Tristan and Grandpa were deep in conversation near the grand front doors, their voices low and serious but lacking the sharpness they'd had earlier.

"I'll be right back," I said, interrupting them briefly. "I need to use the restroom before we leave."

Tristan gave a distracted nod, still locked into whatever heavy conversation they were having. I excused myself quickly and slipped out of the room into the hallway. The house was eerily quiet, the soft hum of the night wrapping around me. I moved fast but quietly, my eyes scanning for the restroom. Once I found it, I closed the door behind me, savoring the brief moment of solitude.

A few minutes later, I stepped out and moved to wash my hands. Just as I dried them and started towards the door to leave, it creaked open unexpectedly, bringing forth an unwanted visitor.

Lily.

Just... great.

We locked eyes for a moment, the air between us charged with an unspoken tension. Her face was drawn, her lips pressed into a tight line, but what struck me were her eyes. They were red, puffy, and unmistakably tear-streaked, like she'd been crying. She quickly tore her gaze from mine and brushed past me, heading for the sink.

The sound of the water running filled the space, but it did nothing to mask the heavy, suffocating energy that seemed to radiate from her.

I said nothing as I moved toward the door. My hand touched the doorknob, but I couldn't bring myself to turn it.

I knew I should've just walked out, should've let it go like I always did. This wasn't my battle to fight. But seeing her, seeing how she carried her bitterness like a shield, how she continued to break Tristan down piece by piece—my fingers tightened on the doorknob. Every cell in my body screamed at me to say something, and before I could stop myself, the words were spilling from my mouth and cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Tristan is not a monster."

I heard her pause.

"He's the kindest, most loving man I've ever known," I continued, turning to her. "And he doesn't deserve to be treated like he's some villain. You think you know him, but you've got it all wrong. You see him through a distorted lens, and it's wrong. It's cruel."

Slowly, Lily turned, her eyes cold but glittering with something I couldn't quite place. Amusement? Spite? Whatever it was, it made my skin crawl.

She let out a bitter, cutting laugh. "Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic."

Her words stung, but I forced myself to hold her gaze, my anger crystallizing into a cold resolve. "Call it whatever you wish, Lily, but this will be your last warning. If you ever, ever disrespect him again, if you ever make him feel less than he is, I will not stay silent."

"You're delusional, Sienna. You don't know him like I do. You don't know what he's done."

I took a slow step forward, closing the distance between us. "Oh, I know exactly who he is, better than you ever will, and I'm done watching you tear him down, I'm done letting you poison everything he's worked for, everything he's fought through."

Lily blinked at me, stunned for a moment, before her face twisted into a scowl. "You seem to grow a longer spine every time I see you. "

I sneered. "That man is the love of my life, and I will defend his virtue with my last breath if I have to. No matter what it takes."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as if she was done with this conversation, as if I were nothing more than an annoyance. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, miss ma'am." She jeered, moving to walk past me, but my hand shot out, grabbing her wrist hard.

She froze, her eyes going wide with shock as she stared down at my hand, then back up at me. "What the hell are you doing?" she tried to pull away, but I tightened my grip, my fingers digging into her skin. I could feel the pulse of her panic, and it only made me hold tighter. "You think you're the only one hurting, huh? The only one allowed to feel anything?"

"Ouch!" she screeched, her voice high-pitched, frantic. "Let me go, you freak!" She yanked her arm again, but I didn't let go. I wouldn't.

"Do you even realize how much damage you're doing?" the words were pouring out of me faster than I could stop them. "No, of course, you don't, because all you ever do is wallow in your own misery. You lash out at everyone—at Grandpa, at Tristan, at me—and for what? To make yourself feel better? You don't have a monopoly on grief or pain. You might be hurting, but that doesn't give you the right to rip everyone apart."

She tried again to yank her wrist free. "What are you? Deaf? I said freaking let me go!"

"No," I snarled, my voice low, dark, and unrecognizable even to myself. "You're going to listen to me, whether you like it or not." I leaned in closer, my eyes locking onto hers, my grip firm. "Have you ever stopped to think why Tristan hated your mother so much?"

Her face twisted. "Because he's a psychopath!" she hissed. "My mother did nothing but love that bastard!"

My voice trembled as I fought to keep my emotions in check. "Is that really what you think?"

"She loved him, damnit!" she cursed, bitterness dripping from every word. "He always had her undivided attention while I had to beg for her love! I had to scream, cry, throw tantrums just to get her to see me! So yes! She loved him!"

I shook my head slowly, feeling a deep sadness settle in my chest for both of them. "Lily, your mother didn't love Tristan, and deep down, you know that too."

"What are you talking about?" she shot back, but there was hesitation in her voice now. Doubt.

"You can't tell me you never once heard those screams from the attic or saw the scars that suddenly appeared on his body with no explanation."

Her face paled and her mouth opened slightly as if to argue, but I kept going, pushing the words out like they'd been bottled up for far too long. "You have no idea what hell that woman put him through. You think he's some monster? You think he's the problem? You have no idea what she did to him, how she twisted him, made him hate himself."

She tried again to pull away, but I tightened my grip, forcing her to stay, forcing her to listen.

"You're so busy blaming him for everything, so caught up in your own hatred, that you haven't even stopped to think that maybe you're the one who's wrong. Maybe your mother wasn't some saint, and maybe you've been too blind, too selfish, to see that Tristan is the one who suffered the most."

"You don't know anything about my mother!" She clamored. "He's lying, of course, he'd lie to get you to pity him." She shook her head again but this time I could see a flicker of doubt flashing across her face, but she quickly tried to hide it. "My mother wouldn't. She wouldn't do something like that, she loved him."

"Wake up, Lily. You know I'm right."

Lily shook her head. "No..." Her struggles grew weaker, her resistance fading as she stared at me, stunned. I could see the weight of my words sinking in, tearing through her defenses.

Slowly, I let go of her wrist, but my gaze never wavered. "One day, you're going to realize that you've been wrong about everything. And when you do, it'll be too late. You'll have lost him. And there won't be anyone left to blame but yourself."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Lily just stood there, staring at me, her face pale, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

I didn't wait for her to respond. I didn't need to. I turned and walked out, leaving her standing there alone with her thoughts and the bitter truth she'd been too blind to see.

***

The journey back to Manhattan was quiet.

Tristan barely spoke, barely even looked my way, he just was silent, his gaze fixed out the window as if the city lights held answers to questions he couldn't ask.

I didn't push. The confrontation with Lily had torn open old wounds, letting years of buried pain flood to the surface. He needed to sort through the storm inside him, and all I could offer was my quiet presence. Every so often, I reached out and gently placed my hand on his arm, a silent reminder that I was here, with him, for him. Each time, he gave my hand a soft, brief squeeze before retreating back into his world of thought.

By the time we arrived home, the city was already cloaked in night, the lights of the skyline shimmering through the windows of our penthouse. Exhausted, I headed straight for the shower, letting the hot water beat down on me, hoping it would wash away the stress that clung to me like a second skin. When I finally stepped out, the bedroom was eerily still, the bed untouched, and Tristan was nowhere in sight.

Right. I'd stationed him to sleep on the couch.

I finished up my night care routine and slipped into my night dress before padding softly toward the stairs. In the living room, I found Tristan sprawled awkwardly on the couch, his tall frame folded into the too-small space.

I stood there for a moment, watching him as he slept. He hadn't even taken off his clothes. The tie was loosened around his neck, but everything else was still in place, as if he'd simply collapsed under the strain of it all. I walked over to him, kneeling beside the couch, careful not to wake him. His face was peaceful, the hard lines of stress softened now that he was asleep, but I could still see the remnants of the evening etched in the way his brow furrowed ever so slightly. It was subtle but telling.

Without thinking, I reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. He didn't stir, just let out a soft sigh, and I felt my heart swell with tenderness.

In these quiet moments, I could see him as he really was—not the strong, unshakable Tristan the world saw, but the man I loved, the one who carried more burdens than anyone knew.

"You must've been so exhausted," I whispered, more to myself than to him. The weight of everything, the confrontation with Grandpa, the tension with Lily—it had all drained him, more than he'd let on.

He shifted slightly, murmuring something under his breath, and then his eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he looked disoriented, blinking groggily as his gaze slowly focused on me. "Sienna?" His voice was rough with sleep, tinged with confusion as he blinked, trying to orient himself.

I smiled, my hand still resting lightly against his forehead. "Hey,"

Surprise flickered across his face. "What are you doing down here?"

"Come to bed," I mumbled. "You look so uncomfortable down here."

He glanced around, seeming to realize for the first time that he had fallen asleep on the couch, still fully dressed. He looked back up at me. "You're not mad at me anymore?"

I stood up and held out my hand. "No. I'm not. Come on."

For a moment, he just looked at me, as though trying to make sense of my words. Then, he sighed, long and deep, like he'd been holding it in for days. "Thank you." He reached for my hand, pulling himself up from the couch.

We walked quietly together up the stairs, his hand warm in mine. When we reached the bedroom, I turned toward the bed, slipping under the covers while Tristan stopped at the foot of the bed and peeled off his shirt. His trousers followed next, then he stepped out of his shoes and socks, leaving them in a neat pile by the foot of the bed. Once he was down to just his boxers, he climbed into bed beside me, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

The moment he was next to me, it was as though all the tension in his body melted away. He pulled me close, his arm wrapping protectively around my waist, his face buried in my hair. I could feel his breath against my neck, soft and steady. "This is better," he murmured, inhaling deeply, like he was savoring the scent of me, grounding himself in it. "So much better."

I smiled, nestling closer into his chest. It felt perfect, like we had found a quiet little piece of the world where nothing else mattered.

The only sounds in the room were the gentle hum of the city far below and the rhythmic thud of his heart against my ear, a steady, comforting lullaby. I felt myself sinking deeper into the moment, letting the calm wash over me. Just as I began to drift into the soothing embrace of sleep, Tristan's voice, soft and barely a whisper, broke the silence.

"I was scared."

The words pulled me back, making me blink in confusion. I turned around, searching his face, but I couldn't quite read what he was feeling. "Scared of what?"

He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to where his hand rested on mine. His thumb traced idle circles on my skin, like he was stalling, trying to gather the courage to say the words. "I was scared about you working," he admitted softly. "I was scared that if you started working, you'd get caught up in everything and you'd realize there's more out there... I was scared that you'd see you don't need me, that maybe... maybe you'd find someone better than me, someone who could give you things I can't."

The confession was like a tidal wave of emotion crashing over me, and my heart swelled so much that for a second it became hard to breathe.

"I know how amazing you are, Sienna." He continued, looking down. "You're smart, talented, beautiful. You could have anything you want, be with anyone you want. And the thought that you might wake up one day and realize I'm not enough for you, that you deserve more than me... it terrifies me."

My lips quivered. The man I loved—so strong, so sure of himself in every other way—was laying bare his deepest fear: the fear of not being enough for me. It broke my heart to hear it, to know he had carried that weight silently for so long.

I pressed a hand to his face, gently urging him to meet my gaze. "You are everything to me, Tristan. Everything. There's no one better, no one else I could ever want." My thumb brushed his cheek. "I love you more than you could ever know, and nothing—not work, not distance, not anyone—could ever change that. You are more than enough."

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes searching mine like he was trying to believe me, trying to let my words sink into the parts of him that were still uncertain. "I've never loved anyone like I love you," he whispered. "You make me feel things I didn't think I was capable of feeling. And that's what scares me too."

"You're not going to lose me," I assured. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together."

He pulled me closer. "I've been selfish, I was so caught up in my own fear of losing you that I tried to control everything... tried to keep you from doing something you love. But not anymore." He paused and exhaled. "I'm ready to support you, even if it scares me, even if it hurts. I won't stand in your way anymore."

His words unraveled something deep inside me, filling the cracks I didn't even realize had formed.
He had always been my protector, but now, in this moment, he was showing me that he was also willing to be vulnerable, to trust me, to trust us.

I smiled through the sudden flood of emotions and leaned in, pressing my forehead against his. "You're not being selfish," I whispered. "You're human, and the fact that you're willing to support me, even when it's hard for you—that means more to me than anything."

"I'm sorry I didn't say this sooner."

I shook my head gently. "I'm just glad you told me now."

He reached up, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of my jaw, then sliding down to cup my cheek. His touch was so gentle, so full of love. "I'll do anything to make you happy, Sienna," he muttered. "Anything."

I smiled. "I know, Tristan. And I love you for it."

His lips tugged up. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that was deliberate and tender. It was the kind of kiss that wasn't just a kiss—there was no urgency, no rush— it was a vow, a promise of all the things we were going to be.

And in that moment, I knew that no matter what the world threw at us, we would be okay. Because we had this—this love, this trust, this unbreakable connection that was stronger than anything else.