Shonee's POV

After the burial service...

I slammed the car door so hard that it startled Dean, the driver. He poked his head out of the window.

"Sorry," I sighed.

"Ok, but are you sure you're fine, Shonee?" he asked, concern wafting in his tone. "You've been mumbling under your breath ever since we left the cemetery."

That's because a crappy and stupid detective thinks I killed my lover's personal assistant for revenge!

I shook my head. "I'm fine, Dean. Just a little stressed out, but I'll be ok. I'll call you when I'm ready to leave."

"Sure."

With that, he put the car back in drive and pulled away.

I turned to the hotel Dean had just brought me to. Guests from the burial service trickled in in their numbers for the brunch reception the Beckhams had arranged.

Sucking in a deep breath, I made my way into the building. After that ridiculous encounter with Ruben, I had seriously considered going home. But on second thought, I realized I couldn't.

Ruben was up to something. He might be parading around as a 'detective', but I didn't trust him one bit. If I didn't tell Vincent everything, I'd be left stewing in my own paranoia. And the more people who knew what Ruben was sniffing around for, the better equipped we'd be to deal with him.

The banquet hall the Beckhams had chosen for the event was very grand with huge crystal chandeliers casting warm, golden light over the room. Guests mingled, their murmured conversations blending with the soft notes of a string quartet stationed at one corner of the room. The waitstaff navigated the crowd, balancing trays of champagne mimosas and freshly squeezed juices.

I plucked a champagne mimosa from a passing tray and took a sip. The fizzle tickled my throat accompanied by a tart-sweet blend that made me wish I'd grabbed two glasses instead of one because it tasted so good.

My eyes roved over the room, scanning the crowd for Vincent and it didn't take long to spot him near the far end of the hall with his dad. His tall frame was distinct among a small group of men as he smiled and nodded at something one of them was saying.

I watched him, waiting for any moment where he'd be alone, so I could approach him. But the officiant from the burial service tapped the microphone, stealing my attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice rang out. "May I have your attention, please? Mrs. Beckham has a special announcement to make."

For a minute, I thought he was referring to Nancy and wondered what she was up to until Vincent's mother elegantly ascended the stage to a round of applause.

"Good morning once again, everyone," she smiled graciously to the crowd. "First, I'd like to thank you all for being here today to honour Michael Percy. His life, though tragically cut short, touched so many of us. In learning more about his past, I discovered how difficult his upbringing was. His family faced many struggles, yet he persevered and became a vital part of our company. To show our gratitude for everything Michael has done for Beckham Incorporated, I, my husband Ronald, along with my son and his wife, have decided to make a financial contribution to his biological family. It is a small token of appreciation for a man who gave so much to us."

Camera flashes erupted as a waiter appeared on stage, carrying an envelope on a silver tray.

Mrs. Beckham spoke again. "Please welcome Mr. Aaron Thorne, Michael's uncle, to accept this donation on behalf of the family."

In a suit that looked almost twice his size, a man in his late fifties with a scruffy beard shuffled onto the stage, and I couldn't help but shake my head. Late for the funeral but perfectly on time for the money.

For some reason, Michael's uncle could barely stand still as Mrs. Beckham presented him with the envelope and the cameras flashed, capturing the moment. For a man his age, I guessed that he was probably sick.

Mrs. Beckham shook his hand and said something to him, probably asking if he was ok since her eyebrows dipped in concern. But the old man brushed off her worry before stepping aside so he could say a few words.

"Mhm! Mhm!" He loudly cleared his throat into the microphone, sending a wave of feedback. "Whoa, sorry." He staggered back with a sloppy grin that immediately made me cross out my earlier thought about him being sick.

Great, he's buzzed. Which was surprising because it wasn't even noon yet.

"I just wanna say," he slurred, gripping the microphone stick for balance, "thanks to the Beckhams for this... this... uh, wonderful thing they've done. Michael would've... would've been real happy."

A few people clapped politely, though most exchanged uneasy glances.

"And... uh... thanks to this old hag..."

Gasps echoed through the room, and I nearly choked on my mimosa. Mrs. Beckham's smile faltered for a split second but she quickly recovered.

"For the uhmm...the money." Oblivious to the commotion he'd just caused, Aaron continued his thank you speech holding up the envelope and squinting at it. "I wonder...how, how much is in..." he hiccupped, "in it again?"

"Ok uhh..." The officiant quickly intervened, pulling the drunk back and stepping up to the microphone. "Thank you, Mr. Thorne. That will be all. Our apologies for that... unexpected moment. Please, continue to enjoy yourselves."

With the help of some staff, Aaron was ushered offstage, muttering something unintelligible. Mrs. Beckham also descended, and though her composure was intact, her tight smile betrayed the irritation boiling inside her from the insult.

This reception was turning out to be a lot more entertaining than I had anticipated, and I was super glad I decided to stick around.

Finishing my mimosa in one long gulp, my taste buds immediately craved more of the fizzy beverage. So, I scanned the crowd for any waiter distributing more of the mimosas. Instead, my eyes landed on a large table at the back of the hall filled with different platters of hors d'oeuvres, a fondue salver and a tray of several mimosas calling my name.

Of course, I heeded the call. I quickly moved in its direction, and helped myself to the drink, ignoring the picture of Michael propped up behind the table. Despite his smile, I felt like he was shooting me a judgmental look, however, it didn't stop me from enjoying myself.

"To your death." I held the glass up to the picture with a smirk before tossing the drink into mouth.

The mimosas went down like water, and by the time I realized, I'd finished three glasses and was currently on my fourth. Thank God I'm not driving myself home.

"Wow, you should really pace yourself."

At the sound of her voice, my good mood fizzled away.

"On second thought, don't." Nancy appeared at my side. "That way you'll end up a drunk idiot like Michael's uncle and I'll have a chance to get rid of you for good."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "What do you want, Nancy?"

"Oh, nothing much." She shrugged, flipping her hair to the side. "Just came to let you know that I will be returning to my husband's house today. Vincent and I talked it over—"

"You mean argued," I interjected. "C'mon, you can't expect me to believe that you and Vincent had a civil conversation when all you do is complain and complain. I bet he only agreed to let you back so you'd shut up."

Nancy's nostrils flared. I love how easy it is for me to get her all riled up.

"Now, you listen to me, you little sl—"

"There you are." Mrs. Denver walked in our direction with her grandson on her hip. "I've been looking all over for you, Nancy. Here, take Ben."

Her daughter frowned. "Why?"

"What do you mean why?" The elderly woman questioned in an incredulous tone. "I've had him since we left the cemetery. I've carried him everywhere, kept him entertained, but I can't continue to do that when the senator just asked me to join him in the private lounge."

"Really, mum?" Nancy crossed her arms. "You're accepting an invite from that old creep?"

I stifled a laugh by taking a sip of my drink, and Mrs. Denver's eyebrows furrowed.

"Just shut up and take him!" She shoved the toddler into Nancy's reluctant arms. Ben didn't seem to mind, though. He was busily sucking his thumb.

"And find him something to eat, he's hungry." With that, Mrs. Denver trudged off to her date, leaving a grumbling Nancy behind.

Sighing, she propped her son up, letting his chin fall on her shoulder. "This isn't over." She shot me a nasty glare before turning on her heel.

All of a sudden, Ben's eyes widened. He pulled his thumb out of his mouth and extended that hand. "Dada!"

I lifted an eyebrow, wondering what that was all about until I followed the direction of his outstretched hand to Michael's smiling picture.

Holy shit!

When I turned back, both Ben and his mother were gone.

******