Ceres Evadne Monteverde is dead.
The news sent shockwaves through high society. But what shook them even more was the fact that she died saving a little girl's life.
It was an ending no one could have ever expected for Ceres. The formidable, untouchable heiress, known for her sharp tongue, cold demeanor, and unshakable pride, had met her end in an act of pure selflessness.
Unlike how everyone was used to seeing her, always impeccably dressed in luxury, exuding grace and power, Ceres now lay inside a pristine white glass casket, adorned in a simple satin dress. No jewels, no extravagant embellishments. Just her, as if in peaceful slumber, her ethereal beauty undisturbed even in death.
For the first few nights of her wake at the Monteverde estate, the mansion was never without visitors. Prominent figures in high society came to pay their respects to Romos and Cielo Monteverde.
Cielo had been inconsolable. She had fainted multiple times since the moment the 911 responders broke the news that Ceres had died on the spot.
She had begged, pleaded with the paramedics, her voice raw with desperation, to revive her daughter. She had screamed and wept, even as Zeus himself lost control, demanding that they do something. Anything. But the only response they received was a solemn shake of the head.
Even when they rushed Ceres to the hospital, hoping against hope, the doctor had only confirmed what they already knew. She was gone.
Cielo refused to accept it.
But no amount of denial could change the truth.
And despite the unbearable grief weighing down on him, Romos had no choice but to remain strong. He had lost his daughter, his princess, his baby girl, but he could not afford to break down. Not yet. There was too much to handle, too many arrangements to ensure that Ceres's final days in this world would be as flawless as she had always been.
So he stood tall, greeting guests, acknowledging condolences, despite knowing that not all who came did so out of sincerity. Many were there for appearances, hoping he would remember their presence when the time came for business deals and alliances.
And then there were those who came only to whisper.
To gossip.
To speak ill of his daughter.
They called Ceres vile, a heartless woman who had wronged too many people. They whispered that perhaps she had deserved it, that karma had finally caught up to her.
"Good riddance."
"She had it coming."
"The world is finally free of her cruelty."
Some even had the audacity to breathe sighs of relief, muttering how they no longer had to avoid her wrath.
Every single cruel word reached Zeus.
He did not react.
He did not confront them.
But he memorized their faces.
How dare they?
How dare they speak of her like that, when she could no longer defend herself?
They did not know her. They never did. And he swore, with every fiber of his being, that he would not let them off so easily.
"Zeus, my son, you need to rest," Mrs. Angelina Falcon said, concern lacing her voice.
Zeus had not left Ceres's side since the wake began. It was the third night.
"I'm fine," he replied hollowly, his gaze never straying from her face, the face he would never see come alive again.
After the initial shock, after the doctor's final confirmation that she was truly gone, Zeus had not shed a single tear.
Because there was no time for that.
He had to make sure everything was perfect. That every detail of her wake was exactly as it should be. Because she deserved nothing less than perfection.
"You haven't slept in four days," Angelina pressed gently. "You'll get sick at this rate."
"I need to stay by her side," Zeus murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
No one knew the depths of his guilt.
If only he had stayed with her. If only he had waited for the limousine instead of leaving her, even for a moment. If only…
None of this would have happened.
She had been safe where she stood.
She had been safe until he left.
Angelina parted her lips to say something else, but before she could, Jupiter placed a firm yet gentle hand on her shoulder, a silent plea.
Let him be.
She sighed heavily, swallowing back the words she wanted to say. Without another argument, she lowered herself into one of the vacant chairs along with her husband.
They both knew their son too well. He wasn't one to show emotions easily, but they could feel it, the sheer weight of his grief.
Zeus had always had everything. He had been their only child, raised in privilege, never knowing the struggle of wanting something he couldn't have.
Until Ceres.
The first night he laid eyes on her, he had called them, his voice brimming with excitement they hadn't heard from him since he was a child. At nine years old, he had told them he wanted to join the Navy. But that night, as a grown man, he told them something that shook them to their core.
"I found her."
"Who?" his mother had asked, bewildered.
"The woman I'm going to marry. The only one I'll ever love."
And even back then, Ceres hadn't spared him a glance. She had dismissed him, brushed him aside, treating him as nothing more than another man seeking her attention. But he never gave up.
At first, they had assumed it was mere infatuation. That their son, for the first time, had encountered something he could not simply claim, and the challenge had only fueled his desire. But time had proved them wrong.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. Months into years.
And Zeus never stopped.
Not once did he falter. Not once did his devotion wane. What they had mistaken for infatuation had, in truth, been unshakable devotion. They saw it in his eyes, in the way he looked at her, in the way he would move mountains for even the smallest of her wishes.
And now, as Angelina watched her son stand unmoving by Ceres's casket, she trembled with fear, fear of what would happen to him now that she was gone.
Caspian and Diana approached Zeus after speaking briefly with Romos. Behind them were the rest of their closest friends, Xavier, Gideon, Damien, and Nikolai.
Diana's eyes were swollen and red, the grief evident on her face. Her best friend was gone, and no amount of comforting from Caspian could take away the ache in her chest. He refused to leave her side, standing as her anchor in the storm of her sorrow.
"Zeus," Caspian said, placing a firm hand on his friend's shoulder. "You should rest. If Ceres could see you right now, she wouldn't be happy with how you look."
But Zeus didn't respond. He didn't even look at them. His gaze remained locked on the casket before him.
The group exchanged glances, knowing full well that no words could ease his pain.
Diana, struggling to hold back another sob, fumbled with her bag. Her hands shook as she pulled out a small velvet ring box.
"Zeus," her voice cracked as she whispered his name. Tears streamed down her face as she held out the box toward him. "This is for you."
For the first time, he turned to look at her. His face was blank, emotionless as if he hadn't fully processed what was happening.
He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he took the box and carefully opened it.
Inside, nestled against the black velvet, was a platinum ring, black with a subtle lightning-like gold design carved into it. Beside it was Ceres's engagement ring.
Diana swallowed hard. "Ceres asked me to make it," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "This was supposed to be her birthday gift to you."
Her hands shook as she reached for the rings, carefully twisting them together to show him how the smaller engagement ring fit perfectly into the larger one.
How, when aligned just right, the gold lightning bolt pierced through the small diamond in Ceres's ring.
Inside the velvet box's cover, a delicate engraving shimmered under the dim light:
"Like a diamond, my heart was unbreakable… until you, my love, my lightning, struck and made it shine even brighter."
- Ceres
And with that, Zeus broke.
A sound so raw, so guttural, ripped from his chest, a cry of pure, unrestrained agony.
Gone was the composed, unshakable Zeus Falcon.
All that remained was a man whose soul had just been shattered beyond repair.
His knees buckled, his body trembling as he clutched the rings in his hands, pressing them so tightly to his chest that his knuckles turned white.
He called her name, again and again and again.
But there would never be an answer.
Never again would she turn to him with that sharp, knowing gaze.
Never again would she smirk in amusement at his persistence.
Never again would she speak his name.
He would give anything to bring her back.
If only he could turn back time.