Trstan

I jolted awake, my breath catching in my throat as the harsh sunlight poured through the curtains, hitting me like a sledgehammer. I winced, shielding my eyes with the back of my hand but the brightness only intensified the relentless throb in my head. It felt as though someone was hammering a nail deep into my skull. My throat was parched and raw, and my muscles ached as if I had been in a brutal fight.

I glanced around, trying to orient myself, and realized I was sprawled out on the couch. I didn't even remember lying down here. What the hell had happened last night? I tried to piece together how I'd ended up here, but my memories were tangled and murky. Everything felt hazy, like I was looking at my own life through dirty glass.

With a groan, I forced myself to sit up. The clock on the wall glared at me: 12:30 a.m. I cursed under my breath. The day was already slipping through my fingers, just like everything else in my life lately.

It was a struggle to stand. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but I managed to push myself up and stumbled towards the stairs. I needed to get my bearings, shake this off.

As I headed up, my stomach churned. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Something didn't feel right. Sienna. Where was she? I opened the door to our bedroom, half expecting to meet her there, but the sight that greeted me made me stop cold.

Glass shards littered the floor by the far wall, catching the morning light like tiny, vicious teeth. The vase. I remembered the sound it made as it shattered against the wall. My heart lurched. I did that. I threw it.

I took a step back, breathing heavily. The rage, the accusations, her face stricken with shock and betrayal. It all felt unreal, and for a second, I tried to convince myself this was all just some twisted nightmare that hadn't fully lifted. But then my gaze landed on the bed, and I saw it. Blood. Stark against the white sheets.

The sight hit me like a slap, knocking the breath clean out of my lungs. That wasn't a nightmare. That was real. I'd hurt her. I'd actually hurt her. I remembered it: Sienna's face, pale and hurt; her voice, desperate, pleading with me to remember, to just listen to her. But I'd lashed out, thrown that damn vase, and screamed sharp and ugly things I couldn't remember but could still feel.

My chest tightened. It was hard to breathe. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the images only grew sharper. I'd hurt her, caused her to bleed, and then I had crashed on the couch like some self-pitying coward.

I stumbled away from the bed, unable to look at it any longer, and found myself in the bathroom. I gripped the edge of the sink and forced myself to breathe.

What had I done?

My eyes darted to the tub and another memory hit me like a freight train. The feel of her body against mine, the warmth of the water. We'd kissed right after, touched, I'd fucked her, then—God help me—I'd broken down and cried like a child in her arms.

I tore my gaze away from the tub and caught sight of myself in the mirror. The man staring back at me looked older, hollow-eyed, his jaw tight and his shoulders hunched. This was supposed to be the face of a leader, someone steady, someone who could hold it all together, but all I could see was a man who'd lost his way. I hated him, hated the choices that had brought me here, hated the resentment, the anger I couldn't seem to shake.

I turned away, disgusted. I couldn't do this. My fingers fumbled with the shower dial, cranking it to the coldest setting. The sound of the water hitting the tiles echoed in the bathroom as I stripped off my clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Without thinking, I stepped into the shower. The freezing water hit my skin, brutal and biting, but I didn't care. I needed it. I needed the sting. I sank down slowly, letting my back press against the cold tile, and pulled my knees up to my chest.

The water beat down on me, icy and sharp, carving a path over my skin. I wanted it to numb the guilt, to strip away the shame, to erase the image of Sienna's face—so pale, so wounded, her eyes full of betrayal. But the cold couldn't reach deep enough to touch the mess I'd made.

My throat tightened as the anger I'd thrown at her circled back, hitting me with a raw, unfiltered clarity that left me feeling hollow. She'd just wanted me to listen. To remember. Instead, I'd let the darkness swallow me whole, I'd pushed her further away, until all that remained were shattered pieces of the life we were gradually building together.

I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead against my knees.

I had no idea where she was right now; if she was still in the house or if she'd left for good. And that fear, the fear of discovering she'd given up on me, wrapped around my chest, suffocating.

God. What had I done?

I wanted to disappear. To crawl out of my own skin and forget what I'd done. But no amount of cold water could drown the shame I felt. There was no relief. Only the sickening reality that I had broken the woman I loved, and I didn't know if I could ever fix it.

***

The office used to be my refuge, the one place where I could shut out everything else, where work was a constant that drowned out the noise of my life. It had been a kind of solace, a place where I could lose myself in tasks, figures, and deadlines, forgetting whatever waited outside these walls.

But today, that comfort was gone. The moment I stepped inside, the weight of reality settled over me, heavy and suffocating. I'd dragged myself here, clinging to the hope that work might offer some escape, that diving back into the endless stack of contracts on my desk would somehow drown out the regrets that had piled up alongside them. Yet nothing felt right. The papers, the silence, even the familiar view through the glass—it all seemed hollow.

I picked a file from the mountain of agreements stacked on my desk and flipped it open, trying to read, but I could barely process the words. My head still hurt from last night, and my body ached in ways that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Stefan shifted in his seat. I could feel his eyes on me, burning a hole into my skull. He was sitting across from me, silently watching. It made my skin prickle. He didn't say a word, but I could feel the judgment in his silence, the questions he didn't ask. I wanted to snap, to tell him to look somewhere else, to stop dissecting me with that quiet gaze, but I kept my head down, willing myself to at least look busy, if not feel it.

"We lost the waterfront contract," he finally spoke, almost too calmly. "Fobster Technology took it. They had a pretty impressive pitch."

I stilled for a second, the name ringing like an alarm in my head. Killian Fobster. Of course. That thorn in my flesh was as insufferable as they came, a competitor who had made a sport of one-upping me for years. He had been circling around my business like a vulture, waiting for a crack. And now, in the middle of my mess, he'd found it.

I could practically hear his arrogant laugh echoing in my mind.

But I couldn't let Stefan see that it bothered me. I couldn't let anyone know how badly everything was falling apart. So, I kept my eyes on the agreement, my tone cold and dismissive when I replied. "That contract was nonviable anyway."

He nodded sagely. "You're right about that."

"Yeah."

Silence.

I didn't need to look up to know he was still watching me, probably trying to figure out what the hell was going on in my head.

The air between us grew thicker. I knew what he wanted to say, the questions he wanted to ask, but I wasn't ready to give him the satisfaction of seeing any more cracks in my armor. Not after he'd known about the pregnancy and kept it from me. The only reason he still had a job was... well, I didn't even want to think about that right now.

"You should get a haircut," he said suddenly, breaking the quiet again with a tone just edging on casual.

My eye twitched. It took everything in me not to snap right then. The comment was so insignificant, so damn normal, but it struck a nerve. The audacity of him, telling me I needed a goddamn haircut. Who the hell did he even think he was? He had some nerves. He'd kept things from me and lied to me, just like the rest of them, and yet here he was, acting like he was blameless.

"I know a really good barber around the block," he continued, his tone light, almost conversational. "He gives the maddest haircuts and—"

"Stefan," I growled, setting my pen down so hard it left a mark on the paper. "Get out of my office."

He didn't move. He just sat there, unflinching, staring at me with that same level-headed expression. "Why are you still so angry?"

"Get out," I repeated, my voice dropping lower. He needed to stop prying and get the hell out before I lost it.

But he didn't take the hint. He sat up. "I'm serious. Why are you so angry? You've been taking everyone's heads off since you got here."

"You want to know why I'm angry, Stefan?" I snapped, feeling every ounce of irritation pooling in my chest. "Fine. I'm angry because I can't trust anyone. I'm angry because everyone I held close has lied to my face, and you—" I jabbed a finger in his direction, feeling my voice shake with frustration, "you knew about the pregnancy all along."

Stefan sighed, leaning back slightly. "How many times do I need to explain this? Sienna wanted to tell you in her own way. It wasn't my place to get in the middle of that."

My jaw tightened. "It was your duty as my friend."

"It was my duty as hers," he countered. "She's my friend too, Tristan."

"Don't give me that," I shot back. "If you really cared, you would've told me. But you just stood there, knowing I was being kept in the dark."

"I'm sorry okay, but what was I supposed to do? You know Sienna better than anyone. She's stubborn, but she was trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" I laughed bitterly. "Protect me from what exactly?"

He let out an exasperated sigh. "From yourself, maybe. You've been a ticking time bomb for as long as I've known you. Sienna didn't want to tell you until she was sure because she knew exactly how you'd react."

"Right," I bit out. "So you and Sienna decided to protect fragile, clueless Tristan from his own life, did you? Because that's exactly what I need—everyone around me making decisions on my behalf without having the decency to tell me."

He frowned. "Tristan, do you hear yourself? Everyone walks around you like they're trying not to set you off. You've made it impossible for anyone to get through to you without a battle."

"Oh, sorry if my life falling apart is such an inconvenience for you," I clapped back, standing up just to get in his face. "I didn't realize I was supposed to schedule my crises to fit everyone else's calendar."

His frown deepened. "Right. Because in your head, you're the only one dealing with anything. Here's a reality check, Tristan—everyone's got their own weight to bear. You're not the only one suffering. And just because you're at the center of your own universe doesn't mean the rest of us are here to revolve around it."

The words hit hard. I clenched my jaw, glaring down hard at him. "I am at the center of this universe. The weight of everyone's problems—this company, my family—falls on my shoulders." I tapped my chest, my voice sharp. "I have handled more in a week than most people do in a lifetime. Don't pretend to understand my life. You have no idea what it's like to be where I am, to carry this responsibility."

His jaw twitched. He pushed back from his chair and got up, meeting my glare. "I don't have to know. I've watched you tear yourself apart trying to hold it all together, as if that's some badge of honor. But that's not the truth."

"You think you've got me all figured out, don't you?"

"I think I see you better than you see yourself."

"Get out of my office," I demanded, pointing at the door. "Get out now."

But he didn't move. "You know, if you keep pushing everyone away like this, you're going to end up exactly where you're afraid of being."

"Get. Out."

He didn't budge.

I took a step closer, my voice lowering to a barely controlled growl. "If you don't leave right now, Stefan, I swear—"

"Fine," he deadpan. "I'll leave." He turned and strode toward the door. He paused, hand resting on the handle, but he didn't look back. The silence in the room was thick, charged with everything we hadn't said, and for a second, I thought he might turn around, make one last attempt.

But he didn't. He opened the door, stepped out, and let it close quietly behind him.

For a moment, I just stood there, chest heaving, staring at the door. The office was quiet again, but my mind was anything but. My thoughts kept circling back, like vultures, to every thought I'd tried to bury. Sienna. The babies. All the lies, the betrayals, the constant ache of feeling sidelined in my own life. The fury inside me burned hotter by the second. I hated this feeling of helplessness that clawed at me. I hated this loss of control, hated that everything I'd built was slipping through my hands like sand.

My gaze dropped to the glass nameplate on my desk. My own name stared back at me, mocking me. Without thinking, I grabbed it, and with a scream tearing from my throat, hurled it across the room.

The glass exploded, splintering in every direction.

The door burst open almost immediately and Joshua rushed in, wide-eyed.

He stopped just inside the doorway, his gaze flicking from the shards scattered across the floor to my clenched fists. "Sir, are you—are you okay?" His voice was tentative, like he was afraid one wrong word might set me off again.

I stared at my fists. No, I wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. I was standing on the edge of my own unraveling, fighting against the weight of things I couldn't control. But I buried it all under a calm facade, forcing my expression to remain cold and controlled.

"Leave, Joshua, I'm fine," I said, my tone clipped, leaving no room for questions.

He hesitated, his eyes searching mine, but finally, he nodded. "Yes, sir," he murmured, before slipping out of the room and leaving me alone again with the shattered remains.

The room felt hollow now. I forced myself to take a deep breath, pushing down the anger that still clawed at me from within. I couldn't stay like this. I couldn't keep letting it consume me.

Slowly, I sat back down and reached for the stack of agreements. The words blurred, meaningless on the page, but I kept my eyes on them, refusing to let my mind slip back into the spiral.

***

My office door clicked open.

Without looking up, I chid, "Joshua, I thought I said no interruptions?"

Silence answered, except for a slow, rhythmic tap echoing off the marble floor. My pulse skipped, my fingers freezing over the keyboard. I looked up, and there he was, unmistakable, with that damn walking stick that always seemed louder than any entrance bell.

"Good grief, boy," Grandpa teased, shuffling into the office like he had every right to be there. The old man still moved with the kind of confidence that could fill a room, even if his bones weren't as strong as they once were. "You look like a bear that just stumbled out of hibernation," he said, glancing over my unshaven face. "Did you lose a fight with your razor?"

"Not now, Grandpa," I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face. "I'm not in the mood."

He didn't back off; he never did. Instead, he surveyed the mess—the shattered glass on the floor, the cracked remnants of my nameplate—and raised an eyebrow, a subtle gesture that managed to pack more judgment than most people could muster in a full sentence.

"Not in the mood? Hell, Tristan, it looks like you're barely in one piece. I'm guessing cleaning services don't include emotional breakdowns."

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to rise to his bait. "It's been a rough day. That's all."

He made his way to the chair in front of my desk, settling into it with a heavy sigh. "This isn't about a contract or a pile of papers, is it?" His voice softened, just a fraction, but enough to let me know he was trying to peel back the layers I'd been holding together.

I looked away, my gaze drifting to the scattered glass on the floor, anything to avoid his eyes. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me,"

I grunted. "Don't worry. It's nothing I can't handle."

Grandpa's gaze held steady, his eyes studying me with the kind of patience that only came with years. Finally, he nodded, though something in his expression remained unconvinced. "If you say so," he said, his voice lined with that familiar edge of expectation, as though he was waiting for something more.

I hummed and continued typing, my fingers hitting the keys harder than necessary. I could feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting, but I kept my focus on the computer screen, pretending to be immersed in work, though the words were blurring together.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound in the room being the soft clatter of my typing and the occasional creak of his chair as he shifted his weight. It wasn't until he let out a long, deliberate sigh that I knew he wasn't going to let this go.

"I'll be traveling next week."

"Hm," I muttered, barely lifting my head.

There was another silence, long enough that I thought he might've given up on the conversation. But then he cleared his throat, voice calm but pointed. "And how's Sienna?"

My fingers froze over the keys. My entire body stiffened. The mention of her name sent a rush of emotions surging through me, emotions I wasn't ready to deal with. I didn't answer him.

"Ah." His sigh was soft, weighted. "It all makes sense now. She told you, didn't she?"

My head snapped up. "Told me what?"

He grinned. "Twins."

My eyes widened. "You knew too?"

Grandpa leaned back. "If you weren't so inattentive, you might have figured it out yourself."

I couldn't believe it. First Stefan, now him? Everyone knew about my wife's pregnancy before I did. Everyone. "Of course, she'd tell everyone else. It's easy to share when the truth doesn't involve me."

"Or maybe she was scared because she knows how you react when things don't fit into your agenda." His words were a slap, each one hitting too close to home. "You don't exactly make things easy for anyone, Tristan."

I ground my jaw, fighting back the fire rising in my chest. "She hid this because she knew... she knew it wasn't mine."

His eyes softened, as if I'd said something deeply, impossibly sad. "Those babies are yours, Tristan. You're just too scared to let yourself believe it."

The bitterness tasted like iron in my mouth. "You can't know that."

"Then why don't you tell me why you're so damn certain they aren't? Did you catch her sleeping with any other man?"

"You wouldn't understand," I bit, turning back to my computer, desperate to shut down the conversation.

Grandpa shook his head. "I'd like to believe I raised you better than this, Tristan. We don't run away or try to hide when things get too hard."

"I'm not running away," I growled. "Those babies are not mine."

"Does pretending she cheated make it easier for you? Does it make you feel better?"

"Stop," I snapped, frustrated. "I'm not running away, okay? Stop psychoanalyzing me. Stop trying to get into my fucking head."

He didn't waver. "Forcing yourself not to accept the child, convincing yourself Sienna cheated, it isn't going to change anything. You're clinging to this lie, hoping it will keep you safe from feeling anything, but all it's doing is tearing you apart. If you keep pushing the truth away, Tristan, you'll lose her. And for what?"

His words sank like a stone in my gut, weighing down every argument, and every excuse I had prepared. I wanted to deny it, wanted to fight it, but I couldn't. Because deep down, I knew he was right. But admitting it felt like stepping off a ledge, and I wasn't sure I was ready to fall.

He looked at me, softer now, but his words still cut. "You're allowed to have the life you're afraid of, Tristan. You deserve the family you've been given. You deserve happiness."

The words clawed at me, reaching places I'd long buried, places I wasn't ready to confront.

God, I hated this. I hated the gnawing doubt inside me, the constant war between what I wanted to believe and what I feared was true.

Before I could respond, a soft knock interrupted us, and Joshua slipped in, holding a crisp white envelope. "Sir, this came from the hospital."

My heart stalled. The test results.

He dropped the letter on my desk, and I managed a nod, dismissing him with a wordless wave. Once the door clicked shut, I turned the envelope over. The hospital's logo was stark against the crisp paper, making my heart thud faster.

I looked up, my throat dry as sandpaper.

"Go on," Grandpa urged softly, watching me. "Open it."

I forced myself to breathe. The answer was in there, in a few lines of ink. I hesitated, trying to summon some kind of courage I wasn't sure I had.

My entire world hung in the balance, and I wasn't sure if I was ready for it. But I couldn't avoid it forever. With a deep, shuddering breath, I tore it open and pulled out the paper.

My eyes scanned the lines, skipping over the technical jargon.

Not excluded...

Probability of Paternity: 99.99999999%

My heart stopped.

H-how?

I read it again, slower this time, my gaze freezing on each word, as if staring harder would change the outcome. But it was clear. Unquestionable. There, printed plainly, was the truth I'd fought so desperately to ignore.

'The alleged father cannot be excluded as the biological father of the tested fetuses.'

I was the father.

I was... Oh, God.

The ground felt like it was tilting beneath me. My mind reeled, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. All this time, all the doubt and anger... I'd been wrong. Completely, utterly wrong.

I looked up at Grandpa. The truth felt like a knife's edge, cutting through everything I'd tried to protect, every wall I'd built.

He stood up, resting a hand on my shoulder, his voice gentle but firm. "It's time you stop running, Tristan."

With that, he walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the truth I could no longer deny.