembling hands. She looked around the room one last time, meeting her uncle's glare, her aunt's disdain, and her cousin's disgust.

Her heart hardened slightly, her voice steady as she spoke. "I didn't kill her. I loved her. And I won't let you make me bear the blame for something I didn't do."

Her uncle scoffed, dismissing her words with a bitter laugh, but Claire turned back to her grandmother, her fingers gently brushing over the edge of the casket. "I'll make this right, Grandma. I promise."

Taking a step further, she hesitantly requested Cain to let her be until the funeral was done and the ceremonies were over. But before Cain could answer, her aunt interrupted, "You are a jinx; we don't want your presence at the final ceremony of our mother, Claire. If you have even a little shame left in your, you will walk away."

She squared her shoulders and turned away, the weight of her family's scorn still heavy but no longer enough to crush her. As she passed through the door, Cain followed, his gaze unreadable. She didn't look back.

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