My world tilted, spinning out of control. It felt like the ground had been ripped from beneath my feet, leaving me suspended in a free fall of fear and disbelief.

Tristan knows...

The phrase echoed in my mind, reverberating like a struck bell, each repetition more terrifying than the last. How could he possibly know? How? I swallowed hard but my throat was dry, and my pulse was racing so fast it felt like my heart might tear itself apart inside my chest. Oh, God. What do I do now? The room felt like it was closing in, spinning faster, tightening like a vice.

"Sienna," Stefan's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, bringing me back to the present. "Are you there?"

My fingers shook uncontrollably as I clutched the phone. "I can't leave, Stefan," my voice trembled. "I have to talk to him, I have to—"

"Sienna, please," he cut me. "He's not in the right frame of mind. Just go somewhere for tonight, okay? Let him cool down. I'll talk to him, but you need to get out of there."

"I—" I faltered. I couldn't just leave. I shook my head even though he couldn't see me. "I have to explain. If I run, it'll just make things worse."

"And if you stay things could end badly." I could hear the frustration in his voice. "Please, listen to me. Just go."

My mind careened. How could this be happening? How had everything gone so wrong so fast? "Stefan, I can't just—"

"Sienna!" he snapped. "Just go!"

My heart raced, my pulse roaring in my ears. Every instinct screamed at me to stay, to face whatever storm was coming. But Stefan's words were like icy fingers gripping my heart and squeezing tight. He was right. I had to leave, at least for tonight.

"Okay," I breathed, the word shaky and uncertain. "Okay, I'll go. I'll call you once I'm out."

"Please, be safe," he urged, and then the line went dead.

I tossed my phone on the bed and got up. I had to move quickly. I rushed to the closet, grabbed the first clothes I could find, and threw them on with shaking hands. My tote bag was lying on the bed where I'd dropped it earlier. I grabbed it and started shoving things inside—my wallet, phone charger, a few pieces of clothing, anything I could think of. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold onto anything. I threw the phone into my bag and zipped it up, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I grabbed my keys and rushed out.

I stumbled into the elevator and jabbed the button for the ground floor. The ride felt agonizingly slow, each second stretching into an eternity. My heart pounded in my ears, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. What would he do when he found out I was gone? Would he be furious? Hurt? I couldn't bear the thought of him being hurt.

When the doors finally slid open to the ground floor, I sprinted out, but as I reached the lobby, I came to an abrupt halt, my breath catching in my throat.

Ryder.

He was there, standing in front of the glass doors and blocking my only way out.

On cue, he turned his head, and his dark eyes locked onto mine. There was no warmth in his gaze, only a cold, dispassionate scrutiny.

"Move, Ryder," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, to act like I wasn't falling apart. "I need to step out for a bit. I won't be long."

He didn't respond, just stood there, watching me with that same, unblinking stare. Ryder had never liked me. I'd known that from the beginning. He was always cold, always distant, never saying more than what was absolutely necessary. And now, it was clear he wasn't going to let me leave.

I took a tentative step forward, but his jaw tightened and his posture shifted ever so slightly. A silent warning.

"Ryder," I tried again, my voice wavering. "Move."

His eyes flicked down to my tote bag, then back up to my face. "I have strict orders, Mrs. Larsen," he said, deadpan. "You're not going anywhere."

My stomach twisted into knots. "What do you mean I'm not going anywhere? I'm not a prisoner here."

"Boss doesn't want you leaving." He didn't even blink. "So, you're not leaving."

"I don't care what he wants!" My voice was rising, an apprehensive edge creeping in. "I need to go. You can't keep me here."

He stepped closer, his presence looming and intimidating. "I have my orders."

I took a step back, shaking my head. This couldn't be happening. I wasn't trapped. I wasn't a prisoner. Panic flared hot and fierce in my chest. I glanced toward the service exit. A desperate plan formed in my mind. Without thinking, I turned on my heel and bolted for it. But I didn't get far before his hand clamped down on my arm and he yanked me back, hard enough to send me stumbling.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I screamed, struggling against him, but he was like a stone wall, immovable and unyielding. "Let me go!"

He didn't say anything, just tightened his grip as he began to drag me toward the elevator.

"Stop it!" I kicked out, trying to shake him off, but he was too strong. Tears of frustration and fear blurred my vision as I twisted and thrashed. "Help! Please!" I begged, looking around the lobby, my eyes meeting those of the hotel staff and a few guests lingering by the reception desk. But they all turned away, pretending they hadn't seen anything. No one said a word. No one moved to help.

Ryder spun me around and shoved me into the elevator with a force that knocked the breath out of me. I stumbled, catching myself against the wall. He slammed his hand against the button for the penthouse and the doors closed, sealing us in.

I felt a fresh wave of panic rise, suffocating me. "Please, Ryder," I tried one last time, my voice breaking. "Don't do this. I just need to get out for a bit."

But he didn't respond, he didn't even look at me. It was almost like I didn't exist to him.

When the doors finally opened, he stepped out. "Get out," he instructed, but when I didn't move, he dragged me out, his fingers like a vice around my arm. I stumbled, nearly falling, but he didn't slow down, didn't even look at me as he hauled me up the stairs and toward the bedroom.

He opened the door and shoved me inside, his movements rough and unyielding. I stumbled again, catching myself on the edge of the bed.

"Stay put," he ordered, grabbing my bag off the floor. "You're not going anywhere tonight."

"Ryder," I begged, my voice shaking with desperation. "Don't do this."

Ryder's lips twisted into something resembling a smirk, but there was no humor in it, only a cold, detached malice. "Orders, Mrs. Larsen. Orders."

He turned on his heel. "Ryder, wait!" I scrambled off the bed, running after him, but the door slammed shut in my face, and I heard the lock click, sealing me in.

"No!" I pounded on the door. "Ryder, open the door! Let me out!"

Silence.

Blood rushed to my ears. "No!" I screamed, banging my fists harder against the door. "You can't keep me here!" The pain in my hands was nothing compared to the panic clawing at my chest. "Ryder, open the door! Let me out!" I roared. "You can't do this to me!"

But there was no answer.

I stumbled back, my breath coming in ragged gasps. No, no, this couldn't be happening.

"Ava!" I yelled, turning to the control panel on the wall.

"Good evening, Mrs. Larsen," her calm, computerized voice replied. "What would you like me to do for you tonight?"

"I need you to unlock my bedroom door."

There was a pause. Too long.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Larsen," She finally responded. "But I have been given instructions not to do so."

No. No, no, no.

"Please, Ava," I begged, my vision blurring with tears. "Open the door."

"I'm afraid I cannot do that."

I let out a choked sob, sliding down the door as the hopelessness of it all crashed over me. Why was this happening? Why was Tristan doing this to me? What did he think I had done? My mind spun, trying to piece together the fragments of my shattered reality, but it was all a blur of fear and confusion.

I stayed there, huddled on the floor, my body trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline and fear. My hands ached from where I'd pounded them against the door, the skin tender and bruised, but I barely felt the pain. This was all my fault. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Sienna, you're so stupid! I lowered my head in my hands and sobbed. It's all my fault...

I didn't know how long I stayed like that, lost in the darkness of my own mind. Minutes, hours, I couldn't tell, I didn't care. All I could think about was Tristan and how he was possibly feeling.

The images of him flashed before my eyes—his eyes dark with rage, his jaw clenched in pain. I imagined him pacing the room, hands in his hair, trying to make sense of it all. I imagined the betrayal written across his features as he relived every moment we'd shared, twisting them into something ugly.

The thought of him hurting because of me broke my heart. I wished I could take it all back, I wished—

The lock clicked behind me, slicing through the heavy silence.

My heart leaped into my throat as I scrambled to my feet, wiping frantically at my tear-streaked face.

When the door fully swung open, I felt the blood drain from my face. "Tristan..."

I took a shaky step back, my heart racing so fast it felt like it might burst from my chest.

He stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. He looked different—disheveled and raw, his suit jacket missing, his tie loosened, hair tousled in a way that didn't suit him. The sharp, acrid smell of whiskey clung to him like a cloud, filling the room with its hefty scent. But it was his eyes that terrified me the most.

Those eyes I knew so well, eyes that beamed with so much love for me, were dark and bloodshot, and staring right at me with a hatred so intense it felt like it would swallow me whole.

"Tristan..." I said again, my voice trembling, almost unrecognizable to my own ears. "Please... please let me explain."

"Explain?" His voice cracked through the suffocating silence in the bedroom, low and rough, like gravel scraping against stone. "Explain what, exactly?"

"I—" My lips moved, but in all honesty, I didn't know what to say. "I-I was going to tell you..."

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet finality that made my pulse race. His movements toward me were deliberate and slow, as if each step was a battle to restrain something far worse.

My throat tightened. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run, to get away, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. I was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the burning intensity of his gaze. 

He closed the distance between us, his large frame towering over me. His breath was hot against my face, the smell of alcohol very potent, making me sick to the stomach. I swallowed hard. "Tristan, I swear, I was going to tell you, I just—"

"Who's the father, Sienna?"

The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the breath from my lungs. "W-What?" I blinked, my mind scrambling to catch up, to make sense of what he was saying. "What do you mean?"

He took another step closer, his entire body radiating tension, like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap. "Don't play dumb with me, Sienna," he growled. "Who the hell is the father of those damn things you're carrying?"

I recoiled at the words, my hands instinctively cradling my belly. "It's you, Tristan. Of course, it's you."

"Don't you dare lie to me..." His words slurred slightly, the alcohol clearly affecting him, but the venom in his tone was unmistakable.

"I'm not lying." I defended. "These are babies, not things, and they're yours without question."

"Bullshit." He spat the word like it was poison. "Tell me the truth for once. Who else have you been fucking?"

I felt a fresh wave of shock crash over me. Was this what he thought this was about? That I had cheated on him? My heart sank, devastated. How could he think so lowly of me, after everything we'd been through? The sting of his accusation cut deep, and I didn't know if I should be furious or crushed by the fact that he believed it could be true. "No one," I persisted. "I haven't been with anyone else. It's only been you."

He shook his head, stepping back as if he couldn't stand to be near me any longer. "I can't believe this."

"Tristan..." I stepped forward, reaching out to him, desperate to touch him, but he flinched away and snapped.

"Don't you fucking dare!"

The rejection hit me hard. I dropped my hand to my side, feeling helpless.

He suddenly laughed, but it wasn't a sound of amusement, it was cold, hollow, and filled with the kind of bitterness that sent chills down my spine. "Do you think I'm a fool?" He started to pace, pulling at his hair. "Do you think I don't know what's going on?" His movements were erratic, his breath coming in ragged bursts. I could see him spiraling, unraveling, right before my eyes, and I didn't know how to stop it. "I can't get you pregnant, Sienna. I can't! So where did they come from?!"

I shook my head desperately. I had never seen him like this—so broken, so full of doubt and anger. "No, it's not like that. Please, you have to believe me." My words tumbled out in a frantic rush. "Tristan, I swear, I haven't been with anyone, I don't know how it happened, but they're yours. I'm so sorry for not telling you sooner but they're—"

"They're not mine!" He suddenly roared, grabbing a glass from the nightstand and hurling it across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces scattering across the floor like deadly shards of ice.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, choking back a horrid scream.

"You knew!" He seethed, his arms sweeping across the dresser, sending everything from my perfumes to my makeup kit flying.

Hot tears burned my eyes. "Tristan, please, stop!" I cried out, but it was like shouting into the void. He wasn't hearing me. He wasn't seeing me.

He kicked away my vanity chair. "You hid it because you know it's not mine! You hid it from me because you knew!"

"No!" I sobbed, backing into the corner. "I hid it because I didn't know how you would react. I was scared!"

"How can I believe you, Sienna?! You had a whole fucking month! A whole month to do whatever you wanted! You could have been with anyone! You could have found someone else! Maybe it's that doctor, huh? Xavier?! is he the one?! Did you fuck him to get back at me?!"

The accusation was like a dagger straight to my heart. "No! God, no! I haven't been with him! I haven't been with anyone!"

"Lies!" he shouted, grabbing a night lamp and smashing it against the picture frame on the wall. "Lies, lies, lies!" He grabbed another vase, his hand shaking as he smashed it into the ground. The ceramic exploded like a bomb, shards flying everywhere.

Sobs racked through me. "Please, stop!" I screamed. "Please, Tristan! I'm telling the truth!"

But he wasn't listening.

"I loved you!" he bellowed. "I gave you everything! I opened myself to you! Was I not enough?! Was I not good enough?!!!"

He was destroying everything he could get his hands on—vases, picture frames, anything in his path. The sound of breaking glass filled the room, mingling with my cries, creating a cacophony of chaos and despair.

"Stop it!" my throat burned. "Please, Tristan, stop!" I wailed, backing further into the corner, my body shaking uncontrollably. "Please..." I sobbed hard, covering my ears. "I beg you... please stop."

And then he did. He stopped. I didn't know if it was my voice, or if he had finally run out of things to destroy, but he stopped.

The room fell into an eerie silence, the air thick with tension and the smell of broken glass. I released my ears. His was chest heaving and his eyes were glassy and red and filled with a pain I couldn't even begin to understand.

He stared at me for what felt like forever, his eyes searching mine as if trying to find a flicker of truth in the chaos. But the longer he looked at me, the more his expression hardened. Then, he started moving toward me, and I backed away instinctively, my feet stumbling over themselves as I tried to put distance between us. But the cold wall pressed against my spine. There was nowhere to go.

He was in front of me now, so close. "Tristan..." I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came, only the sound of my shaky breathing.

"I don't—" His voice cracked, broken and full of anguish. "You... you kept this from me. You..." His words fell apart, choking him. "Why didn't you tell me, Sienna? Why didn't you trust me?"

Tears spilled down my cheeks. I couldn't find the words to answer him. I wanted to tell him that I was scared, that I didn't know how to face the truth myself, let alone how to tell him. But the words wouldn't come. All I could do was... "I'm so sorry..."

The rage in his eyes flared again. Without warning, his fist shot out, slamming into the wall beside my head with a sickening thud. I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut. He roared in frustration, punching the wall again and again, his knuckles cracking with each impact, over and over, each hit more frantic, more desperate than the last.

Tears streamed down my closed eyes. I didn't dare open them. "Please..." I begged. "You're hurting yourself."

His fist slammed into the wall one final time, and a raw, guttural sound tore from his throat—somewhere between a sob and a scream. Then, just as suddenly as his rage had erupted, it collapsed. His body keeled over, crashing into mine, and before I could react, he buried his face in my shoulder.

I opened my eyes, blinking through the tears.

His whole body was trembling, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. "I can't do it," he choked out between broken sobs, his tears unexpectedly soaking through my shirt.

He was crying. The man who had always been so strong, so in control—was crying.

He clung even tighter to me, his fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

My own sobs choked me as I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. "I'm so sorry," I whispered. I wasn't even sure what I was apologizing for anymore. For hiding the pregnancy. For not telling him sooner. For whatever it was that had driven us to this point. "I'm so, so sorry, Tristan."

He sobbed harder, holding me tighter. It was like all the anger, all the confusion, and fury had melted away, leaving behind nothing but raw, unfiltered pain. "I can't do it," he whispered, his voice muffled against my shoulder. "Tell me this isn't real, tell me this is all just a nightmare. I can't do it, Sienna, make it all go away."

Oh, God.

"We'll get through this.," I whispered through the tears. "I know we will."

The words had barely left my lips before he suddenly jerked back, almost as if the weight of my promise was a jolt of electricity that had snapped him back to himself.

He stood up straight, his face still flushed, but his expression was different now, colder, more controlled. "Tomorrow," he said, his voice icy and resolute as he wiped his eyes with the back of his bloodied hand. "We're going to the hospital for a paternity test."

My stomach lurched. I blinked, trying to process the sudden shift in him. "Tristan..."

"You will not leave this house," he continued. "Not until I have the answers I want."

He didnt give me a chance to respond, he turned sharply on his heels right after that and simply walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

And then I was alone, the emptiness swallowing me whole as I sank to the floor and cried. The sobs came hard and fast, wracking my body. I clutched my chest, gasping for breath. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We weren't supposed to end up here. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to fix this.

So I cried.

I cried for him, for the man I loved and the man I'd lost. I cried for us, for the life we'd built and the life that now threatened to come apart.