I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt and forced the words out. “You keep talking about surveillance. Then show it to me. I won’t stand here and let anyone drag my daughter’s name through the mud.”
Vincent did not hesitate. He unlocked his phone with a few swift taps and flung it at me as though tossing evidence onto a courtroom table.
On the screen was footage from inside the Volkov mansion. A small figure appeared in the frame, wearing a dress identical to the one Sofia had worn that day. The girl had a hat pulled low over her face and moved with an unsteady gait as she entered Roxanne’s bedroom.
She walked toward the vanity, took a small bottle out of a bag, and poured its contents into a jar of skincare cream. The video cut off immediately afterward.
I noticed the timestamp.
Two days ago.
By that time, my daughter had already been reduced to ashes.
A bitter laugh escaped me, though tears streamed freely down my face.
Roxanne stepped forward delicately, her voice trembling with false vulnerability. “Alessandra, I’m not trying to accuse anyone. I only want to understand why Sofia would do such a thing. She’s still young. It’s not too late to guide her properly. You can’t let her grow up thinking this is acceptable.”
Her hypocrisy made my blood boil. I pushed myself up and spat directly onto her rash-covered cheek.
“Stop pretending you care about Sofia,” I said coldly. “You don’t even know who that person in the video is, yet you’re already pinning it on us. Or are you so desperate to sit in Mrs. Volkov’s seat that you’ll frame a child?”
Vincent’s restraint finally snapped.
Before I could react, his foot slammed into my stomach. The force knocked the air out of me, and my fingers loosened instinctively.
The urn slipped from my grasp.
It hit the ground with a hollow crack. The lid popped off and rolled away. The container toppled, and a cloud of pale gray ashes spilled across the rough concrete floor, spreading in a thin, tragic layer under the harsh light.
For a moment, I felt nothing at all.
All I could see was the gray dust scattered before me.
My scream tore through the narrow hallway.
Ignoring the searing pain in my abdomen, I dropped to my knees and threw myself over the ashes as though I could shield them from further harm.
Vincent tilted his chin slightly and gave a subtle signal. Two bodyguards stepped forward, each gripping one of my arms and hauling me upright despite my struggle.
My eyes remained locked on the ground. My lips moved soundlessly. No voice came out.
Vincent crouched in front of me, lowering his voice into a dangerous whisper. “Where is Sofia? I’m giving you one last opportunity to answer.”
I could not respond. My mind had gone numb.
He straightened slowly, nodding to himself as if reaching a conclusion. “So you won’t talk. You think it’s amusing to ruin someone’s face, is that it?”
One of the bodyguards handed him a bottle of medical alcohol.
Vincent unscrewed the cap and poured the liquid directly onto the ashes scattered on the floor. The alcohol soaked into the gray powder, turning it into a murky paste.
He bent down, scooped up a handful of the mixture, and without hesitation smeared it across my face.
The sudden chill made my entire body tremble, but he seemed only more enraged by my reaction. He pressed harder, rubbing the ash and alcohol into my skin as if grinding it in.
“Since you like playing these games, I’ll personally give you a treatment,” he said mockingly. “How does it feel? Say something. Can’t you hear me asking you?”
The alcohol seeped into the skin that his earlier slap had already split open. A burning sensation tore through me, twisting my features in agony. My cries echoed down the decrepit corridor.
Unmoved, he declared, “You want a divorce? Fine. I’ll give it to you. But don’t ever expect to see Sofia again.”
He wiped his hands casually on a bodyguard’s suit as though cleaning off dirt, then pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant.
“Get the police involved and find out where Alessandra has hidden Sofia,” he ordered coldly. “Have the lawyer prepare divorce documents immediately. I’m taking full custody of my daughter.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before a hesitant voice answered.
“Don Volkov… Sofia has already passed away. She was cremated. The accident happened the night you attended the banquet with Ms. Vega. She was struck by a motorcycle.”
The voice faltered before continuing, “We were unable to reach you at the time. I arranged a burial plot on Mrs. Volkov’s instructions. Today is the day of the interment.”
Silence fell heavy in the hallway, thick as the ashes still clinging to my skin.
