Chapter 7
Leandro’s POV
The urn in my hands burned like fire, searing into my skin, but I couldn’t let it go. My breath came in ragged bursts, my chest rising and falling as though I were drowning on dry land.
No. This couldn’t be happening. Not to me. Not like this.
My knees wobbled beneath me, and I almost dropped the urn, but at the last second, I forced myself to hold on tighter, my knuckles white. I turned slowly, eyes dazed, until the butler came into view. His face was pale, lips trembling. Without knowing why, I shoved the urn into his hands as though it were poison, and then I staggered backward.
My feet carried me across the floor, pacing, back and forth, back and forth. My hands dug into my hair as I pressed the phone back to my ear.
“Repeat that,” I demanded, my voice hoarse. “Say it again. Tell me exactly what you just said.”
The officer’s tone was steady, clinical. “Mr. Jones, your wife, Emerald Jones, was confirmed dead. Her vehicle collided with a twelve–wheeler truck on the highway near the airport. There were luggage and personal belongings in the car. All evidence indicates she was attempting to leave the country.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. Leaving? To the airport? No. Impossible. Emerald wouldn’t–she couldn’t.
Why would she run? Was it because of Nadine? The endless arguments, the jealousy? Or was it because of Gwen? The kidnappers, the bloodied packages–had she finally broken, choosing to escape rather than face the torment? No, that didn’t sound like her. Emerald was stubborn, fiery; she wouldn’t give up on Gwen so easily.
Unless… unless she had another plan. Maybe she was going to the airport to find help, to gather money without bowing to the kidnappers‘ insane demands. Maybe she thought she could outsmart them. My head spun, tangled in questions without answers. I told myself- no, I knew–she was only doing this to save Gwen. She had to be. Emerald wouldn’t leave me. She wouldn’t leave us. She couldn’t.
And yet–why hadn’t she begged me harder? Why didn’t she fall to her knees, cry, scream, do everything she could to force me to move for Gwen? Any mother would. Any mother should. But Emerald? No. She was too proud to let the kidnappers feel like they had the upper hand. Too stubborn to bow, even when our baby’s life hung in the balance.
It made no sense–and yet, in that twisted moment, I almost believed she’d died trying to win against them.
The words of the officer clawed deeper, ripping at everything I thought I knew.
A sound burst out of me, jagged and ugly. A laugh. At first hollow, then louder, breaking apart into madness. “Dead? Leaving? Do you even hear yourself? That’s impossible! She
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wouldn’t–she couldn’t–she’s not dead!”
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The officer hesitated. “Sir, I suggest you come to the scene. Seeing it yourself may… help you accept the situation.”
Accept? Accept? My mind spun, images colliding like broken glass. Emerald’s face on our wedding day, radiant in white, clutching my hand so tightly as if she’d never let go. Her laughter when we shared our first dance. The tears in her eyes when Gwen was born, when she whispered, ‘She has your eyes, Leandro‘
No. That woman couldn’t just vanish. Not Emerald.
I dug my nails into my palms until blood beaded. “No. You’re wrong. You have the wrong woman. Nothing happened. Nothing could have happened. This isn’t real.”
But the officer didn’t bend. “Come to the site, Mr. Jones. See for yourself.”
The drive was a blur. My driver said nothing, sensing the storm in me. My fingers clenched and unclenched around the seatbelt. The world outside the window flickered past in streaks of headlights and shadows, but all I could see was Emerald’s smile.
When we arrived, the acrid stench of burning metal filled my nostrils. Red and blue lights from police cars and ambulances painted the road. The twisted wreck of a car sat on the side, charred and broken beyond recognition. My stomach turned as I stumbled forward, each step heavier than the last.
“Mr. Jones,” a uniformed officer stepped toward me, holding a sealed plastic bag. “We recovered this at the site.”
Inside the bag was a passport. Emerald’s face stared back at me, her name in bold letters.
I snatched it, my chest constricting. My hands shook so violently that I nearly tore the plastic apart.
“No…” My voice cracked. “No, this doesn’t mean anything. It’s not her. This… this could be anyone’s things. This isn’t proof. Show me the body.”
The officer gestured to the covered stretcher nearby. A black body bag lay atop it, zipped shut. My throat closed. My legs buckled as I staggered closer. With trembling hands, I pulled the zipper down just enough to glimpse what remained.
The face was mangled beyond recognition. Skin burned, hair gone. The body was broken.
It could be her.
It couldn’t be her.
A raw scream tore out of me. “NO!” I fell to my knees, clutching the cold ground, my vision swimming. My fists pounded the asphalt as sobs shook through me. “This is not her! Do you hear me? THIS IS NOT HER!”
“Mr. Jones-”
“Run the DNA test!” I bellowed, my voice hoarse. “Do it again and again and again! Until you can prove it! Because this-” I gestured wildly at the body, my chest heaving, “-this is
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not Emerald. She can’t be dead. She can’t leave me like this!”
The officers exchanged looks, but I didn’t care. On my knees, my heart shattering, I screamed until my throat was raw.
“No… No… No…” My head dropped, tears dripping into the dirt. “This is not her…”
But the stillness of the night, the scent of smoke, the lifeless weight of that body said
otherwise.
