Chapter 207: TWO WEEKS OF FAITH

CHAPTER 207: TWO WEEKS OF FAITH

I feel the tremor move through my body like an aftershock I can’t control. My chest rises and falls too quickly, the air in the room thick with the heaviness of everything we’ve said. My fingers twitch against my knees, restless, searching for something to hold on to. Keep it together, Gloria, I tell myself over and over again, but my mind is chaos and my heart feels like it’s breaking apart in my hands.

The silence stretches between us, fragile and suffocating, until I feel a shift in the air. Annabelle moves closer, her steps soft against the floor. She sits beside me slowly, her movement cautious, like she’s approaching someone who might shatter at the wrong touch. When her arm wraps around my shoulders, I freeze. Her warmth seeps into me, her scent familiar and grounding, and for a brief second, I want to cry.

“My God,” she says softly, almost under her breath. “I can’t believe this.” Her tone isn’t harsh now—it’s wounded, shaken. “Have you really fallen for him this hard?”

Her question hangs there, trembling in the space between us. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, the kind that hurts on the way in. I don’t know what to say, what words could possibly defend something that even I can’t fully understand.

“I don’t know,” I whisper finally. “If you’ve actually chased him away… maybe I’ll never be the same again. Maybe I’ll lose the one person who’s ever really seen me. The only one who’s connected with me in a way I’ve never felt before.” My voice cracks, and I blink fast, my throat tightening. “I just wish you could understand, Annabelle. He’s really changed. The way he treats me—it’s nothing like what people say about him. Everyone keeps describing him like this monster who ruins women, but I don’t see that. Not with me. He’s different. And I know it sounds crazy, but I want to explore that. I need to. My heart tells me it’s genuine.”

Annabelle’s eyes widen, and she stares at me for a long moment. Her lips part as if she wants to speak, but no sound comes out. “Oh my God,” she mutters finally, looking away. She takes a deep breath and the room falls into silence again. It stretches so long that I start to count the seconds in my head just to fill it. I can tell she’s thinking—trying to make sense of something that refuses to make sense.

When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter, steadier. “Look, Gloria,” she says. “I’m all for you making your own choices, okay? You’re an adult. You can decide your life. But this—” she gestures vaguely in the air “—this doesn’t look right to me.”

I nod quickly, maybe too quickly. “Yeah, I get that. I do. But you’ve already made up your mind about him. You’ve heard the stories, seen what happened to people he hurt. You can’t see him as anything else now, because your brain has already built that version of him. And I don’t blame you for it. But you don’t know him, Annabelle. You haven’t spent hours with him, seen him when he’s vulnerable, when he’s quiet. You’ve never been in a room with him long enough to feel what I feel. You didn’t even talk to him for more than twenty minutes earlier. You can’t decide who he is yet.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, her face tightening. Then she lets out a sharp scoff and runs her fingers through her hair in frustration. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this,” she mutters, rising from the bed and pacing the length of the room again.

“Okay, look,” I say, trying one last thing, desperation creeping into my voice. “You don’t have to accept it right now. Just give him a chance—two weeks. That’s all I’m asking. Let him prove to you that he’s not who you think he is.”

She stops pacing, turning to face me. Her brow furrows deeply, the way it always does when she’s turning over a thought in her head. For a long moment she doesn’t speak, and then she exhales, shaking her head. I press on before she can interrupt. “And if he fails—if he proves you right—then you can kick him out. I’ll step away. But at least give him the chance to show you who he really is.”

Annabelle lets out another sigh, rubbing her temples. “The fact that you’re so convinced about this,” she says slowly, “is what scares me. But fine. Two weeks. Let’s just see how it turns out.”

A wave of relief washes over me, so strong it almost buckles my knees. I smile, moving forward to wrap my arms around her tightly. “Thank you. Thank you, Belle.”

She holds me back for a moment, her voice quiet. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Then she pulls away, rolling her eyes a little. “But don’t think you’re off the hook. You’re late, by the way.”

I laugh, a real laugh this time, the kind that slips out without permission. “Late for what?”

“Just take care of yourself, okay? And remember—we need to go see that therapist.”

Her words make me pause. I tilt my head, thinking. “Yeah, about that… I don’t know, Annabelle. I’m starting to think maybe I don’t actually need a therapist anymore.”

Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

I shrug lightly. “I mean, I’ve kind of found something—or someone—that sees me, that gives me what I’ve been craving. Maybe it wasn’t addiction I was struggling with. Maybe it was just loneliness. Maybe I just needed connection.”

Annabelle’s expression hardens instantly, her mouth tightening into a thin line. “Hell no,” she says firmly. “You’re going for therapy, Gloria. No more excuses.”

I sigh, a half-smile tugging at my lips. “You said we’d start tomorrow, remember?”

She pauses mid-step, then grinds her teeth together. “Right. Tomorrow. Sorry for getting ahead of myself.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Anyway, relax a little, okay? It’s not the end of the world.”

She smirks, crossing her arms. “Relax? Yeah, probably not the best time for that advice.” Her tone softens though, her eyes warming. “Have fun. Whatever ‘fun’ looks like for you right now.”

I laugh again, the tension finally thinning between us. “I’ll try.”

“Do that.” She gestures toward the door with a small smile, and I take the cue. I step out, closing it quietly behind me, the sound of the latch clicking like a full stop at the end of a long, exhausting sentence.

The hallway feels different—lighter somehow. I move carefully, tiptoeing toward the living room. My heart picks up when I see him.

Tristan sits there, motionless, staring into space. His posture is tense but calm, like he’s lost in thought. The moment he hears my footsteps, he turns his head sharply. His eyes meet mine, and my breath catches. There’s something so raw in his expression—vulnerability mixed with relief. It hits me right in the chest.

Without thinking, I cross the distance between us and settle onto his lap, curling into him like I belong there. His hands hover for a second, surprised, before settling around my waist. His skin is warm, his breath steady against my neck.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice half a laugh. “You’re back. And… you’re not crying, so that’s a good sign.”

I smile faintly, leaning in close. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He studies my face for a moment, his eyes searching mine. “You’re scared of your sister, aren’t you?” he teases, though his tone is gentle.

I chuckle under my breath. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

He smiles, that slow, charming grin that always disarms me. “Let me guess. You finally cracked her open, didn’t you?”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Please. My sister is not easy to crack. But we’ve reached a… vantage point. A temporary ceasefire. Two weeks.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Two weeks for what?”

“To prove yourself,” I say simply. “You’ve got two weeks to make her see the real you.”

Tristan chuckles, his eyes softening. “And what do you think the real me is?”

I tilt my head, smiling. “Honestly? I think the real you is a mess. The real you is a little twisted, a little broken. You’ve made a reputation for yourself, Tristan—the entire world knows it. You’re a playboy, Mr. Tristan, through and through.” I grin, letting the sarcasm drip from every word.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Wow. Don’t hold back or anything.”

“But,” I continue, tracing a fingertip along his jaw, “underneath all that mess, I think there’s someone who’s been starving for connection. Someone who wants to be seen, to be wanted, to be understood. Maybe that’s the real you. And maybe that’s the part I can’t stop falling for.”