There was something terrifying about watching a man like Tristan Romano unravel—and knowing I was the reason for it.
He was steel and silence, danger in a tailored suit. A man who commanded loyalty through fear and respect, who moved like someone used to carrying death on his shoulders. But last night, sitting beside me in the hallway like a soldier too tired to march, I saw something else.
A man lost inside his own armor.
And for reasons I didn't want to admit, that scared me more than the gunfire.
I should have walked away. I should've gotten up, gone back to bed, and reminded myself that this marriage was built on blood, not love. That I was a pawn he'd pulled into his war for control. But instead, I stayed. I listened. And I touched his hand like it meant something.
Because it did.
I didn't sleep. I laid in his bed—his shirt still clinging to my skin, his scent all around me—thinking about what he said. About the truth he tried to bury. And about the man he used to be before the world hardened him into this version of Tristan Romano.
A mask he'd worn so long, he didn't know who he was beneath it.
But I was starting to see glimpses. Flashes of something raw, almost human. Something I wasn't sure I wanted to care about.
Morning came too fast, a gray and heavy sky pressing against the villa windows. Rain had begun to fall—soft and steady, as if the world was trying to wash away the night before. I made my way downstairs, expecting silence. Distance. The cold walls we'd both built back up.
Instead, I found him in the kitchen.
He was standing at the counter, shirt sleeves rolled up, pouring coffee into two mugs like it was just another day. Like he wasn't unraveling inside.
"Morning," he said, glancing up.
I studied him. The hard line of his jaw. The bruise still blooming faintly beneath his cheekbone. And the way his hand hesitated slightly as he pushed one mug toward me.
"You didn't sleep either," I said.
He shook his head. "Didn't want to."
I took the mug but didn't drink. "Last night… you let me see something. Why?"
He didn't look at me right away. When he did, his eyes were calm but clouded. "Because I wanted you to know I'm not your enemy."
"You're not my friend, either."
"No." His voice was steady. "But maybe I'm not a monster."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to remind him of all the reasons I should hate him. But the words never came. Because deep down, I didn't believe he was a monster either. At least… not completely.
"I don't know what we're doing," I said, finally. "This—whatever this is between us—it doesn't make sense."
"It's not supposed to." He paused, then added, "But it's real."
That word echoed in my chest. Real.
He wasn't trying to manipulate me. Not this time. I would've seen it. No—what I saw in his eyes was something far more dangerous than a lie.
It was honesty.
And maybe that was the scariest part of all.
DAMN....I HAVE NO WORDS...to be continued....and don't forget to like, comment and you know…..do whatever it's best...love youuuuuu 💋