Wayne reached out and grabbed my arm. “Byron, stop this. You’re treating the auction like some kind of game.”

I yanked myself free, the motion violent.

In the scuffle, the jade pendant around my neck snapped from its cord and shattered against the marble floor—split cleanly in two.

It was the only thing my mother left me.

Rage exploded in my chest. I didn’t hesitate—I swung and punched Wayne square in the face.

A sharp pain followed a split second later—slap!

Lana had struck me with such force that my ears rang. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.

She rushed to help Wayne off the floor. He clutched his cheek, eyes welling with tears. “Byron, I’m sorry, I’ll pay for the pendant…”

Lana didn’t even look at me. Coldly, she pulled a wad of bills from her coat and threw it in my face.

“Twenty thousand. You can buy ten more of those worthless things. If you want to act insane, go earn your own damn money.”

I dropped to my knees, gathering the jade shards with trembling hands. My fingertips bled from the sharp edges, but I didn’t stop.

---

Rain poured in sheets over the cemetery.

I clung to my mother’s tombstone, my whole body wracked with sobs.

“Mom... I was wrong… I thought that if I just tried hard enough, I could make her love me. I thought… I thought that was enough…”

The wind howled, whispering like a mournful lament.

Then came the sound of footsteps sloshing through puddles.

I turned to see Wayne walking toward me, a black umbrella sheltering him from the rain.

My eyes turned cold. “What are you doing here? Get out. You’re not welcome.”

He didn’t answer. Just smiled, then pulled a lighter from his pocket.

He flicked it.

The flame dropped to the dry patch of grass beside the grave.

Whoosh! The fire roared to life, swallowing the ground in seconds.

“Mom!” I screamed and dove into the flames, slapping at them with my bare hands.

Behind me, Wayne suddenly broke into a fit of coughs, as if overwhelmed by the smoke.

Lana’s silhouette appeared through the downpour. She rushed toward us, her face darkening the moment she took in the scene.

“Byron! Are you insane?!”

Wayne collapsed into her arms, sobbing. “Lana… I was afraid he’d hurt himself… I came with you to find him. But he tried to burn me alive!”

Lana’s expression iced over instantly. She wrapped her arm around him and looked at me like I was filth.

“Let’s go. He’s not worth a second more of your compassion.”

I knelt there in the flames as they turned my clothes to ash and scorched the ends of my hair.

Even as the fire crews came rushing in, I didn’t move.

Only when the blaze was doused and the smoke cleared did I collapse beside the tombstone, clutching it like a lifeline.

“…Good thing… the grave’s still here…” I murmured, my voice shaking.

A cemetery staff member approached, hesitant. “Sir… why are you trying so hard?”

I looked up, dazed.

He hesitated before continuing, “The grave… it’s empty.”

My heart stopped. “What… what did you say?”

He frowned. “A few days ago, your wife’s male secretary—his surname was Tyler, I think—filed a request to relocate the remains. Paid all the fees. We assumed it was approved.”

I froze.

Lana didn’t have a male secretary.

My fingers trembled as I pulled out my phone and dialed her number.

The line rang for what felt like eternity.

When she finally answered, her voice was cold. “What is it, Byron?”

My grip tightened. “Where’s Wayne?”

Her tone grew sharper. “Byron, my patience is wearing thin.”

Just as she was about to hang up, I caught a voice in the background—someone mentioning a hotel address.

I shot to my feet and ran.

---

The banquet hall was lit like a palace. Crystal chandeliers, silk gowns, designer tuxedos. A toast was in progress.

Lana stood in the center, elegant as ever, a glass of water in hand, smiling politely among the elite.

Beside her, Wayne moved easily through the crowd, perfectly dressed, perfectly poised.

They looked like a match made in heaven.

He spotted me immediately and strode over with a smirk curling on his lips.

“Byron,” he said smoothly, holding out a glass of champagne, “Come on. Let’s have a drink.”

I fixed my gaze on him, speaking slowly and clearly.

"Where are my mother's ashes?"

He blinked, pretending not to understand.

"What ashes...?"

I stepped closer. The fury burning in my chest surged to the surface, making my voice colder, harder.

"Where are my mother's ashes?"

A smirk crept across his lips. He casually took a sip of wine, completely unbothered.

"Oh, that? Who knows what kind of dirt they dug up. Just toss it—let the wind take care of it."

Smash!

Without thinking, I snatched the wine glass from his hand and shattered it against his head.

Screams erupted. The crowd descended into chaos.

Lana's expression shifted instantly. She rushed toward me and shoved me back with such force that I stumbled into a long banquet table behind me.

"Byron! Are you insane?!"

Wayne clutched his bleeding forehead, blood trickling through his fingers, tears mixing with the red.

He collapsed into Lana’s arms, trembling.

"Lana... it hurts..."

Her eyes burned with fury.

"Security! Take him out!"

Hands grabbed me roughly. I was dragged from the banquet hall like a criminal.

Lana's voice rang out coldly behind me.

"Take him to the northern meditation room. Let him calm down."

---

The meditation room was cloaked in silence, the scent of sandalwood thick in the air.

I knelt on the futon, my tears falling without a sound.

They dug up her grave. My mother’s ashes... gone.

With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and called a number I hadn’t touched in years.

The line connected. A lazy, familiar voice answered.

"What’s wrong, young master? Finally remembered me?"

My voice broke as I spoke.

"I want to go home."

There was a pause. Then the voice turned ice cold.

"Who hurt you?"

I couldn’t say it clearly. My chest heaved with sobs.

"She doesn’t love me... They dug up my mother’s ashes... She locked me up..."

"Wait."

His voice was low, trembling with fury beneath the surface.

"I’m coming. Right now."

The call ended.

Almost immediately, another call flashed on my screen—Lana.

I answered numbly.

Her voice was devoid of warmth.

"Byron, Wayne will never have children now—because of your madness. I was willing to overlook everything. But you crossed the line."

She paused, then added coldly.

"Since you're so stubborn, Wayne recommended a spiritual teacher. He’s skilled at enlightening people with Buddhist teachings. You should listen carefully."

She hung up.

---

A moment later, the door creaked open.

A tall, thin middle-aged man stepped inside. His robe draped loosely over him, but his eyes glistened with something revolting.

He walked toward me slowly, deliberately, then suddenly lunged and wrapped his arms tightly around me.

My blood turned to ice. I thrashed in his grasp.

"Let go of me! This is a place of worship! What are you trying to do?!"

He laughed softly, his breath hot against my ear.

"Lana said you need to be… guided. Lucky for both of us, I happen to love delicate, pretty boys like you."

"Get out!" I screamed, my voice hoarse and desperate.

Smack!

His slap blinded me. Blood flooded my mouth.

Then, with a wicked grin, he lifted his foot and crushed my phone beneath it.

"Let’s see who else you can call now."

I collapsed, hitting the floor hard. My head struck the cold tile, and my vision blurred.

But then I saw it—a white porcelain vase on the coffee table.

I reached for it with all the strength I had left.

Crash!

The vase exploded against his temple. His eyes went wide. Then he dropped, unconscious.

I staggered to the door. Locked.

I turned to the window. It was open. I leaned out—it was the third floor.

Behind me, I heard voices and pounding feet.

"Quick! Don’t let him escape!"

There was no time to think.

I jumped.

A jolt of searing pain shot through my right leg as I hit the ground. I couldn’t move. It was broken—badly.

"Little bastard!"

The leering face of the so-called spiritual teacher appeared above me, twisted with rage.

He raised his foot and brought it down—hard—on my shattered leg.

A scream tore from my throat. The pain blinded me. I clenched my eyes shut in agony as he dragged me back inside like a sack of meat.

"Trying to run?" he snarled, yanking off his belt. "Looks like you need one last lesson."

He sneered, his breath heavy and foul.

"Such fair skin... for a man." His greasy palm crept toward my collarbone.

A red recording light blinked on a nearby camera. My stomach turned.

He licked his lips and reached for me again.

Suddenly—thud! A dagger pierced clean through his palm.

"Ah—!" he shrieked, stumbling backward.