Chapter 293

The car ride to Stella's funeral felt endless, the weight of apprehension hanging heavily in the air. Sitting beside Timothy, I couldn't shake off the sense of unease that had settled within me. He’d taken my hand for reassurance whenever we came to a stoplight, squeezing it every so often.

Despite the circumstances, I found a sliver of solace in the fact that I wasn't facing this alone. Timothy's presence, though he looked apprehensive himself, offered a sense of grounding.

As we neared the location, a knot formed in the pit of my stomach. The authorities would be monitoring Timothy here too, the stringent bail restrictions ensuring he was under constant surveillance. The constant scrutiny seemed inescapable, and they were ready to catch him slipping.

We stepped out of the car and made our way toward the entrance, where Kamran and my mom waited. Her demeanor was noticeably cold and aloof. Her distant gaze and guarded demeanor unsettled me, stirring a sense of guilt within.

"Hey, mom," I greeted tentatively, my voice shaking slightly.

Mia's response was a curt nod, her eyes avoiding mine as she murmured a quiet acknowledgment. The tension between us hung in the air, as though we’d become strangers once more.

Kamran offered a supportive nod, his expression reflecting a mix of empathy and concern. "Let's head inside."

As we entered the venue, the solemn ambiance engulfed us. The hushed murmurs, the somber faces, and the lingering presence of the authorities tinted the gathering in more dreariness. The scrutiny was just as tangible, and I could feel the eyes of family and friends (possible foes) following us as we weaved through the crowd.

"Evie, isn't it?" one of Stella's relatives came up to me all of a sudden, a faint smile playing on her ruby painted lips. "I heard you're a lawyer too. Quite a coincidence, huh?"

I nodded, offering a polite smile in return. "Yes, that's correct. I practice law."

Another family member chimed in, their tone casual as if discussing mundane details. "And you're dating Timothy, right? Small world."

The mention of Timothy, in the context of Stella's funeral, struck a nerve. The casualness with which they brought up the connection between Timothy and Stella's tragic fate left me uneasy. I couldn't fathom how they could discuss it so flippantly, as if the weight of the accusations against Timothy didn't cast a dark shadow over the occasion.

"Uh, yes," I replied, my voice betraying a hint of discomfort. "I am with Timothy."

Their expressions remained nonchalant, their conversation devoid of the gravity that should have accompanied discussing a man accused of killing someone we were about to mourn. It was as if the tragedy had become a mere subplot in the larger narrative of their lives.

"I hope you've been handling everything okay, considering the circumstances," another family member added. “You didn’t exactly choose the safest man to keep around.”

"I appreciate your concern," I replied, my tone measured, "but Timothy is far from dangerous."

“There you are.”

To my fortune, I felt a large arm loop around mine and I was being swooped away from the growing crowd. Timothy leaned into me and I leaned back, expressing my silent gratitude.

As the conversations continued on, I couldn't help but wonder if they were testing my reaction or if they genuinely lacked an understanding of where I stood in all this. Stella’s own crimes had officially been swept under the rug in exchange for fabricated lies.

The door to the funeral hall opened, signaling the imminent start of the service. Eventually, we settled into our seats, uncomfortably close to the officers stationed by the wall to our right. I tried not to pay them any mind, but I could see Mia eyeing them repeatedly, her expression twisting with distaste at their presence.

My attention, however, shifted when Scarlett, amidst the sea of mourners, ascended the small stage. Her presence commanded attention as she took her place, and a hush fell over the assembled mourners. My eyes fixed on Scarlett, eager to hear her words, yet apprehensive about the emotions that would undoubtedly surface.

Scarlett approached the podium with a solemn grace, her eyes cast down for a moment as she collected herself. When she looked up, the weight of sorrow and loss reflected in her eyes.

"My sister and I didn’t always get along. In fact, we rarely did as we got older," Scarlett began, her voice steady but laced with a poignant vulnerability. "But we shared a bond by blood, and that was good enough for me, even if I wanted a deeper connection."

As Scarlett spoke, memories of her relationship with Stella unfolded in her words. She painted a vivid picture of a woman who had faced life's challenges with resilience and courage. The room became a sacred space where the essence of Stella's spirit came to life through Scarlett's heartfelt recollections.

It would’ve been nice to have known this Stella instead. If her insults and mild threats remained simply that, instead of her attempts at murder. I don’t have any good stories to tell about her.

"Once upon a time, Stella had a way of lighting up the room with her infectious laughter," Scarlett continued, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips. "She could turn the mundane into moments of joy, and even if those traits died down throughout the years, her absence leaves a void that cannot be filled."

The mourners listened attentively, each word resonating with their collective grief. I feared Scarlett’s speech would stray into the unthinkable, in which she would turn her sense of injustice toward Timothy.

"As we say our goodbyes, let us remember Stella not just for the circumstances of her passing, but for the vibrant, passionate, and resilient soul that she was," Scarlett implored, her voice carrying a mixture of sorrow and celebration. "May her spirit live on in the memories we hold dear and the love we continue to share with one another."

A soft murmur of agreement rippled through the room in a communal acknowledgment. Scarlett's eulogy had painted a portrait of Stella that seemed foreign. Scarlett had truly loved her, even with all the disputes.

Our eyes eventually met across the room, and for a fleeting moment, I saw Scarlett's scowl, leaving me conflicted about how to approach her, if at all. Her emotional wounds were still fresh, and seeing me beside Timothy would likely give her an unfavorable outlook on me.

Scarlett's speech drew to a close, her words echoing in the solemn air. A solemn hush lingered over the room as everyone settled into their grief.

As the gathering began to disperse throughout the building, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. The weight of the scrutiny, the uncomfortable stares and whispers, had been momentarily lifted. Yet, the turmoil within me persisted.

As the mourners began to disperse, I caught sight of Scarlett not too far away, surrounded by family members offering their condolences. Her tear-streaked face tugged at my heartstrings, a poignant reminder of the shared grief that enveloped us.

I moved instinctively, compelled to reach out to her, to offer some form of comfort amidst the sea of mourners. But before I could take a step forward, a firm grip clasped my wrist, halting my movement.

Startled, I turned around, expecting to see one of the attendees. Instead, I was met with the stern visage of Mr. Fitzgerald. His grip on my wrist was firm, his expression unreadable as his steely gaze bore into mine.