Chapter 11 "Do it. She was never my blood. No Anderson blood runs through her. Throw her fucking remains where you threw her mother's. Let them rot together." Mateo hesitated, and I snapped. "You questioning me now?" He stiffened. "No, boss." Then he left. I poured myself a glass of whiskey, hands shaking for the first time in years. Before I could drink it, the door opened again. My mother stepped in, all pearls and diamonds, acting like her world wasn't already rotting. "See?" she said, voice sharp. "Even the child wasn't yours. That bitch deceived us all. I ever loved that child, Rufus. And she wasn't Anderson blood. How dare she make fools of us!" but her eyes spark something else but I'm tired to noticed it. I clenched my glass so tight it cracked. "Not now, Mum." "I'm not here to fight," she said, stepping closer. "Your grandfather's funeral will be at Rosemon Memorial Hall. The most expensive in the city. After the funeral, the will shall be read. You need to be there." "I'll be there. Just leave me the fuck alone." She tilted her head. "And what about Maisie? Why are you neglecting her?" "I'm not," I snapped. "I'm just angry at the world. At myself. At that woman I thought was innocent. I got played. Now leave me the fuck alone, Mum!" She sighed, raising her hands like she was surrendering. "Alright, alright. Maisie will stay in the manor for now. At least until you can control yourself." "Fine." She smoothed her dress, gave me one last look. "Your grandfather was the biggest mafia this world has ever seen. The funeral will be packed with investors, rivals, enemies. Show up with your head high. Or they'll smell blood." "Don't worry," I muttered, finishing my whiskey in one shot. "I'll be there. And if anyone smells blood, it'll be theirs." I walked into Rosemont Memorial Hall dressed like the fucking king of the underworld. Black tailored suit, coat sharp enough to slice a man's throat, and eyes colder than the grave we were here to fill. The whole hall went quiet when I stepped in. Every rival, every investor, every snake that ever licked my grandfather's boots or tried to bite his ankles-they were all there. Whispers followed me like shadows. "That's the heir." "Anderson blood runs colder than ice." "Who'll take the empire now the old man's gone?" My mother sat in the front row, face wet with fake tears, acting like the grieving saint. My father stood beside her, cane in hand, playing the loyal son. And me? I played the cold grandson, heir to 3/3 40.0% 11:37 am an empire built on blood and ashes. But everybody in that room wasn't mourning. They were waiting. Waiting for the will. The funeral ended with flowers and fake prayers. The real battle began after, when the lawyer called us into a private chamber. The air was thick as cigar smoke when he opened the sealed envelope. He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat, and started reading. "To my grandson Rufus, I leave my name and my pride. To my son and his wife, his cars and family estate. But as for the rest-ninety percent of my wealth, companies, villas, stocks, and overseas accounts..." The room leaned forward like a pack of wolves. The lawyer paused, looked us all dead in the eye, and dropped the bomb. "I leave it to Annette." The chamber erupted. My mother screamed, clutching her chest like she'd been stabbed, collapsing in her chair. My father slammed his cane on the floor, voice booming. "How the hell can a dead woman inherit? Annette divorced my son. She's not Anderson blood anymore. And she's gone-we have her death record!" The lawyer didn't flinch. "The will is valid. Unless you present Annette's official death certificate, the wealth transfers into accounts in her name. Only after legal verification of her death will the estate move to the backup heir." I leaned forward, voice sharp as a blade. "And who the fuck is the backup heir?" The lawyer cleared his throat. "You, Rufus Anderson." Murmurs rippled across the table. Some investors smirked like they smelled blood. Others looked worried, calculating. My mother snapped, tears running down her face. "This is madness. Annette was nothing but a deceiver! She made us raise a child that wasn't even ours. She disgraced us!" "Enough, Mother," I snarled. "I'll handle this." My father cut in, pointing his cane at me. "No, boy. This isn't yours to handle. If this will be enforced, every rival in this city will mock us. We can't let her name steal Anderson's empire even in death." I glared at him, heat rising in my chest. "She won't steal shit. And if anyone forged this, I'll find the bastard who dared to use her name. Then I'll carve their eyes out myself." One investor chuckled darkly. "Maybe Annette ain't dead. Maybe she's laughing at us right now, sipping wine in some villa with your money." I pulled my gun out slowly, laid it on the table, metal kissing the wood. My voice dropped low, dangerous. "Laugh again, and I'll make sure you're buried where my grandfather just went." The room went silent. No one breathed too loud after that. .... When the meeting finally ended, everyone filed out like scared dogs. I stayed behind with the lawver. The air between us was heavv. Chapter 11 11:37 am I leaned close, my voice a growl. "Tell me the truth. Did my grandfather know Annette was gone when he wrote this?" The lawyer hesitated, eyes darting. Then he whispered, "Your grandfather insisted Annette was the only one he trusted with his empire. He never removed her name. That was his final word." I laughed, cold and bitter. "That bitch. Even in death, she's fucking with me. Playing my dignity. Embarrassing me in front of my people. And my own grandfather made me a goddamn laughing stock." I slammed my fist on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. .... ANNETTE'S POV When I opened my eyes, the first thing I felt was pain. My ribs, my chest, even my face... they all screamed at me when I tried to move. The room was dim, only one old lamp glowing in the corner. It wasn't Paris anymore. It smelled of salt and wood, like the ocean was right outside. Panic rushed through me. I pushed myself up but the pain ripped through me so hard I almost blacked out again. My breath came out shaky, and that's when I saw him. He stepped out of the shadows, tall, broad shoulders filling the room. A dragon tattoo snaked down his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt. On his arm, black tribal ink curled like fire. His face was hidden behind a mask, but his eyes... his eyes were sharp, unreadable. His voice was low, calm, too calm. "You're alive because I pulled you out before they could finish the job." My heart was hammered. I swallowed hard, clutching the sheets. "Who are you? Why am I here?" 11:37 am In "Someone Loved is Never Lost" by CrushReel, readers are immersed in a captivating CEO drama that explores the intricacies of love, loss, and redemption. Set against the backdrop of corporate power struggles and personal relationships, this ongoing novel delves deep into the lives of its characters as they navigate the complexities of both the boardroom and the heart. Themes of ambition, betrayal, and resilience intertwine with complex character dynamics, making for a compelling narrative that keeps readers on the edge of their seats. CrushReel's unique storytelling style brings a fresh perspective to the CEO genre, offering a blend of emotional depth and strategic intrigue that sets this novel apart from others in its category. What makes "Someone Loved is Never Lost" special is its ability to seamlessly blend high-stakes corporate drama with heartfelt human connections, creating a story that resonates on multiple levels. Available to read at CrushReel, this novel promises a literary experience that will leave readers eagerly anticipating each new chapter.