Vivian smoothed the modest black sleeveless dress down over her knees, adjusting the low black heels she'd bought specifically for Vince’s funeral. Her reflection stared back from the dorm-room mirror, pale and solemn, shadows beneath her eyes revealing the sleepless nights she'd endured.

  The past few days had felt oddly surreal, her life slipping quietly back into normalcy. Noah had stopped attending classes, Lucas remained absent as usual, and any chance of contact felt impossible. The lie Noah had spread about the mugging had successfully deflected suspicion about her injuries, though the whispers and teasing smiles about their supposed relationship unsettled her deeply. Each question stirred unwelcome memories of softer moments with Noah, especially the raw, painful vulnerability on his face when he'd urged her to leave.

  A distinct emptiness lingered within her now—she sat through lectures without absorbing a word, barely touched her food, and when sleep came, it brought relentless nightmares: Vince's murder, Mochi’s anguished screams, Sammy’s violation, and that haunting trap in the alley. The list of names still lingered silently on her phone screen—Jace Ng, Ray Wen, Erica Mo, Angie Tseng—all connected to Mike Liu's death, entwined irrevocably with Vince, Serena, and Marcus. Lucas had remained silent about Serena, leaving Vivian to assume he'd uncovered nothing.

  Finally, she arrived via Uber at the traditional Chinese funeral parlour in San Francisco’s Chinatown, stepping quietly through the doors. Inside, the air hung heavy and thick with incense smoke, spiraling slowly towards a ceiling shrouded in shadow. Muted, neutral walls adorned with silk banners and traditional paintings watched solemnly over the gathering, each face familiar yet devoid of warmth. Security hovered discreetly, eyes observant, their presence a constant silent reminder of power and control.

  At the front of the room, Vince’s black-and-white portrait stood proudly at the altar’s highest point, illuminated softly by flickering candles. Vivian’s breath caught sharply, her throat tightening painfully as she gazed into his familiar face. A sudden wave of sorrow struck her with unexpected intensity. His expression was warm yet distant, a frozen image that could never truly capture his humor, his protective strength, or the quiet kindness he had shown her. Her vision blurred momentarily, hot tears welling uncontrollably as memories flooded her mind: Vince shielding her in his final moments, his voice urgent, telling her to run. Her shoulders trembled slightly, and she quickly looked down, struggling to compose herself.

  Offerings lay respectfully arranged—a bowl of rice, pristine fruits symbolizing prosperity, and Vince’s favored whiskey, untouched. Meticulously folded stacks of ghost money waited patiently to be burned, their silent tribute reverent yet impersonal.

  Vivian stepped forward silently, bowing once as she entered, her assigned place carefully separated from the rest. She felt the subtle rejection keenly—a stark reminder she was never truly part of Vince’s dangerous world.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  As mourners settled, a profound silence enveloped them. At the front, senior Black Lotus leaders occupied seats of honor, their expressions unreadable, their presence commanding respect. Lucas Cheng sat among them, his sharply tailored black suit impeccably neat, a single white chrysanthemum pinned carefully to his lapel. He maintained a rigid, precise stance, observing every ritual obligation with a controlled composure.

  Behind them clustered mid-level operators and enforcers, their postures uncertain and cautious as they assessed the shifting tides of power. Vivian recognized a few faces from the list on her phone, but she deliberately avoided meeting their gazes, ignoring the unnamed faces she didn't know.

  When it was her turn, Vivian stood slowly, approaching the altar with quiet dignity. As she bowed, another sob surged within her, shaking her to her core, shoulders heaving silently. The grief she had desperately tried to contain now overwhelmed her entirely, intensified by Vince’s gentle, watchful eyes in the portrait. She could almost hear him speaking, reassuring, protective. Yet, when she finally straightened, her face was composed once again, her sorrow hidden carefully beneath a mask of calm.

  Towards the ceremony’s end, Uncle Tommy stood discreetly near her. “If you ever run into trouble, you can call on us,” he murmured softly.

  Vivian recognized the half-hearted sincerity but nodded politely, quietly thanking him.

  She watched silently as the attendees began their final procession, burning incense and ghost money in solemn tribute. Recognizing it was time to leave, Vivian rose unobtrusively, aware of Lucas’s intense gaze following her departure.

  Stepping back into the outside world, she felt a deep sense of loss—Vince was gone, and Serena remained missing, their absences leaving wounds too deep to heal. She could feel Lucas’s silent acknowledgment at her back, unspoken yet unmistakably present.

  Vivian stepped out of the Uber, the crisp evening air wrapping around her like a quiet embrace. Her dorm building loomed ahead, familiar yet suddenly alien after the heaviness of Vince’s funeral. As she walked slowly towards the entrance, a small, hopeful part of her wondered if Noah might be there, leaning against the wall with his usual cocky smirk, ready with a dark joke or an inappropriate comment to pull her out of her melancholy.

  She glanced up as she approached, her heart sinking slightly when she saw only the usual crowd of students moving in and out of the building, laughing and talking as if nothing had changed. There was no sign of Noah, no sarcastic quips or teasing smiles waiting for her.

  Vivian sighed quietly, the loneliness deepening as she swiped herself into the building and stepped inside, letting the heavy door swing shut behind her.

  Outside, hidden in the shadow of a nearby tree, Noah’s shoulders tensed slightly as Vivian vanished from sight. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, eyes fixed on the now-empty doorway. He reached slowly into his jacket pocket, fingers closing around the worn, knotted bracelet hidden within. For a brief moment, he gripped it hard enough to turn his knuckles white. His jaw tightened sharply as he forced himself to look away, stepping back into the shadows. After a pause, he turned abruptly, disappearing into the darkness.