Buried Without His Regret Chapter 02
When Frederick heard the words “autopsy report,” he paused for a split second.
But whatever doubt crossed his face was quickly swallowed by a surge of anger.
“You think I didn’t check?” he snapped.
“The Coast Guard records are blank. Nobody was ever recovered. This is obviously Shannon’s trick!”
Nicholas froze, the color draining from his face.
“That’s impossible… Your people from the Mueller Group came in person to claim the body and take it away—”
“My people?” Frederick cut him off harshly, his voice dripping with contempt.
“Sounds more like the man Shannon was fooling around with did that! Whoever helped her stage this went all out!”
I stood there, stunned.
People from the Mueller Group took my body?
All I remembered was that day, when I stood on the rocks and made one last call to Frederick.
On the other end, I heard Evangeline laughing softly while he comforted her in a gentle voice.
They were celebrating how she had shot to fame using my painting, “Deep Sea,” and how the two of them worked together to brand me, the original artist, as a plagiarist.
I told him I was going to die.
He only said one thing. “Shannon, stop making a scene and come back.”
Then, he hung up.
After that, I threw myself into that bottomless darkness.
That was where my memory ended.
I didn’t know who pulled my body from the water, and I had no idea why people from the Mueller Group claimed it while Frederick knew nothing about it.
So who was really behind all this?
Frederick clearly had no interest in digging deeper. He waved a hand at the bodyguards behind him. “Do it!”
The two bodyguards stepped forward immediately and began beating Nicholas on the ground and Mom, who was still protecting the urn.
“Stop!” I screamed, but no sound came out.
Nicholas couldn’t move his legs. All he could do was use his broken body to shield Mom and the shattered urn beneath him, taking blow after blow on his back.
Mom’s cries, Nicholas’s muffled groans, and the dull thuds of fists formed a suffocating web of despair.
And I could only watch, trapped like a spectator in a never-ending nightmare.
Just then, Frederick’s assistant, Kieran Reyes, got a phone call.
He answered, his expression shifting as he quickly walked over and whispered something to Frederick.
I heard it.
Evangeline had twisted her ankle backstage at the awards ceremony. She was crying and throwing a fit, saying she wouldn’t go on stage unless she got the original drawing of “Deep Sea.”
The rage on Frederick’s face disappeared instantly, replaced by urgency and concern.
“She’s being ridiculous! Her foot is injured, and she’s still acting like this?” he muttered, but there was no real scolding in his tone. It was all indulgence.
He turned and hurried out as if being a second late would mean his precious girl would suffer.
At the door, he paused and gave one last order without turning back. “Keep going. Don’t stop until they tell you where Shannon is.”
His cold words faded into the thick night along with his hurried retreat.
I hovered in the cold air, watching my family struggle in pain on the ground as Frederick walked away without a second glance.
It didn’t matter how much time had passed. Evangeline would always come first.
To him, our lives meant less than a single tear from her.
The bodyguards didn’t stop. Frederick had already rushed out the broken door.
I followed him through the freezing hallway and watched as he got into his luxury Maybach.