To ruin an Omega novel Chapter 497

Chapter 497: The funeral 2

FIA

The speech continued. He spoke of Isobel’s dedication to her family, her willingness to fight for what she believed in. He mentioned Hazel’s youth, her potential, the tragedy of a life cut short.

He didn’t mention all the murders. The frame jobs. The systematic cruelty Hazel had inflicted on anyone who stood in her way.

When he finished, he gestured to someone in the front row.

Father stood.

He looked worse than he’d sounded on the phone. Grief had carved new lines into his face, turned his eyes hollow. He climbed the steps to the podium slowly, like each one cost him something.

His gaze found me immediately.

He spoke about Isobel first. Their years together, the family they’d built, the love that had sustained them through pack politics and personal loss. His voice cracked when he mentioned Hazel. The daughter who’d been difficult and headstrong and ultimately doomed by her own choices.

"Isobel tried," he said. "She tried so hard to give Hazel everything she’d never had. Safety. Security. A mother who would protect her from the world. But sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes our best efforts still end in tragedy."

He looked at me when he said it. The weight of that gaze felt like an anchor.

"And Pauline." He cleared his throat. "I didn’t know her well. But her actions affected my life in ways I’m still discovering. Secrets have a way of poisoning everything they touch. I hope she found peace in the end."

He stepped down. Alpha Dimitri returned to the podium.

"There is one more person who should speak."

The church went silent.

My heart started hammering against my ribs.

"A family member who has not yet had her chance to honor the dead." His eyes locked on mine. "My surviving granddaughter."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Heads turned. The whispers exploded into something louder, sharper, and impossible to ignore.

"Fia, daughter of my own daughter, Muna. Would you come forward?"

Cian went rigid beside me. His hand found my wrist, grip tight enough to hurt.

"Don’t," he said under his breath. "You don’t have to do this. We can leave right now."

I looked at him and saw the protective fury in his eyes, the way his whole body had tensed like he was preparing to physically drag me out of here if necessary.

"It costs me nothing," I said quietly.

The whispers started again. Louder now. People turned to their neighbors, confirming what they’d just heard. Athena’s granddaughter. Every dot seemed to connect.

I shifted my attention to the second casket.

"Isobel was my stepmother. She did her best with an impossible situation. A husband who’d loved another woman or at least believed that he did and a stepdaughter who reminded her daily of that ’love’. She tried to build something with Hazel, to give her daughter everything she’d never had. I can respect that effort even if I can’t forgive the harm it caused." I took a breath. "Isobel lived her life making choices that seemed right to her. She loved fiercely—perhaps too fiercely in some directions, not enough in others. She also hated just as fiery too and the consequences of those choices followed her to the end."

My gaze dropped to the smallest casket.

Something twisted in my chest. Not grief, exactly. For me, it was something more complicated.

"Hazel was my half-sister. We grew up in the same house, but we might as well have lived in different worlds. She was young. She made mistakes—some small, some catastrophic. In the end, she made a choice that cost her everything. I hope she found peace in those final moments."

I looked back at the crowd and found my father’s face.

He looked a bit disappointed. Not that I cared.

"I honor the women in my bloodline who deserved better—my mother Muna, my grandmother Athena. They didn’t get the lives they should have had. They were pawns in games they never agreed to play. But I’m here because of them, and I’ll make sure their legacy is more than pain and secrets." I paused. "The goddess has a way of balancing scales. We’ve all seen that now."

I stepped back from the podium.

The whispers exploded into something that couldn’t be contained. Half the room looked scandalized. The other half wore expressions of grim satisfaction. People who’d known what I had endured and seen it firsthand, as well as those who’d heard the stories of the frame jobs and false accusations.

Death... as tragic as it was... didn’t change history.