Elona’s POV
The drive back from the restaurant had been quiet. Not the kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, but the brittle kind. The kind that hummed with unspoken arguments and stiff silences, like one wrong word would crack it all open. I hadn’t said much. I simply went straight to the bedroom, changing into my tank top and pajama shorts, and then curling up on the bed with my phone, trying to scroll my mind into numbness. But my fingers had stilled on the screen more than once. Each time, the image of Grace’s smug little smirk or worse, her fake innocence flashed behind my eyes.
He made it worse. He always makes it worse with his bursts of anger.
Tristan’s voice came from the hallway, deep and tight as he spoke on the phone. I didn’t know who he was talking to, but I didn’t care. I was trying not to care. But caring had never been the issue. I always cared too much.
The door creaked open and he stepped inside. His white shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow now, and he had ditched his suit jacket somewhere along the way. His tie was loosened. The entire image of him was tired and stressed, but still him. Still painfully handsome and still so infuriating.
He sat beside me on the bed with a soft thud, not close enough to touch, but not far enough to ignore either. I kept scrolling on my phone, pretending I didn’t notice him. My jaw was tight, and my body coiled like a spring under my skin.
“Elona…” His voice was low, almost a sigh.
“I’m listening,” I said, my eyes still fixed on my screen, though I wasn’t seeing anything.
He took a breath. “There’s going to be backlash from now on. This is a warning.”
“No kidding,” I said with sarcasm.
“She filed for a restraining order,” he said bluntly. “It’s already been pushed through. I have a court date in three days.” That got my attention. “It’s a preliminary hearing.”
I turned to look at him, really look at him and for the first time in what felt like hours, I saw more than just the man who had acted recklessly. I saw the strain in his face, the tension in his shoulders, the slight tremble in his fingertips as he ran a hand down his face.
“She’s… really going through with this?” I asked quietly.
He nodded. “I’m not sure what will be done when it comes to VFS or Delance, because this involves you. There’s talk that the studio might back Grace, PR management angle, spinning it into harassment. Someone took a picture. It’s already circulating in some internal circles.”
My stomach twisted. “Oh my gosh.”
“I didn’t touch her,” he added quickly. “I got close. I lost my temper. But I didn’t...”
“I know you didn’t,” I said. “That’s not the point.”
He turned to me, his eyes were dark and vulnerable. “Then what is the point?”
“The point is, you didn’t think,” I snapped, putting the phone aside. “You didn’t stop to ask me what I wanted and when I told you not to do anything. You didn’t trust me to handle it when I said I would. You went off and cornered her and made things ten times worse. Now you’re facing court, I’m facing PR nightmares at VFS, and Grace is the one being painted as the victim.”
His silence was unbearable.
“I’m not saying she is,” I went on. “But Tristan… you’re not just anyone. You walk into a building and people pay attention. You raise your voice, and people listen. You have to be careful.”
He let out a rough breath, gripping the edge of the mattress. “I’m flawed, Elona. I’m not going to pretend I’m not. I react when I shouldn’t. I’m human. But dammit, I will protect you.” My chest ached at the way he said it, like a promise that had already cost him everything. “I can’t believe she did that,” he muttered. “A girl that young… obsessed. Manipulative. How far was she planning to go?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But I need you to promise something.” He looked up. “Next time… listen to me. Let me be part of the solution. This isn’t just your fight, Tristan. It’s mine too.” He reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “I’m going to make some hot chocolate,” I said, standing up. “You want some?”
He didn’t answer, and I didn’t wait for one.
I stepped into the hallway barefoot. The tiles were cool under my feet, the anger was warming my skin from the inside out. The house was quiet...too quiet, until I heard the clicking of heels behind me.
Of course.
“Trouble in paradise?” Aunt Camille’s voice cut through the silence like a knife dipped in glitter. I glanced over my shoulder. She was in one of her signature silk robes, heels still on, mascara perfectly in place despite the hour.
I offered her a bland shrug. “Just tired.”
“Mmm.” She followed me into the kitchen, her arms crossed. “Tired, stressed, annoyed… pick your poison.”
I ignored her as I moved around the kitchen, setting a pot of milk on the stove, grabbing cocoa powder and sugar. I needed something to do with my hands. Aunt Camille leaned on the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the top, watching me like a cat watching a bird twitch.
“You know,” she said slowly, “Tristan and I used to talk about things. A lot of things.”
I didn’t look up. “Good for you Aunt Camille.”
She chuckled. “You may call me, Camille... I know all about the case.” That made me pause, spoon in mid-stir. My heart thumped once, hard, like a warning bell.
“You know about the Grace case?” I asked.
“Yes, he first told me when I showed up. I guess he just… trusts me more in some ways,” she continued. “I’ve seen the best and worst of him. It doesn’t surprise me that he leaned on me... Especially when things get… messy. He will always tell me things. We have...history,” I turned to face her, but she had a knife in her hand, studying it nonchalantly.
I clenched the spoon tighter. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” she said, tilting her head, looking up at me. “You think he tells you everything?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.
I turned my back towards her and poured the hot chocolate into a mug and turned to face her again. “I know Tristan,” I said. “More than you ever could.”
She smiled, too sweet. “You think you do. But men like Tristan… they break things when they’re scared. Sometimes even the things they love.” I walked past her without another word, with the mug in hand and a pulse in my throat. “I don’t think you should live here while that case is on. You will get questioned too. Everything was caused because of you.” I continued to walk away, not replying to her words. Her words followed me like shadows down the hallway.
When I stepped back into the bedroom, Tristan was in the same place, only now he was staring at the floor like it held all the answers he didn’t have. He looked up as I walked in, his eyes searching mine. I didn’t say anything. I simply set the mug on the bedside table and climbed into bed. Facing away from him.
The silence stretched again, taut and full of questions neither of us wanted to ask. My heart was racing just thinking about the case. I must admit that I didn’t want him to get into any trouble. If I’m going to be questioned, I want to save him from this mess. But Camille’s words came flooding my mind again, ‘We have...history.’ Was that just being in-laws? Or what kind of history was she referring to that she needed to bring up?