Tristan

The morning air in the golf course today was so crisp it practically slapped me in the face, but somehow, that wasn't enough to wake me up from the mental mess I was stuck in.

The emerald-green fairways stretched out in front of me, bathed in a golden glow that would make even a Hallmark card jealous. The fairways and rolling hills were meticulously maintained, creating a picturesque setting that usually calmed my mind. I should've felt at peace, zen, one with the universe. Instead, I felt like a piñata about to be whacked at a 5-year-old's birthday party.

I lined up my shot, trying to focus on the ball and the perfect swing, but my thoughts were stuck miles away, entangled in the mess of my penthouse and the heated argument with Sienna. I took a deep breath and swung. The ball veered off like it had a personal vendetta against the green and went straight into the bushes.

Groaning, I repositioned myself for another go.

Last night had been a catastrophe. I mean, we started off fine, things were great, very great. I'd had my cock viscously sucked in the shower, my body felt lighter, my mind clearer—then dinner, then lunch plans, and all of a sudden, Sienna was storming out of the room and leaving me standing there like a clueless idiot.
 
I swung again with all the force I could muster. But the result was the same. The ball skittered off, this time heading left and landing in a patch of tall grass.

Fuuuccck.

I rubbed my face, trying to fend off the storm of emotions swirling inside me—frustration, anger, and, beneath it all, a deep sense of helplessness.

Why couldn't she understand? Why couldn't she see that everything I was doing was for her own good? It wasn't about control. I mean, was I a control freak? Possibly, but I wasn't some overbearing tyrant trying to preside over her life. I was a concerned husband—or boyfriend, or whatever label we were using this week, and I just wanted to keep her safe. What was so hard to get?

All this and for what? A job? I could give her everything she ever wanted – minus her sudden desire to prove she could live without me. Because, obviously, nothing says "I love you" quite like a crisis of independence at 8 p.m.

I tugged at my hair, hoping that yanking on my scalp would somehow relieve the tension that was building up in my brain like a pressure cooker.

That woman was so damn stubborn. Last night, I had marched to the bedroom, eager to make her see reasons why she should listen to me and why my concerns were valid. Things had played out smoothly in my head. I'd walk in there, we'd talk, I'd convince her I was right and she didn't need to work or pursue some misguided need for independence when everything she needed was right here—and then we'd kiss and make up and I'd eat her cunt because God, I missed her cunt so so bad.

But reality begged to differ.

She had locked me out of our bedroom. And when I'd managed to get in using Ava, she'd thrown a pillow at my face and screamed at me to "go to hell"

As if three weeks without sex wasn't hell enough. 

This morning had been no better. She had ghosted me harder than a bad Tinder date, walking past like I was a piece of IKEA furniture she forgot how to assemble. But despite her pretense, I didn't miss the sight of her swollen eyes and the redness that spoke of the tears she had shed.

Seeing it tore at me, and I knew I needed to apologize. Right at that moment, I'd wanted nothing more than to go to her, to pull her into my arms and make this all go away.

But the stubborn part of me bristled.

I wasn't ready to completely back down yet. Not when I still felt so strongly about this.

The sound of an approaching golf cart snapped me out of my tragic, self-pity party. I looked up to see my eternally chipper assistant rolling up like a guy who's never had a bad day in his life.

"Hey, boss!" he called out, parking the cart and hopping down. "The package from Wade is finally here."

Oh, thank God. One small victory in this parade of disasters.

Stefan grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler in the back of the cart and tossed it to me. "What's inside the box anyway?" He asked, his eyebrows doing that thing where they practically begged for gossip.

I caught the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took a long, brooding sip. "Nothing important," I kept it vague, hoping to deflect any more questions. The last thing I wanted to do was dive into the reasons why I needed these very illegal, very necessary pills.

Prohibited? Yes, but they were supposed to help me sleep, to keep the nightmares away, and to prevent me from ever accidentally hurting Sienna.

Although, let's face it, I'd already managed to do that spectacularly without laying a finger on her.

Way to go, champ.

Desperate to find some semblance of control, I gripped the club tighter and took another swing. Predictably, the ball laughed in my face and ricocheted off a tree like a rebellious teenager. It even sounded like the tree was mocking me.

"Rough day?" Stefan muttered, his voice oozing with the kind of sympathy you reserve for someone who's already lost all dignity.

I didn't respond, mostly because I was busy perfecting my stance. I realigned for another shot, convinced this one would be different.

"I heard Sienna got the job," he said casually.

I snorted, swinging the club harder than was strictly necessary. The ball? It didn't even budge. Maybe it, too, had given up on life.

"And I'm guessing you're not thrilled about it?" Stefan continued, clearly relishing his role as Captain Obvious.

Another snort, another pathetic swing.

"When I helped her apply, I thought..."

I whipped around so fast, I could've broken my neck. "You knew?!"

He raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, I thought you were in on it."

"Seriously?" I glared. "Why does she always come to you first?"

He shrugged. "Beats me."

"None of this makes any sense." I snapped, my irritation bubbling over. "Why the hell would she apply for a job? What the hell does she want to work for?"

He leaned back against the golf cart with an easy, knowing posture. "I mean, it's 2024. Women wanna be independent; let 'em."

"That's bullshit."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sienna is a woman who's been strong and self-reliant her whole life. You didn't think she was gonna turn into some Stepford wife and bake you cookies all day just 'cause you put a ring on it, did you?"

His words stung, mostly because they were annoyingly accurate. I dug my club into the ground. "Well, yes I did, and she should because I won't agree to it. She's safer at home, and that's where she'll remain."

Stefan uncrossed his arms and straightened up. He didn't respond right away, just kept looking at me. It wasn't just a casual glance—he was really looking at me, like he was trying to see right through me.

"What?" I bit, irritated. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "What's this really about?"

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't about her safety, is it?"

I hesitated. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do." He crossed his arms again, a knowing look on his face that was somehow more annoying than his questions.

Rolling my eyes, I turned away and prepped for yet another terrible swing. "Alright, Doctor Phil, let's hear it."

"You're jealous."

I laughed. "Jealous? Of what? Her stapler? Her work desk?"

"Think about it. You're not angry because Sienna wants to work, you're angry because you feel you'll lose control if she does. The idea of her finding fulfillment somewhere outside of what you both have going on makes you bitter and anxious."

I stopped and turned.

"You're scared of exposure," Stefan continued, his eyes locked on mine. "You're scared she might find someone better and decide to leave you in the dust."

His words hit like a slap with a velvet glove. Soft, but painful. I opened my mouth, I wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but the words got stuck somewhere between my pride and my ego. Was that it? Was I afraid of being left behind? Of not being enough? The thought churned in my gut, making my chest tighten. I turned away and stared out at the golf course, which suddenly looked less like a paradise and more like a metaphor for my life. Big, empty, and full of missed swings.

I lowered my gaze to the ball again, but my mind wasn't on the game, it was back in the dining with Sienna, where this whole thing had started. I remembered the way she had looked at me when she told me about the job; so joyful and full of optimism.

Yeah, I was an idiot. I'd crushed her excitement about the job with a single dismissive comment, and now I was here, pretending golf would somehow fix everything.

Stefan stepped forward. "I know yeah, you wanna protect her too, I mean after the shit that went down with Alaric, I get it, but keeping her safe doesn't necessarily mean locking her in a tower. It's not Tangled. You've got to let her be who she is. Ain't no love without freedom."

His words rattled around in my head, shaking loose all the stuff I didn't want to admit. I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me—the expectations, the fear, the realization that maybe I was wrong.

Why was this so hard?

I wasn't used to feeling this out of control. In business, I could manipulate, maneuver, and strategize my way through any situation. But with Sienna, none of those skills mattered. She was her own person, and that was part of what drew me to her, but it was also what scared me the most. She wasn't someone I could control, and the idea of her thriving outside of our home, finding satisfaction and purpose in a place where I wasn't central, felt like a direct challenge to my place in her life. It was a vulnerability I hadn't fully acknowledged until now and it terrified me more than I wanted to admit.

"What am I supposed to do?" I finally muttered, not sure if I was talking to Stefan or myself. "Just let her go and hope for the best?"

"Do you love her?"

I glanced over at him, caught off guard by the question. "Of course I do."

"Then you have to find a middle ground. Show her you trust her enough to let her make her own decisions, but that you're also there if she needs you. If you keep holding on too tight and trying to regulate every aspect of her life, you might just end up pushing her away."

The lump in my throat had grown so massive that it took a lot of effort to swallow it. Stefan was right, deep down, I knew it. But knowing it and accepting it were two very different things. "Talk to her," I implored. "Convince her to reconsider."

He backed away, raising his hands. "Nah, man, don't drag me into this."

"You're already in it."

He shook his head. "I'll have to take a hard pass on this one."

"Help her understand," I persisted. "She'll listen to you

"She won't listen to me."

"We both know she will."

He sighed, conflicted. "You know Sienna—once she sets her mind on something, she's not stopping."

"But she respects you." I insisted. "She values your opinion. If you just talk to her, maybe she'll see reason."

Stefan scratched his chin, weighing his options. "I don't know..." his voice was heavy with reluctance. "Alright, alright, fine," he finally said. "I hear you, I'll see what I can do. But don't expect a miracle. And don't expect this to change how she feels."

Relief washed over me, but it was tinged with guilt. I knew I was asking too much, but I couldn't let go of the need to keep things the way they were. "Thank you, Stefan."

When he nodded, I turned back to my game and swung the club again, harder this time, and watched as the ball finally connected, flying down the fairway. It was a good shot, but it didn't bring the usual satisfaction.

"You know," Stefan started again, coming up beside me. "If you really want Sienna to stay home more, you could always give her something to focus on—like taking care of...a baby or something."

My body stiffened. "A baby?" My voice came out strangled, barely masking the surge of dread crawling up my spine.

"Yeah, you know—those tiny humans that demand all your attention? They keep people occupied. She'd have plenty to focus on."

My heart hammered in my chest. I turned swiftly and swung again, sending the ball hurtling down the fairway, the crack louder than usual. I didn't even watch it land. The idea of a baby lodged itself in my mind like a splinter, growing more irritating by the second.

I grabbed another ball, set it up, and swung again—this time with more force. It shot down the course in a clean, perfect arc, but I barely cared.

As I moved toward the next hole, Stefan's voice broke through my haze. "Think about it."

"There's nothing to think about." My response was immediate and defensive. "I'm not having a kid. Especially not as some quick fix."

He sighed, his tone laced with that patronizing edge I hated. "But you love her, right? You've got to at least consider it. She might—"

"I don't want a damn child, Stefan." I hissed, shooting him a bird over my shoulder. "I don't want kids. Ever."

His gaze turned skeptical. "Ever?"

"Ever," I confirmed, more firmly this time. "I can't do it." The idea of being a father was like staring into an abyss. The more I thought about it, the more suffocating it felt. I took another shot, this one more aggressive.

Stefan remained silent, watching me play. Then, in a voice that was too calm, too calculating, he asked, "What if she gets pregnant unexpectedly?"

The fuck? I pivoted. "Where the hell is all this coming from?"

"What if?" He pressed. "What would you do?"

I scoffed. "Trust me, that's not going to happen."

"What if it does?"

"It won't."

"It can."

"Stefan," my voice dropped to a near growl. "Drop it."

He pushed, undeterred. "Would you tell her to get rid of it?"

The question hung in the air like a death sentence. "I'm not doing this with you." I turned and lined up more shots.

"I've seen this before," he stepped in front of me, forcing me to look at him.

"Stefan, get out of my way."

"People think they've got it all figured out until life throws something unexpected at them. And when that happens, you can't just bury your head in the sand. You need to start thinking about her, about your future—together. What would you do? Would you tell her to get rid of it? Walk away? Or would you step up?"

"Step up?" I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "You really think I'd be any good at that? I'd be a terrible father, Stefan. You know it, and I know it."

"You don't know that," he countered. "You're just scared. You're so terrified of change that you won't even let yourself think about it."

I could feel my pulse spiking. "Alright, that's enough therapy for one day, get out of my way." I shoved him away and brushed past him. I couldn't bear the way he was looking at me, like he had me all figured out, like he knew.

"I'm serious, Tristan!" His voice was edged with frustration now. "You can't keep shutting down a conversation just because it makes you uncomfortable!"

"I'm not shutting down anything," I defended, swinging at another ball with a vicious crack. "I just know what I want—or, more like, what I don't want. I love Sienna, but I won't bring a kid into this world just to make her happy. That's not fair to her or to me."

"And what if she gets pregnant?" he shot back, his tone biting. "What then? You gonna just tell her to get rid—"

I slammed the club into the ground and spun around, glaring at him. "Look! Sienna and I—we've already talked about this. She knows where I stand. It's not like this is some surprise!"

He grimaced. "So she's just supposed to just accept it? Forever? That's not fair to her, Tristan."

"For the love of fucking God, She agreed to it! I told her from the start—I don't want kids, ever. She knew what she was getting into!"

"People change! Feelings change! What if she wants more? You're just gonna say no forever?"

"I don't want to be a fucking father!" I barked. "Why is that so hard for you to understand?! I'm not built for that kind of life, and I never will be! It's not some phase that's going to pass!"

Stefan shook his head, clearly disheartened. "Seems to me like you're just being selfish."

"I'm not being selfish!" I defended. "I'm being honest. And honesty is better than pretending I want something I don't!"

"You're not the only one in this relationship. Sienna deserves to be happy too, and if having a family is something she wants, you can't just shut her down because it scares you."

I clenched my jaw. "You think this is about fear? You think I'm scared of a baby? No, Stefan, I'm scared of ruining lives. I don't want to be some half-committed father who resents his own kid for existing! You think you know what's best for her? You don't! You have no idea what it's like for me—for us!"

He stepped closer, his gaze hardening. "Maybe not, but I do know this—one day, she's going to wake up and realize that she wants something more. And when that day comes, you're either going to have to step up or let her go."

"Let her go?" I laughed, but it was hollow, filled with nothing but anger and pain. "I'm not letting her go."

"It won't be your choice to make."

My heart pounded so hard it felt like it was going to burst from my chest. "Fine! Fuck! Yes, what if by some chance she gets fucking pregnant?! I don't know what I'd do! I've never known! But I'm not gonna be forced into some corner just because it's what everyone else expects! I've been clear with Sienna, and she accepts that. You keep pushing like it's your decision! It's not! It's mine!"

"I'm pushing because you're my friend," he deadpanned, his eyes locked on mine, unrelenting, like he was pushing me toward a cliff I had no intention of jumping off. "And I can see that you're scared as hell, but you won't admit it. How can you say you love her, but you're willing to risk losing her just to hold onto some idea of who you think you are? That's bullshit."

"You don't know anything about me, Stefan."

His jaw tightened. "I know enough. I know one day, this is all going to crash down on you, and you won't be able to run from it." He ran a hand through his hair, his breath sharp and heavy. "God, you're impossible, you know that? I'm trying to get you to think about the bigger picture, but all you care about is avoiding the hard stuff."

"I'm not avoiding anything!" I snapped, my voice trembling with anger and something deeper I didn't want to name.

Stefan didn't flinch. "Yes, you are," he shot back, his tone raw and direct. "You're acting like you're invincible, you're pretending like you're untouchable, like nothing can change or break you. But life doesn't work that way, Tristan. It'll catch up to you, whether you like it or not. She. Will. Leave. You."

I felt the ground beneath me shift. Something snapped. I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, towering over him. "Who the hell do you think you are to lecture me about how life works?" The words tumbled out, venomous and cruel. "I've let you overstep your boundaries for far too long and it ends now. You're not my therapist, you're not my friend. You're my goddamned employee. You work for me, I pay you, I put food on your fucking table. You wouldn't have half of what you do if it weren't for me. So don't stand there acting like you know better. And one more word out of line—just one—and I'll make sure you're back in the freaking streets."

The instant the words left my mouth, I regretted it.

I saw it. The hurt that flickered in his eyes, the way his face paled like I'd just slapped him. For a second, his mouth opened like he was going to fire back, but then something shifted in him. His shoulders sagged, and he took a step back.

"Got it, boss."

The words were clipped, distant. Formal.

Shit.

I ran a hand through my hair, the weight of what I'd just said crashing down on me. "Stefan—"

But he cut me off. "I'll be in the clubhouse if you need me." His voice was cold, detached now, and he didn't look at me again. He grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and without another word, he walked off the course, leaving me standing there, feeling like the biggest fool alive.