Chapter 78

Chapter 78
Tristan’s POV

It’s been a while since I’ve had to sit in a café that wasn’t crowded, but I still felt the heat of eyes on me the moment I walked in. Maybe it was habit, or maybe it was paranoia. Maybe guilt. I don’t even know anymore.

But I brushed it aside like I always do, sliding into the corner booth, my back pressed against the wall. That’s how I like it, nobody behind me.

Vivian was late. Typical.

She liked being seen, liked making people wait, liked the power shift of it, and for whatever reason, she always got it from me. I drummed my fingers against the glass, eyes darting to the reflection in the window.

For a second I thought I caught someone, a man in a dark coat, staring too long from the street. My chest tightened but then he turned, walked off. Just a passerby, I told myself. Just nerves.

“Still twitchy as ever,” Vivian’s voice pulled me back. She slid into the booth across from me, all perfume and sharp smiles. She looked tired though, her makeup couldn’t hide it.

“You’re late,” I muttered.

“I’m worth waiting for.” She smirked but her hands trembled when she reached for her glass of water.

We sat in silence for a bit, the weight of unspoken things choking the air between us. Finally, I leaned forward. “You told me you had something important. Talk.”

Vivian’s eyes softened for a moment, but then sharpened like knives. “Garrett still thinks it’s his, doesn’t he? The baby.”

“Has he said anything about it?” I asked, stiffening for a moment.

“No, he's too busy playing perfect.” she replied, folding her arms under her chest to accentuate her cleavage.

“Good," I added. Even now, hearing her talk about that made my gut twist. “It’s good he doesn’t know a damn thing. Let him continue chasing his empire while it falls apart.”

Her laugh was low, bitter. “Good. Because the child was never his to begin with. I told you that night, Tristan. It’s yours.”

The words sat heavy between us, just like the first time she’d whispered them. I wanted to believe her, part of me did, but another part of me knew Vivian too well. She played games, always did.

I rubbed my face, trying to ground myself. “You pinned it on him, that's good enough. You let him believe it was his child.”

“He deserved it,” she spat, eyes flashing. “Everything comes easy for Garrett. The name, the respect, the business, the women. You think I was gonna just hand him my heart too? No. Let him carry that weight. Let him believe he ruined me. Meanwhile…” She leaned closer, her voice a whisper only I could hear. “…you and I build something real.”

Real. That word almost made me laugh. There was nothing real about us except the chaos. Still, I stayed. I always stayed.

I shifted, uncomfortable. Again I felt it, the itch of being watched. My eyes flicked to the far corner of the café. A man reading a newspaper, who the hell still read newspapers in this age? He wasn’t even turning the page. Just holding it up. I swallowed, my hand curling into a fist under the table.

Vivian followed my gaze. “Paranoid much?” she teased, but her voice cracked slightly.

“Shut up,” I muttered, forcing my eyes back on her. “You think this is funny? If Garrett ever finds out—”

“He won’t.” She cut me off, fierce now. “He’s blind when it comes to me. Always was. You think he’d suspect his own brother? You think he’d suspect me? No. He’s too busy playing the noble hero with that little girl Lila. He doesn’t have his eyes on us.”

I wanted to believe her, I really did. But Garrett wasn’t stupid. He was stubborn, relentless, and if he ever pieced things together....

“Why drag me into this?” I asked suddenly, my voice low, raw. “You could have let him take the fall, let him believe it’s his and live your life. Why me? Why tell me it’s mine?”

Her eyes softened again, and for once, I thought I saw the real Vivian, not the mask she wore. “Because it is yours, Tristan. You’re the only one who makes sense. Or what? Do you think I'm forcing his child on you? I’m not like that, Tristan. Believe me when I say it’s yours.”

Damn her. She knew exactly how to cut me open and make me bleed willingly.

I leaned back, dragging a shaky hand through my hair. “If what you’re saying is true, then we need proof. Something solid. Otherwise, it’s just words.”

Vivian smirked again, but there was no humor in it. “Proof? Don’t worry. I’ve kept records. Conversations. Doctor visits even. If anyone dares to question it, I can bury them in facts.”

Her confidence should have calmed me, but it didn’t. The feeling in my gut wouldn’t leave. I glanced toward the man with the newspaper again. This time, he was gone. The booth empty. I looked around carefully, but there was no sign of him.

I sighed deeply. Maybe I was imagining it, maybe not.

Vivian leaned forward, her hand brushing mine across the table. “Don’t drift on me now, Tristan. We’re too deep in this. Garrett’s house of cards is already falling. You helped make that happen. And when it all collapses, we’ll be the ones left standing.”

Her words burned through me, a mix of poison and promise. And though my mind screamed at me to cut ties, to run, my heart, or maybe my pride, kept me rooted.

Still, as I walked out of that café later, the night air biting at my skin, I couldn’t shake the sense of eyes trailing me again. Somewhere out there, someone had seen, someone had heard. And I prayed, wished and hoped it wasn't Garrett.

And if Garrett was pulling those strings… then maybe the game was already over before I even knew I was playing.