The Betrayed Heiress's Second Comeback-Chapter 33: Ch : The Funeral

________Damian pov

"Boss, the article is out. Would you like to check it?"

Jason, my second secretary asked me as he forwarded me the newspaper for the day. It had the article Jenna had edited posted in physical form.

Seeing it filled me with a sense of unnamed pride.

In this digital age, no one cared about newspapers except the influential elite. The exact people who needed to read this. Jenna had executed her plan flawlessly. Better than most professionals working for me.

But as proud and happy I felt for her, a part of me also felt bitter. This article had taken Jenna’s attention in a way she had never given me.

’Tsk, now I am getting jealous of paper.’

"You all did good. What about the other job I asked you to do?"

I forced the thoughts out of my mind and shifted back to business.

"We’ve deleted all evidence linking us to the charity and the orphanage. Records are wiped. And the authorities will stay silent."

His tone was calm, practiced. Jason handled the dirtier work. There was no one more suited to erasing a trail.

’Jenna will be pleased with this. We could... celebrate later.’

Celebrate. With her.

Why that thought warmed my chest... I didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand. I just wanted to press my lips against her...

"You worked hard and gave me good results. I’ll approve your request for the leave-"

I stopped mid-sentence.

My phone screen flashed with a new headline - and the words hit me like an impact.

[Director of an orphanage associated with Miss Anabella’s Charity found dead. Kids are in shock over the news. Click here for exclusive details.]

If Jenna saw this... the smile she wore this morning would vanish instantly.

I didn’t want that to happen.

And I hated that I didn’t want that.

"Boss, is something wrong? Let me check-"

Jason opened the news as well. His face instantly drained of color.

"Boss...this isn’t our doing..."

"I know. Someone is trying to challenge us."

________Jenna’s pov

When Damian came back, he had a guilty look on his face. Somehow, I could tell that he was worried about the death of the director.

"What happened-"

"There is not your fault. We both could not have seen this coming. I am sure the ones who killed the director also made sure to clean up after themselves. There is no point in looking into it anymore for now."

I told Damian, and he sighed before looking away.

His shoulders dropped, but his fists stayed clenched, like he was ready to tear someone apart if he ever found the ones responsible.

"Should we go and pay the director’s funeral a visit? I am sure there will be a lot of people who will be interested to see us there."

We decided to head out the next day. The ride to the funeral felt heavier than silence itself.

Damian didn’t start the engine right away. He sat there for a few seconds, gripping the steering wheel like he was trying to hold himself together.

That was rare. Damian Black did not tremble. And the fact that he had decided not to take the driver today was also a decision he did not usually make.

’What is going on. Is Damian feeling sick? He doesn’t look pale or anything-’

I felt conflicted whether I should reach out and touch him. He was sending me mixed signals, pulling back one second and leaning forward the next one.

The smell of his perfume made my stomach flutter and I pretended to look outside the window, hoping he won’t notice how much he was affecting me.

I watched the city pass through the window, but my attention kept drifting back to the man beside me. There was something on his mind, buried deep, and it was clawing at him from the inside.

He opened his mouth once, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He only sighed and tightened his grip on the wheel.

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

I said finally.

His eyes stayed on the road.

"Maybe."

There was no sarcasm, no mask, no coldness. Just one word, heavy and tired. That scared me more than anything. He sounded conflicted, but he did not continue to speak.

"Are you having second thoughts about all this? If you feel guilty, then you can blame me for what happened."

I told Damian and he scoffed and almost smacked the car into the one in front of us before he managed to steady himself.

"Guity? Why would I feel guilty for that sorry-excuse-of-a-human-being? And I am not worried either. I just...need some time to think over what I need to do next."

Damian sounded a little frustrated when he told me this. I could not help but feel that there truly was something wrong with him.

My worry must have shown on my face, because Damian let out a frustrated sigh and reached out to squeeze my hand.

"Don’t worry about it. I am sure you know by now what the real nature of my work is. Things like guilt are not sometime I reserve for scums like that. So don’t worry about me that much."

His eyes softened-not fully, but enough. He glanced at me for half a second, and I saw his shoulders loosen for the first time since he came home.

"Hmm, alright. I will believe you...for now. But please, do remember that you are not in this alone. I may not be able to help you out much, but I can be a ear you can vent to."

I told him and that earned me a breath-almost a laugh. Almost. The tension in his body didn’t completely disappear, but it shifted, settling instead of suffocating.

For a moment, I let myself relax too. The quiet wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t stabbing anymore. Just heavy.

We reached the funeral home and stepped out. People looked at us, but none of their gazes made me falter. It was finally time to face these people.

We finally got out of the car, our hands clasped together and people suddenly looked at us, judging what we were here for.

The funeral was a tense place, and it was the best place to send a message and make people panic and cause mistakes.

The wind was cold, sharp even, but the stares were colder.

Damian remained by my side, his hand warm on my own.

The people continued to look at me with contempt, but they were too much of a coward to come out and ask me.

"Stay by my side. You do not have to say anything if you do not want to. Let me handle the talking."

Damian told me without looking at me. His tension from before had returned in his frame.

"I am not afraid of them."

I assured Damian, noticing the unspoken question he wanted to ask me.

He stared down at me, and something shifted ever so slightly in his eyes. A quiet exhale left him, subtle enough that no one else would catch it.

We took a seat in the front row, and the moment we did, half the room leaned forward like animals sniffing blood.

A few reporters even dared to move closer, pretending to pray at the altar just to get better angles.

I could feel Damian reaching his limit. Without thinking, I brushed my thumb over the back of his hand in slow circles - grounding him, anchoring him.

His head lowered. A breath escaped him. His hand loosened around mine, not letting go, just... softening.

"Thank you."

He murmured, barely audible.

But the comfortable silence did not last long.

"Oh my... what a surprise. I didn’t know you two would be joining this funeral."

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. That voice was like nails scraping glass.

Miss Anabbels’s voice was soft but her eyes looked haunted. She looked like she was not here, but as soon as she saw me, her eyes sharpened.

Those eyes told me that the female wanted to claw my insides and give me a painful death. But because we were in front of an audience, she was holding herself back.

"Miss Anabella, what a pleasant surprise it is to meet you."

I could not help but call out to her, causing the other female’s eyes to flash.