I woke up on the cold, hard floor, my body stiff and aching from the awkward position I had crumpled into. For a moment, everything was blurry and my mind was sluggish, trying to catch up with the world around me. Then, like a tidal wave, the memories from last night came crashing in. Tristan's rage, the shattered glass, the venom in his voice as he accused me of betrayal.

My chest tightened, and I pressed my hand to my heart, trying to steady the pain that felt so fresh and so raw.

The room was quiet now, but it still reeked of alcohol and tension. I pushed myself up, wincing as my muscles protested the movement. I looked around. The faint morning light filtering through the curtains only made the room look more broken than I remembered. Tristan hadn't come back. That much was obvious. The space where he had erupted with so much fury now felt eerily empty, just like me.

Moving felt impossible, but I forced myself to stand. My legs wobbled as I carefully made my way across the room, avoiding the broken pieces. I didn't even bother turning on the light in the bathroom. I didn't need to see myself to know I was a wreck. But as I caught my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but pause. The woman staring back at me looked... wiped out. My eyes were swollen and puffy, the whites stained red from crying so much that they burned. My hair was tangled, matted in some places, sticking to my tear-streaked face. My skin was pale, hollowed out from the emotional toll of the last few hours.

I barely recognized myself.

With trembling hands, I brushed my teeth, hoping it might make me feel something close to normal, but it didn't. Nothing could. When I stepped into the shower, the water came down scalding hot, but I didn't care. I stood there, letting it wash over me, hoping it would cleanse me of everything—of last night, of the hurt, of the feeling that my world was crumbling beneath my feet.

But then, a sharp sting broke through the numbness. I looked down, seeing a thin trail of blood running from my thigh. My heart skipped a beat. I hadn't even noticed the cut before now, hadn't felt the pain over the chaos of everything else. It must have been from the glass—another scar from last night's explosion.

I cleaned the cut in silence, watching the water turn pink as it swirled down the drain. I should have been angry. I should have been furious at how reckless Tristan had been, at how this was my life now; walking on glass, bleeding from wounds I hadn't even realized I had. But all I felt was... tired. Exhausted. Like I had nothing left in me to fight with.

When I finally turned off the water, I didn't bother drying my hair or taking care of myself the way I normally would. I marched back into the room and slipped into an oversized T-shirt and shorts. My damp hair stuck to my neck, dripping all over my shirt but I didn't care. I just needed to get out of that room, to escape the memories still hanging in the air like a suffocating blanket.

As I reached the door, I hesitated for a moment, fearing that Tristan might have locked me in. But the door creaked open, and I felt a small, bitter sense of relief.

At least he hadn't taken that from me. Not yet.

I made my way downstairs. When I reached the living room, I froze. Tristan was sprawled on the sofa, his face buried in one arm, his other hand still wrapped around a nearly empty bottle of bourbon. His chest rose and fell with the uneven rhythm of someone too drunk to be peaceful. He looked... defeated.

Seeing him like this tore at something deep inside me. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I forced them back, biting my lip. How had we ended up here? How had everything gone so wrong so quickly?

My gaze fell to his hand wrapped around the bourbon. It was swollen and bruised, and still smeared with blood from where he'd punched the wall repeatedly. My heart ached. Instinctively, I knew I had to help him, even if he probably wouldn't want me to.

Quietly, I walked to the kitchen to get what I needed. I found my tote bag sitting on the counter. Ryder must have left it there after confiscating it last night. I dug through it, finding my phone with almost twenty missed calls from Stefan. My chest tightened at the sight of his name, but I couldn't deal with that right now. I'd call him back later.

I grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet, filled a bowl with warm water, and returned to the living room. Kneeling beside Tristan, I slowly withdrew the bottle from his hand and placed it on the table. Thankfully, he didn't wake. I proceeded to dip the cloth into the water, wring it out, and gently press it to his knuckles. He stirred slightly, his brows furrowing as if he could feel the pain even in his sleep, but didn't wake. The damage was worse than I'd thought. His knuckles were raw, and the skin was split in places where he had hit the wall too hard, too many times. I worked quickly, cleaning the cuts and dressing the wound.

The more I dressed, the more my emotions diverged. I didn't know if I should be angry or sad, if I should loathe him for how he'd reacted, or hate myself for pushing him to this point. It was all too much, too overwhelming, and I felt like I was drowning in it all, the guilt and the pain and the love that wouldn't let me go.

My mind was so lost in a haze of regret and sorrow that I didn't hear him wake up, I didn't even realize he was watching me until—

"What are you doing?" He snapped, his voice rough and raw, like he'd been dragged through hell and back.

Startled, I looked up. His bloodshot eyes were open, staring at me with a mix of confusion and something else.

"I'm treating your hand," I stated, holding his gaze, searching for any sign of the man I knew, the man I loved. "You hurt yourself last night. I just... I wanted to help."

His expression hardened and he pulled his hand away from me sharply, the movement sending a jolt of pain through me that had nothing to do with my body.

Without a word, he swung his legs over the edge of the sofa.

"Tristan, please—" I reached out to him, but he pushed my hand away, staggering to stand. He swayed on his feet, his face contorting in pain as he pressed a hand to his head.

I scrambled to my feet, reaching out to steady him. "You have a migraine. You need to sit—"

He recoiled from my touch. "Don't," he growled, stumbling toward the table to grab his bottle of bourbon.

I stood there, my heart breaking all over again as I watched him stagger toward the stairs, the bottle pressed to his chest. He didn't look back, didn't say another word as he disappeared into the hallway, leaving me standing alone in the silence.

***

I was a prisoner in my own home now.

Tristan stepped out shortly after and Ryder positioned himself by the elevator doors, his silent presence a reminder that I was going nowhere. It felt pointless anyway. Where would I even go?

The morning light filtered through the kitchen windows, casting a soft glow over the countertops, but it did nothing to ease the heaviness in the air. I sat by the island, aimlessly stirring the steaming bowl of broth that Guiseppe had left in the fridge for me last night. The smell was comforting, rich, and savory, but I could barely taste it. I wasn't hungry. I wasn't even sure I had the strength to keep anything down. But I had to. For the babies.

Just as I took another sip, my phone buzzed on the counter. Stefan's name flashed across the screen. I stared at it for a moment, the knot in my stomach tightening. I wasn't ready to talk, but I knew Stefan—he'd keep calling, keep pushing until I answered. With a deep breath, I swiped to pick up.

"Why the hell haven't you been taking my calls?" his voice boomed through, sharp and frantic.

I blinked, taken aback.

"I've called you a thousand goddammed times!" he bellowed. "I even left a ton of messages!"

"I-I'm sorry...."

There was silence for a moment with only his heavy breathing breaking it.

"Fuck," he let out a frustrated sigh. "Are you okay?" The tension in his voice eased just a little. "What happened last night? I was worried sick."

I closed my eyes and exhaled. I didn't know what to say or how to explain the chaos of last night. "I couldn't leave. I tried, but I couldn't get out."

"What do you mean you couldn't get out? What happened last night? Did Tristan do something? Did he hurt you?"

"No." The word came out too quickly, too rehearsed. I swallowed hard, trying to sound more convincing. "He didn't do anything. He... he just yelled, he was drunk, and he yelled. That's all."

"You're lying," Stefan said flatly, the disbelief clear in his tone. "Don't lie to me, Sienna."

"I'm not lying," I upheld. "He didn't hurt me. He just... he was upset. But I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." The lie tasted bitter, sticking to my throat. I wasn't sure about anything anymore, but admitting that to Stefan would open doors I wasn't ready to walk through.

A heavy silence hung between us and I could feel his hesitation on the other end of the line. After a while, I heard him exhale slowly. "Alright, I believe you."

"He doesn't believe the twins are his, Stefan," I admitted, barely able to say the words out loud. It felt unreal, even now. "He thinks I cheated."

"Did you?"

The question hit me like a slap. "What?" I breathed. "Of course not! How could you even ask me that?"

There was a pause, and then Stefan's voice came back, probing. "You can tell me anything, Sienna, I won't—"

"I didn't!" I cut him off, irritated. "I would never do that! I honestly can't believe you right now!"

He exhaled. "Alright, I'm sorry, but if we're being honest, it's not his fault for thinking that way. You've known about the pregnancy for over a month and you hid it for no good reason."

"I had a good reason." I shot back. "You just don't understand."

"Well, it doesn't matter now because the cat's out of the bag. I'm coming over, we need to figure out what to do next."

"No need." I turned to the door. "Ryder's been stationed by the entrance. He's not going to let anyone through."

Stefan scoffed. "Ryder's my dawg, he'll let me in if I talk to him."

I shook my head, knowing deep down that nothing Stefan said would sway Ryder. "I don't think so."

Heavy footsteps approached from the living room, making me panic. "He's coming. I have to go," I whispered. "I'll call you back." I hung up before he could respond, and set my phone back on the counter.

Ryder appeared in the doorway. His presence left a bitter taste in my mouth that I couldn't stand. "What do you want?" I asked crossly.

His gaze hardened and his lip curled with something close to disgust. "Get dressed."

"Why?" I asked even though I already knew the answer to that.

His eyes flicked over me distastefully. "Orders."

Of course.

***

I stood in front of the mirror, my hands quivering slightly as I added the final touch to my outfit which was a red bow over my messy bun.

I was dressed in the simplest thing I could find, a loose, flowy dress that felt too light for the weight in my chest.

The dark circles under my eyes were prominent, and so was the pallor of my skin, and the thin, hollow look that had crept into my face overnight.

I inhaled deeply. This wasn't a nightmare I could wake up from. It was really happening, and I was terrified, but I had no choice. There was no other way to prove myself to Tristan.

With a shaky breath, I stepped out of the room and into the hallway. Ryder was waiting by the elevator, his expression hard and unwelcoming as always. In the elevator, he was a silent shadow beside me. No words passed between us, and the ride down felt like it lasted an eternity. When the doors opened, he walked out first, not bothering to wait for me. I followed behind him through the lobby, my stomach twisting in knots of what was coming.

We reached the parking lot. Phillip was already standing by the car, his neutral expression giving nothing away as he opened the door for me. I hesitated for just a second before stepping inside, and my heart sank immediately when I saw Tristan already seated on the other side.

He was slouched against the seat, his bandaged hand was draped over his face. I waited for him to acknowledge me, to say something, anything, but he didn't even move. He just sat there, as if I didn't exist.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and slid into the seat beside him. Ryder settled into the passenger seat and Phillip started the car.

The drive felt like forever, and the silence between Tristan and me was deafening, each second stretching into painful minutes. I could hear every breath he took, every slight shift in his seat, but he never once turned toward me.

I tried staring out the window and watching the city pass by, but I couldn't focus on anything but the gut-clawing silence. I wanted to say something to break the unbearable tension, but the words just wouldn't come. What could I say? That I hadn't cheated? That he should trust me? It felt like none of it mattered anymore.

When we finally arrived at the hospital, Tristan climbed out of the car first, still without a word. I followed slowly, staring up at the building with a sense of unease settling in my chest. A hospital. I was about to be tested, like some criminal who had to prove their innocence. The thought made my stomach churn, but I knew if this was what it took to clear my name, to prove to Tristan that I hadn't done anything wrong, I would go through with it.

At the front desk, Tristan spoke briefly with the nurse, his voice low and clipped. She nodded and motioned for us to follow her down a long corridor, which we did. We were led into a small, sterile room where a male doctor was waiting. Tristan shook his hand briefly, his movements stiff and mechanical. "I brought her," he said curtly, his voice devoid of any emotion.

The doctor turned his attention to me. His expression softened slightly. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Larsen. I am Doctor Joseph."

I smiled, forcing myself to remain composed. "Nice to meet you."

"I believe are you aware of the risks associated with performing a paternity test this early in your pregnancy?" His voice was gentle, like he was trying not to spook me. "There's a chance, however small, of miscarriage or infection. We don't usually recommend this unless absolutely necessary."

I opened my mouth to respond, but Tristan cut me off before I could say anything. "She knows," he said sharply. "She'll go along with it."

The way he spoke about me, like I had no say in this, no autonomy—it stung. The humiliation burned deep in my chest, but I nodded anyway, feeling as if I didn't have a choice. "I'll do it."

The doctor studied me for a moment longer before nodding. "Alright," he said, his voice still calm. "We'll take it slow. If at any point you feel uncomfortable, we can stop."

A nurse entered the room right on cue, carrying a tray of sterile instruments. She glanced at me with a small, reassuring smile. "Please follow me," she said softly, motioning for me to come with her into an adjoining room.

My legs felt like lead as I followed her. The room we entered was cold and sterile, with the clinical smell of disinfectant hanging in the air. Another nurse stood on standby beside the ultrasound machine. She smiled at me. "Hello, Sienna. I know this procedure can be a bit intimidating, but we're going to take every precaution to make sure things go smoothly."

Her voice was calm, almost soothing, but it did little to ease the knot in my stomach. I smiled back. "Thank you..."

The lead nurse gestured to a reclining chair that looked far too similar to one in a dentist's office. I hesitated for a moment before lowering myself onto it.

The sound of the medical equipment being prepared filled the room. My hands rested on my belly, instinctively protective of the twins growing inside me. It felt strange, knowing I was about to let a needle pierce through to reach them.

"We'll be doing a transabdominal amniocentesis," the lead nurse explained, slipping on a pair of gloves. "We'll use an ultrasound to guide the needle into your abdomen and extract small amounts of amniotic fluid from each sac. One for each baby. We'll then compare it to the sample from the father."

I swallowed. "Okay..."

She continued. "It's minimally invasive, but there can be risks of miscarriage or infection, which are more significant in twin pregnancies, so we'll be monitoring you closely."

I managed a weak nod, trying to steady my breathing as she swabbed my lower abdomen with a cold antiseptic solution. She then pressed the ultrasound probe to my stomach, searching for the safest point for the needle to enter.

My heart stuttered as I looked at the screen. The two tiny forms floated inside me, unaware of the chaos outside. Unaware of the questions their existence had stirred up in my life. I felt a wave of emotion—love, fear, guilt—all at once. I should be thinking about names, cribs, and baby clothes, not paternity tests.

The needle appeared in my peripheral vision, long and thin. My breath hitched.

"Try to relax," the lead nurse said gently, but I could barely focus. My nerves frayed and my mind raced with fears of what could go wrong.

This felt too invasive. They were so small, so fragile, what if something happened? I had tried to prepare myself, mentally going over the reasons why I needed this, but nothing could make this feel right.

The other nurse stood beside me, her hand resting lightly on my arm as if that simple touch could calm me.

God, help me. I clenched my fists tight, bracing for what was coming.

The needle pierced through, deeper than I expected, and my breath caught in my throat. A sharp, uncomfortable pressure filled me, not quite pain, but enough to make my body stiffen. 

"Almost there..." I felt a slight tug inside me as she moved the needle carefully, collecting the sample, and then another for the second baby.

I tried to focus on my breathing, counting each inhale and exhale, but the tension in my body refused to let go. Every second felt like an eternity as she slowly drew the fluid into the syringe.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the needle was withdrawn. "All done." She said with a smile, applying a bandage to the puncture site. "The hard part is over."

I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I held.

"The results should be ready in a week," she added, handing me a tissue to wipe the gel from my belly. "Make sure to take it easy for the next few days. Some cramping is normal, but if anything feels off, give us a call."

I nodded weakly, not trusting my voice yet. The weight of what I'd just done hadn't fully settled in. I thanked them quietly and stood, my legs feeling weak as I walked out of the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind me, I paused in the hallway, pressing my hand against the wall to steady myself. I should feel some relief. I should feel... something. But all I felt was a cold, heavy pit in my stomach.

As I made my way back to the waiting room, I found Tristan standing next to Doctor Joseph, his expression hard and impatient. I had hoped, maybe foolishly, that the sight of me would soften him, but he didn't look at me, not even to acknowledge the fact that I had just endured something painful for him.

"How are you feeling, Mrs. Larsen?" Doctor Joseph asked instead, studying me.

I caressed my stomach. "I'm just glad it's over."

"How long do you reckon the results will take?" Tristan chirped in, ignoring me.

"The results usually take a week or more to process." Doctor Joseph explained.

"Can you make it happen sooner?" He pushed. "We don't have a week."

There was a pause before he finally responded, "We'll see what we can do."

I stood there as they conversed more, feeling the sting of everything—my body, my heart, the way Tristan was treating me like some stranger. He didn't ask how I was feeling. He didn't care. All he wanted was proof that I hadn't betrayed him, and even then, I wasn't sure it would change anything.

After a while, the doctor shook his hand, signaling that their conversation was over. When he walked away, I took a shaky breath. The pain in my abdomen was a dull throb now, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

I walked over to Tristan, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I hope," I began softly, my voice cracking with the weight of everything I wanted to say, "that when the results come out, you'll finally find it within yourself to accept it."

He turned to me, and for the briefest moment, I thought he might respond. I thought he might at least acknowledge the pain I was in, the effort I was making to prove myself to him. But he didn't. His face was expressionless and his eyes were distant.

Without so much as a word, he turned and walked away.