Evelin's POV
My eyes went wide as I clutched the urn against my chest like my life depended on it.
"These are my parents' ashes! How can you say that?" I shot back, my voice trembling with rage.
"This is my son's home!" Dalia hissed, her tone cutting like a blade. "You bring that cursed thing in here, and I'll shatter it into a thousand pieces. Let your dead parents witness what kind of child they brought up, trying to curse the Ford bloodline!"
My hands shook as I held the urn closer, fire burning in my gaze. "You might be my mother-in-law, but that doesn't give you the right to disrespect my parents!"
Grey moved between us, his voice cold as winter. "Evelin, grab the urn and leave. Don't upset my mother any more. She just had surgery. If something happens to her because of you, there'll be consequences."
I gripped the urn harder, my entire frame quaking with fury.
Years of marriage, and he couldn't even give my parents basic dignity.
When I stayed frozen in place, Grey's gaze turned deadly. "What, you need me to physically remove you?"
A harsh laugh escaped my lips as I looked down at the urn.
'Mom, Dad, I chose the wrong man.'
Years back, Grey had approached me, all hesitant and vulnerable. "I don't have a house or car. Do you still want to be with me?"
I'd said yes. That same day, when I'd gotten word about my parents' deaths, he'd been there, silently brushing away my tears.
After they passed, Haward had pulled me aside, his voice weighted with concern. "Evelin, your parents always worried about you finding happiness. Special forces is too risky. I don't want you ending up like them or your brother. I think they'd want you to have a long, peaceful life."
My parents were gone, my brother vanished—from a family of four, only I remained.
So I'd abandoned my military career, married Grey, believing we could at least maintain mutual respect, even without the passionate love my parents had shared.
But now, Grey was shredding even that fragile connection.
He had no clue—or simply didn't care—that when he was penniless, the capital to launch his company had come from my parents' death compensation.
'If Mom and Dad could see this from above,' I thought bitterly, 'watching the man they funded refuse to let their ashes enter his home, what would they think?'
"Fine, I'm leaving," I declared, lifting my chin and straightening my spine, refusing to let the tears come.
I could take hits, I could battle, but I wouldn't shed tears over someone this heartless.
I spun around and walked away without a backward glance.
---
Claire blinked in shock. "She actually left?"
Dalia snorted. "This is Grey's house. What does that orphan think she has any authority here? Acting like she owns the place."
Grey stared at her retreating form, a strange emptiness growing in his chest, like he'd just lost something precious.
---
I brought the urn to the funeral home for temporary storage.
I planned to bury my parents' ashes in their birthplace, but the headstone and preparations weren't complete yet. For now, this was my only option.
"Mom, Dad, just wait a little longer. I'll take you home soon," I murmured, carefully placing a flag over the urn. "I'll track down big brother, and we'll visit you together. I know he's still alive somewhere."
My brother, also a soldier, had disappeared years ago during a border mission.
While still in the military, I'd searched for him endlessly but found nothing.
After laying my parents to rest, I'd return to the border to continue looking.
As I exited the funeral home, a gentle rain began falling.
I opened my umbrella and caught fragments of nearby conversations.
"Wow, look at all those vehicles. I spotted some high-ranking officials earlier. Must be someone important's funeral?"
"Didn't you see the news? It's Mr. Jonathan Hamilton's funeral. His memorial service is starting soon."
"Really, the Hamilton family? Who's going to run things now?"
"Who else? That terrifyingly powerful member of their family."
I understood why the funeral home had been swarming with security earlier—today was the Hamilton patriarch's final ceremony.
In this city, the Hamilton name carried enormous weight, respected and feared by everyone.
Outside, I noticed an endless procession of elegant black vehicles, radiating wealth and influence.
A door opened on the closest car, and someone emerged beneath an umbrella.
A towering figure stepped out, his face partially concealed by the black umbrella.
I could only see his defined jawline, narrow lips, and those hands—long, powerful, with a menacing quality. Hands that seemed accustomed to violence.
Then our eyes locked. His were remarkable—intense, piercing, almost unnaturally beautiful.
But they held nothing—no grief, no emotion, just emptiness. A funeral attendee completely disconnected.
The man holding his umbrella spoke in hushed, deferential tones. "Mr. Hamilton, this way."
'Mr. Hamilton?' I went rigid. 'Is he part of the Hamilton family?'
In an instant, he passed by me, and I didn't realize until afterward that my palms were damp with perspiration.
My phone chimed with a text from Grey.
The message read: [Mom and Claire left. After you handle your parents' ashes, come home. We need to discuss something.]
I stared at the screen, my expression emotionless, then started my car and drove toward the villa.
Inside, Grey was relaxing on the sofa. The moment he spotted me, he stood and approached. "Did you take care of your parents' ashes?"
"Yes, they're handled," I replied, my tone neutral.
"Listen, my mother's elderly, she has her ways. She didn't intend to attack you like that," Grey said, drawing me into a gentle embrace. "Evelin, I'm sorry you were hurt today. I'll make this right."
'Make this right?' A surge of sorrow washed over me.
His embrace was warm, but it left me feeling frozen inside.
The ones truly insulted today weren't me—they were my parents, heroes whose ashes weren't even welcome in their daughter's home.
Once, I'd sought comfort in his arms.
Now, I was finished with his hollow gestures.
I pushed him away, meeting the gaze of the man I'd once loved. "Grey, we're finished. Let's divorce."