“Stop pretending you care about Sofia,” I said coldly. “You don’t even know who that person in the video is, yet you’re already pinning it on us. Or are you so desperate to sit in Mrs. Volkov’s seat that you’ll frame a child?”
Vincent’s restraint finally snapped.
Before I could react, his foot slammed into my stomach. The force knocked the air out of me, and my fingers loosened instinctively.
The urn slipped from my grasp.
It hit the ground with a hollow crack. The lid popped off and rolled away. The container toppled, and a cloud of pale gray ashes spilled across the rough concrete floor, spreading in a thin, tragic layer under the harsh light.
For a moment, I felt nothing at all.
All I could see was the gray dust scattered before me.
My scream tore through the narrow hallway.
Ignoring the searing pain in my abdomen, I dropped to my knees and threw myself over the ashes as though I could shield them from further harm.
Vincent tilted his chin slightly and gave a subtle signal. Two bodyguards stepped forward, each gripping one of my arms and hauling me upright despite my struggle.
My eyes remained locked on the ground. My lips moved soundlessly. No voice came out.