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“I didn’t choose this life, it chose me,” she retorted, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. “And you’re wrong, Tristan. This life, this...lifestyle isn’t what I want.”
I scoffed. “You think I chose this?”
She watched me with those sharp, intelligent eyes, searching for something I wasn’t sure I could give. “No,” she sighed finally, a tired smile on her face. “But you steer it. You make choices, Tristan.”
“And so do you,” I countered, my voice more forceful than I’d intended. “Don’t pretend you’re just a victim here, Adriana. You’ve made your choices too.”
It was the wrong thing to say. I knew it the moment the words left my mouth. Her face hardened immediately, a familiar shuttered look pulling across her features as if she was withdrawing from me.
“Like falling in love with you.”
Her words hung between us in the silence of the hallway. She had slipped into that guarded stance I knew too well. Her arms wrapped around her midsection, cradling our unborn children and creating an invisible wall between us. The intensity in her gaze touched a deep part of me that I usually kept well guarded.
“Listen, Ade…”
“Don’t, Tristan,” she cut me off, but the quiver in her voice betrayed the calm she was trying to portray.
“I would do anything to protect you, Ade,” I said, stepping closer to her. Her eyes flickered away from mine, retreating again. The distance was more than just physical now; we were drifting apart emotionally too.
“When are you going to get it through your head? Protection isn’t love,” she replied. “You might not be like your father, but you’re turning out to be a lot like mine.”
I stood frozen, her words lashing out like a whip. I watched the turmoil in her eyes, the sadness, the frustration. The words echoed in the silent hallway, seeping into every crevice of my being.
Protection isn’t love.
It was a statement, an accusation that stripped me bare.
She was right. I hated it.
“I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you,” I said, stepping forward to close the space between us. “I’d die for you, Adriana. That’s not about protection. That’s about love.”
“Don’t die. If you die on me, I will never forgive you.”
Her voice was a whisper, barely audible in the stillness of the hallway. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, creating a perfect contrast to the hardened expression she wore. I could see every emotion she felt mirrored in her gaze: anger, fear, concern… and love—intense, passionate, undeniable love.
With each second that passed by, my heart sank deeper. The realization of how badly I had hurt her without intending to do so washed over me like a relentless tidal wave. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions; well, it seemed like I had been inadvertently laying the bricks all along.
“I won’t,” I assured her gently, the tone of my voice matching hers. “I’ll fight to stay alive for you and our children.”
I held her gaze, vowing silently that I would bridge the chasm growing between us, one I had helped create with my obsession for control. But before either of us could speak another word, the distant sound of breaking glass shattered the moment. Adriana flinched, turning her head toward the noise. Not towards the safety of the living room. Somewhere…nearby?
“Did you hear that?” I asked her.
She nodded. “It sounded like it was coming from upstairs.”
That’s where we went, to the study upstairs, somewhere that should have remained undisturbed.
Our eyes met one last time before we split—me towards the commotion, her following just a step behind. This was instinct, not choice; protection and love intertwined in a dance as old as time.
I moved through the darkened hallway with Adriana on my heels, her soft breaths sounding like thunder in my ears. The strain between us faded into the background as we were met with a new threat. The echo of shattered glass was still ringing, followed by a faint rustling of movement.
I knew these hallways like the back of my hand, but tonight they seemed alien to me, as if bathed in the shadows of our unresolved conflict. A cold dread coiled around my spine but I quashed it down. I had to keep my focus razor-sharp, for Adriana and for our unborn children.
The study door was ajar when we reached it. With one last look at Adriana, I pushed it open. The sight that greeted us knocked the breath out of me. The window had been smashed and the curtains billowed in the cold night wind, shards of glass glittering ominously on the polished floor. Papers from my father’s desk scattered everywhere, the beautiful mahogany bookshelf turned over, and books—old and new—strewn across the floor.
“Did someone just like, throw a brick inside?” Adriana asked as I took a step into the study.
“Stay behind me,” I ordered Adriana, my tone leaving no room for negotiation. She drew in a sharp breath but I saw her nod from the corner of my eyes. “Doesn’t look like it. Seems like someone smashed the windows to leave, not to come in.”
