Asher’s POV

I stared at the suit laid out on the bed.

Black. Crisp. Perfectly pressed.

Marcus would’ve approved. He was always the one who looked flawless, the one who knew exactly what to wear, what to say, how to carry himself. I was the mess, the one who never quite fit into the image of a Sterling.

And yet, here I was.

I sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the fabric between my fingers. The funeral was in a few hours. People were already gathering. I needed to get dressed.

But I couldn’t move.

It felt wrong. Putting this suit on, walking into that ceremony, standing in...