My Sister Died on the Mistress' Operating Table

When I opened the box and saw that less than half the ashes remained, my hands shook with fury.

“The dead deserve respect,” I said through gritted teeth. “You’re a doctor, yet you can’t even show the slightest dignity to the dead?”

Lucian didn’t even flinch. His tone was impatient, almost bored.

“I don’t know how many cremations go through that place every day. The ashes all get mixed together. What does it matter? Just keep enough for the burial — that’s enough.”

I laughed, low and bitter. “That’s what a human being should say?”

“Teacher, Master’s Wife, please don’t fight.”

Ivy’s soft sob cut through the room. She sniffled pitifully.

“This was my fault. I was the one who collected the ashes. If I’d known, I would’ve taken more. Then even if some spilled, there would still be enough left.”

“How could you possibly be at fault?”

Lucian immediately soothed her, his hand stroking her head with a gentleness I’d never received from him.

Then he turned to me, his eyes cold, his voice laced with disdain.

“You left your sister’s body in the hospital without even checking on her. And now you want to use her death to blackmail us? Ivy brought the ashes back for you out of kindness, and instead of gratitude, you blame her? Truly heartless.”

My vision blurred with rage.

A decompression craniectomy killed his own sister — and this man dared to expect me to thank him?

But fine. I wasn’t her sister-in-law anymore. If he, her own brother, wanted to worship the woman who killed her, that was his choice.

“Teacher, don’t say that.”

Ivy’s lips curved in a demure little pout as she covered his mouth playfully.

“She must have gone a little mad after losing her sister.”

Lucian’s eyes softened at her touch, a tenderness flashing there that made my chest ache.

“Master’s Wife,” Ivy said sweetly, handing me the ashes, “you should bury her soon. Otherwise, her remains will just scatter in the wind.”

I sneered and shoved the box back toward them.

“Let Lucian keep them.”

As I pushed it back, Ivy suddenly stumbled two steps, deliberately tearing the plastic bag.

Ashes spilled across the floor, rising into the air and choking me until I coughed.

“Master’s Wife, I’m sorry!” she cried, sitting down on the floor, tears brimming in her eyes. “If it will make you feel better, hit me. But your sister’s death really had nothing to do with me!”

“Seraphine, have you lost your mind?”

Lucian stormed forward, and before I could react, his palm cracked across my face.

“Ivy went out of her way to bring you your sister’s ashes, and this is how you treat her? You’re insane!”

He hauled her to her feet, his arm sliding protectively around her waist as he prepared to leave.

I pressed a hand to my stinging cheek, my breathing ragged. Then I exhaled slowly, my voice calm — too calm.

“Lucian,” I said, pulling a folded document from my bag, “let’s get a divorce.”

He froze, turning to stare at me.

“You want a divorce?”

His expression shifted — surprise first, then anger, until his face was carved with ice.

“Seraphine,” he said coldly, “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re only saying this because you’re grieving your sister.”