flash
Gabriel’s knee touched the cold marble floor of St. Augustine’s Cathedral. The distance between him and the white casket felt like a canyon of fractured glass. / Chapter 2 / 10

Chapter 2 - The Empty AltarThe oak lid gave way with a sharp, splintering groan that echoed through the vaulted arches like a gunshot.

A collective gasp sucked the air right out of St. Augustine’s Cathedral.

Inside the satin-lined casket lay no peaceful, sleeping Caroline Whitaker. There was no pale skin, no expensive diamond necklace, no white burial gown.

Instead, the velvet interior was packed tight with heavy, gray bricks wrapped in industrial-grade plastic and duct tape—smuggled Colombian heroin. Dozens of pounds of it, filling the space where a human body should have rested.

Vivian stumbled backward, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with theatrical horror. “This… this is a nightmare! How did this get here? Someone planted this to frame us!”

“Quiet, Vivian,” Gabriel said. His voice was dangerously calm. Too calm.

He reached into the casket, pulled out one of the heavy plastic bricks, and tossed it down the center aisle. It landed with a dull, heavy thud right at the feet of Cole Ramsey. Cole didn’t flinch, but the vein in his temple throbbed violently.

“You gave me a closed-casket service, Cole,” Gabriel said, stepping down from the altar. His leather shoes clicked against the marble with rhythmic precision. “You handled the coroner. You handled the transport from the morgue. You told me her face was too damaged from the ‘accident’ to look upon.”

“Boss, I swear to God—” Cole stammered, his hand twitching toward his waistline.

“Don’t,” Gabriel warned.

Before Cole could draw his weapon, Gabriel moved with terrifying speed. A fist wrapped in heavy silver rings caught Cole square in the jaw, sending him crashing into the mahogany pews. Wood splintered. Cole groaned, blood pooling at the corner of his mouth, but he scrambled backward, pulling a Glock from his holster.

“Stay back!” Cole screamed, aiming the barrel straight at Gabriel’s chest. “You think you’re untouchable, Gabe? You’re blind! You’ve been blind for years!”

The cathedral dissolved into pure chaos. Women screamed, diving under the pews. The underworld soldiers drew their weapons, but nobody fired; they were waiting to see who held the ultimate leverage.

Lily let out a sharp cry and ducked behind Gabriel’s heavy woolen coat, gripping the fabric tightly.

“Where is my wife, Cole?” Gabriel asked, taking a slow step forward, ignoring the black barrel pointed at his heart.

“She’s gone, Gabe,” Cole laughed hysterically, blood dripping down his chin. “And you’ll never see her again unless you hand over the South Side docks by midnight. Vivian arranged the whole thing. Ask her! Ask your sweet, loyal sister who’s been sleeping with your biggest rival behind your back!”

May you like

He Moved His Mistress Into the Beach House I Bought His Parents—So I Sold It and Cut Off His Cards The woman who opened the door to my beach house was barefoot, freshly showered, and wearing my husband’s favorite college T-shirt. Three seconds later, I saw his shoes by the sofa, his overnight charger plugged into the wall, and two half-finished glasses of wine on the coffee table. By the time Evan came out of the bedroom and asked, “How did you know I was here?” I understood that the affair was only the first thing he had been hiding from me. The ocean was loud that afternoon. Not violent, not stormy, just constant—the heavy Atlantic rhythm that had once made me fall in love with the North Carolina coast. Wind moved through the sea oats beyond the porch, carrying salt and the damp smell of sand through the open screen door. I had driven from Wilmington after finishing a bookstore event three hours earlier than expected. The plan had been simple. Surprise Diane and Frank with lunch. My in-laws had lived in the house for six months, ever since I bought it as the retirement place they had talked about for years. Frank’s cardiac procedure had frightened everyone, and Diane had begun saying they were tired of winters inland, tired of stairs, tired of being so far from the ocean. I could afford the house. That mattered. I was a commercial novelist, and after fifteen years of inconsistent beginnings, my backlist had finally become predictable enough to create the strange kind of financial stability writers rarely admitted existed. Royalties came from older books, foreign editions, television options that mostly went nowhere, audiobook licensing, and one series that kept selling long after I expected readers to forget it. The down payment came from an investment account I opened before I met Evan, combined with proceeds from intellectual property I had created before our marriage. The deed was in my name. At the time, that had not felt like strategy. It felt like paperwork. I loved Evan. I loved his parents. When I gave Diane the keys, she cried. “This is too much,” she said. I hugged her. “Then enjoy too much.” Frank stood behind her with tears in his eyes and said, “We’ll take care of it like it’s ours.” I thought that was gratitude. Six months later, another woman opened the door. She wore Evan’s faded black concert shirt, the one with the cracked white logo of an alternative band he had loved in college. Two years into our marriage, I once tried to place the shirt in a donation box. Evan took it from my hands so quickly I laughed. “No.” “It has holes.” “It survived college.” “So did you.” “Exactly. It’s family.” He folded it himself. Later, when Diane stored a box of Evan’s old belongings, the shirt apparently went with it. Now it fell nearly to a strange woman’s knees. She had damp brown hair and pale bare feet. “Hi,” she said. “Can I help you?” For several seconds, I didn’t answer. I looked past her. A light cardigan hung over the sofa. Two wineglasses sat beside takeout containers. Pink slippers rested beside gray sneakers I knew immediately. Evan’s. Beside the shoes was his black travel charger with blue tape around the cord. I had packed that charger for him before his supposed sales conference in Atlanta. On the console near the stairs sat his leather toiletry bag. Ordinary details. That was what made them devastating. Nothing looked rushed. No one had been caught in the middle of some spontaneous mistake. Continued in the first c0mment

He Moved His Mistress Into the Beach House I Bought His Parents—So I Sol...

The dark walnut paneling of Valance absorbed the ambient amber light, making the private dining room feel like a velvet trap. Sabrina shifted slightly beside Nathan, her fingers grazing the base of her crystal water glass. She had spent two hours curling her hair and selecting a dress that whispered corporate elegance, convinced tonight was the night she cemented her place not just in Nathan’s office, but in his life.

The dark walnut paneling of Valance absorbed the ambient amber light, ma...

The amber light of the Fairmont ballroom caught the subtle glimmer of the diamonds against Madison's neck—my diamonds. From my vantage point on the mezzanine, looking down through the polished brass railing, I could see the exact way Ethan placed his hand at the small of her back. It was the same possessive, practiced grip he used to use on me during our early years, before the long hours, the late-night "investor calls," and the quiet erosion of our marriage.

The amber light of the Fairmont ballroom caught the subtle glimmer of th...

Gabriel stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly turned his head to look at his sister.

Vivian’s face had gone completely, deathly white.

Share

X Facebook Reddit LinkedIn WhatsApp Telegram Email

Other posts

The applause was still ringing in the grand ballroom, a sickening wave of validation for a man who had just traded my life's security for cheap applause. Diane was weeping tears of pure triumph into a lace handkerchief, her shoulders shaking with melodramatic joy.

Jun 07, 2026

The applause was still ringing in the grand ballroom, a sickening wave of validation for a...

The prong work was modern cast. Clean, sharp, industrially mass-produced.

Jul 09, 2026

The prong work was modern cast. Clean, sharp, industrially mass-produced.

Nathan didn't look like a man arriving for a romantic anniversary trip to Paris.

Aug 15, 2026

Nathan didn't look like a man arriving for a romantic anniversary trip to Paris.

The notification chime on Olivia’s phone didn't ring out; it gave a sharp, clinical little ping that felt entirely too polite for a grenade.

Jun 12, 2026

The notification chime on Olivia’s phone didn't ring out; it gave a sharp, clinical little...

The phone call connected on the second ring. A receptionist at the hotel’s security desk answered with crisp, practiced indifference, asking how she could assist.

Jun 17, 2026

The phone call connected on the second ring. A receptionist at the hotel’s security desk a...

The gray October afternoon deepened into a heavy, suffocating dusk as I sat in the rented Nissan, watching the light flicker on inside Unit 114.

Jul 21, 2026

The gray October afternoon deepened into a heavy, suffocating dusk as I sat in the rented...

🚨 VIRAL HEADLINE: HE WAS 7 YEARS OLD WHEN HE PUSHED A WHEELBARROW INTO THE ICU. BUT WHEN POLICE READ HIS MOTHER’S FINAL LETTER, THEY REALIZED THE REAL NIGHTMARE HAD JUST BEGUN… 🚨

Aug 07, 2026

🚨 VIRAL HEADLINE: HE WAS 7 YEARS OLD WHEN HE PUSHED A WHEELBARROW INTO THE ICU. BUT WHEN...

The morning air of the Langham Chicago’s grand ballroom smelled of imported white roses and old money. Chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls from the gold-leaf ceiling, casting a dazzling light over two hundred of the city’s elite. Investors, corporate lawyers, and society figures mingled with glasses of champagne, whispering about the union of Ryan Brooks and Lauren Vance.

Jun 20, 2026

The morning air of the Langham Chicago’s grand ballroom smelled of imported white roses an...