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After making his announcement, he cut his back off, and Tristan wasted no time blowing Cartier’s phone up to speak with him.
“Nah, I got it. She’s not going to stop until she talks to me.”
“Yeah?” Saint answered, standing from the table. With Cartier there, the past three days were the first time in months he’d had half his body weight in water and three meals plus snacks a day. He’d been talking to Hosea, which helped him get his mind right. At that point, there was nothing Tristan controlled that was worth Saint staying married to her. He feared if he stayed, things would grow volatile and possibly fatal between them.
“Is now a good time to talk?”
Saint smiled as he headed upstairs to his master suite. The first two times she’d called, Cartier didn’t give him the phone because she said Tristan was being rude. With all of her bad qualities, Saint wouldn’t deny how intelligent Tristan was. She was going to do whatever it took to have her way, and Saint was no longer able to deny that. Over the years, he struggled with her sincerity and believing anything she did was done with true intentions. That was over now. It didn’t matter what she said or did, Saint would never believe she had any love for him.
“Yeah. Wassup?” he replied, closing the door behind him.
Saint walked over to the cream and gold chaise directly in front of his king-sized bed and sat down. His eyes shifted toward the entertainment center across from him.
“I saw that you canceled the rest of the tour. Do you realize how much money we’re about to be out of? Not just from ticket sales but all the promo costs that we’re about to have to eat.”
“I don’t care about that, Tristan,” Saint admitted. “I’ll take it out of my personal accounts if it’s that serious to you.”
Seconds of silence passed, which was rare. Typically, Tristan didn’t put much thought behind her words. She spoke first and dealt with the consequences later.
“Are you okay?”
Her concern caught him off guard. “Yeah, why do you ask?”
“You’ve never canceled a show. This is your business, your passion, your love. If you’re canceling these shows something serious has to be going on.”
“Something seriousisgoing on, Tristan,” Saint agreed.
“What is it?” she asked innocently.
Releasing a soft laugh, Saint shook his head and bit down on his bottom lip. “I need a break from it all. Having something that means so much to me tangled with you and what we’re going through…” He paused and sighed. “This shit is toxic as hell, Tris, and I can’t take it no more.”
Tristan scoffed. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”
“I repaid you with all the love and loyalty I could offer. I repaid you with the money I gave you. The lifestyle I provided. The jewelry and luxury and trips I’ve sent you on. I’m not sure why you feel like I’m yours to possess forever, but that’s the problem, and the fact that you can’t grasp that is confirmation that I’m doing the right thing.”
Saint’s music meant more to him than anything, but if he had to temporarily give it up to free himself of Tristan, that was what he would have to do.
“Fuck you, Saint. We aren’t over untilIsay we’re over. I don’t care if you cancel the tour or not. You and your music still belong to me. You willalwaysbelong to me. And the fact that you can’t grasp that is confirmation that I haven’t put you through enough.”
Tristan disconnected the call, and for a while, Saint just sat there. Back in the day, her threat would have angered him. What he’d said was true—he didn’t have the energy to go back and forth with her. Whatever she had in store, he was ready for, but theywouldget divorced… and there was nothing she could do about it.
ChapterTwelve
Tristan
She’d knockedon his door for a good thirty minutes before accepting the fact that Saint wasn’t at home. He’d had her served with divorce papers, as if that would keep her from pulling up on him. When they moved into separate homes years ago when things first started to go sour, Saint didn’t bother giving her a key to his, but that didn’t stop Tristan from going to her car, grabbing her bat, and breaking his window.
Slipping inside, Tristan was numb to the broken glass slicing her arms. Though it was fairly cool out, it wasn’t cold enough to need a jacket. Even if it was, her anger had her so warm she left her home without bothering to grab a coat, her purse, or anything else for that matter.
For a few seconds, she stood silently, in stillness, and waited for Saint to come down. When he didn’t and she was sure he wasn’t there, Tristan made her way through his home. She looked around the great room, releasing an angry chuckle. With a bitter tang in her mouth, Tristan rubbed her hand across her lips.
“You think you’re going to divorce me and I not have anything to say or do about it?” she asked softly, walking over to the China cabinet that held some of his grandmother’s favorite sets. Saint was adamant about having them delivered to California when they first moved. She knew how much the China meant to him, and that was why a sneaky grin spread her lips as she concocted a devious plan.
She opened the cabinet and broke each piece that was inside one by one. When she was done, Tristan went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, then sliced every couch and recliner in his living room, sitting room, and great room. In the dining room, she smeared condiments all over the walls before making her way upstairs to his bedroom. Anyone who knew Saint knew he loved sneakers and watches. Tristan took her precious time filling garbage bags with one of each of his shoes before taking a hammer to every one of his watches.
Tristan released a content sigh as she looked over her handy work, then made her way out of the window just as quickly as she’d come. Would Saint come after her? Yes, but Tristan didn’t give a damn. The punishment would be more than worth it.
ChapterThirteen
