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He hesitated, searching my face for something—perhaps for the strength he always seemed to think I had. But that day, all I felt was vulnerability and a desperate need to escape.
“Okay,” he said, starting the engine. “Where do you want to go?”
I didn’t answer him, but we knew we had to get the fuck out of there, so when he started the car and drove around aimlessly, I couldn’t help but be grateful.
I stole a glance at Tristan, noticing how his hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. He was always so composed, but now I could sense the tension in his broad shoulders, the way he seemed to hold his breath. It was as if he was bracing for impact, expecting me to shatter.
“Tristan,” I whispered, my voice breaking the silence like thin ice. “Your jacket...”
He didn’t look at me, but I saw him glance down briefly, his jaw tightening when he spotted the blood that had smeared across the leather.
“It’s not mine,” he said. “It’s Kieran. He knows how to take blood off leather,” he said matter-of-factly.
“What?” I asked. I mean, it made perfect sense, my brain just refused to process that it was a thing Tristan and Kieran would simply know off the top of their heads.
The sight of it made my heart clench, and suddenly, the floodgates opened, tears spilling over and streaming down my face.
“What do you mean…” he turned to look at me and his sentence died in his mouth. “Ade.”
“My apartment,” I said between sobs. “I want to go back to my apartment.”
“Okay,” he replied.
I could tell he wanted to reach out, to comfort me, but his responsibility to protect both of us kept his hands firmly on the wheel.
“Keep driving,” I managed to say between sobs. “Please.”
We didn’t speak again until we reached the familiar street of my apartment building. The place I once thought of as a simple, secure home now felt like a sanctuary after the chaos of the evening. As we pulled up outside, I wiped away my tears, trying to steel myself for whatever would come next.
“Are you sure this is safe?” Tristan asked, his blue eyes scanning the area with a vigilance I knew all too well.
“No place feels truly safe anymore,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. But here, at least, there were no expectations, no roles to play—just me and the remnants of a life I was still trying to hold onto.
“Okay,” he said, and though I heard the reluctance in his voice, he turned off the car and stepped out to open my door. As I followed him into the building, I couldn’t help but feel that strange mix of fear and reassurance that seemed to follow whenever Tristan was near.
He led me through the corridor, his broad shoulders a silent promise against the shadows that seemed to loom from every corner. The sound of our footsteps echoed off the walls, the only noise in the otherwise quiet building. When we reached my door, I reached under the buddha sconce and grabbed my spare set of keys. I fumbled with them, my hands still trembling from the events of the night.
“Here, let me.” Tristan’s voice was soft as he took the keys from me, his fingers brushing against mine in the process. The door clicked open, and he gestured for me to enter first.
The apartment was dark. He followed me inside, I followed him inside, closing the door behind us with a soft click. “Stay here” Tristian said firmly. The apartment was dark and the air felt heavy. He flicked on the lights while going through the apartment checking every room.
After clearing the apartment Tristian came back to get me from the front door. “Sit down,” he said, guiding me to the small couch in my living room. “I’ll make you some tea.”
I watched him move into the kitchen, an oddly domestic sight—Tristan Callahan, heir apparent to a crime dynasty, boiling water for tea. It was moments like these that reminded me there was more to him than the rumors and the responsibilities he carried on his shoulders.
“Green okay?” he asked, peeking his head around the corner.
“Perfect,” I replied, trying to muster a smile.
A few minutes later, he returned with a steaming cup, the scent of green tea filling the room. I wrapped my hands around the mug, the warmth seeping into my skin, but it did little to stop the shaking.
“Ade,” Tristan said, his tone gentle, “talk to me. What’s wrong?”
I stared at him.
“Okay, right, but…but right now. What’s wrong, love?”
I opened my mouth to answer him, but the concern in his eyes was my undoing. All the fear, the uncertainty, the weight of my decisions—it all came crashing down on me. And there, in the safety of my own home, with Tristan watching over me, I allowed myself to break. The sobs shook my body, tears streaming down my face as I tried to articulate the storm within me, but no words came out.
