The next morning.
The memorial hall of the funeral home was empty. Only a few half-burned candles flickered in the draft.
I knelt on a cushion, arranging my grandmother's urn.
Yesterday she had been lying on the operating table. Today she had become a small wooden box.
Footsteps echoed from the doorway, leather shoes striking against marble.
I didn't turn around.
It wasn't Ethan. It was his assistant, Miles Carter.
Miles wore an expensive tailored suit. He pressed a checkered handkerchief tightly over his nose.
With a look of obvious disgust, he stepped around the funeral wreaths at the entrance as if avoiding a source of infection.
He stopped and looked down at me.
"Ms. Sterling." Miles's voice came out muffled behind the handkerchief. "Mr. Griffin asked me to see whether you're done making a scene."
I gently wiped the dust from the urn with a cloth and ignored him.
Miles clearly wasn't used to being ignored.
Frowning, he pulled a check from his suit pocket and slapped it down on the table.
The sharp sound echoed through the hall.
The check slammed onto the table, sending a faint sprinkle of ash drifting off.
"Mr. Griffin said his tone might have been a little harsh last night. But he was thinking about the bigger picture." Miles's tone was practiced, like this was routine. "Fill in whatever number you want. Buy yourself a nice bag, calm down, and stop throwing a tantrum."
My hand paused. My gaze fell on the thin piece of paper.
It was a blank check. Enough to buy half the funeral home.
To Ethan, this was the perfect way to deal with a pet.
When I didn't respond, Miles assumed I had accepted.
He let out a breath of relief, stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket, and relaxed.
"Oh, right. One more thing." He glanced at his watch. "Ms. Langley's poodle has a vocal cord issue. Its barking is too loud, so Mr. Griffin scheduled a vocal cord surgery. Three this afternoon. Mr. Griffin specifically asked for you to handle it. You're the best surgeon around. A small operation like that should be nothing for you. Don't be late."
Operate on a dog?
So this was Ethan's idea of a compromise.
Even while arranging a funeral, I was expected to show up on command and serve Tessa's dog.
I slowly rose to my feet.
After kneeling all night, my knees were stiff, cracking softly as I moved.
I slipped my hand into the pocket of my lab coat. My fingers brushed against cold metal.
"So you're saying I should operate on a dog?" I asked.
Miles nodded impatiently. "Yes. Ms. Langley cares about her dog. She's worried other doctors might not be steady enough. This is also Mr. Griffin giving you a chance to prove yourself…"
I pulled out the scalpel.
The blade flashed coldly.
Miles flinched and instinctively stepped back, knocking over a plate of red apples from the table.
They rolled across the floor with dull thuds.
Bright red apples scattered across the marble floor.
"W-What are you doing? This is a country governed by law!" Miles stared at the knife in my hand, his face ashen.
I didn't look at him. I simply placed the razor-sharp tip of the scalpel against the center of the check.
My wrist pressed down. The blade dragged across the paper.
The tearing sound was sharp and ugly.
The blade sliced through the check and cut deep into the wooden table.
The check, a symbol of the Griffin family's power and money, instantly became a pile of useless scraps. They fell across the dusted table like absurd snow.
I pulled the knife back and lifted my head. My eyes felt as empty as the abyss behind me.
"Go back and tell Ethan." I spoke each word slowly, my voice perfectly calm. "To me, he isn't even worth a speck of dust on this urn."
Miles stared at me as if I had lost my mind.
He opened his mouth, then thought better of it and hurried out in embarrassment.
The hall fell quiet again.
I turned to look at my grandmother's black-and-white portrait.
If he refused to let me live in peace, then no one would.
I took off my lab coat and pulled the black dress I had prepared from my bag.
Tonight was the Griffin family dinner.