Chapter 35 Confrontation
For five years, Tristan and I had been living on a fault line. The secrets, the lies, the poison—it had all fractured the ground beneath our feet. We had spent the last week clearing the debris, dragging Ida’s wreckage into the light. We had exposed the rot.
But now, with Ida gone and the house slowly healing, I realized we had forgotten one crack.
Lonnie.
It was Monday morning. Two days after Ida’s arrest. The house was buzzing with activity. Silas’s team was reinforcing the east wing, the sound of welding torches hissing through the open windows.
I was in the kitchen, reviewing the budget for the new library. Tristan was at the office, dealing with the fallout of the arrest and the board’s panic.
The doorbell rang.
I frowned. The gate was closed. No one got in without clearance.
I checked the security monitor.
It was Lonnie.
He was standing on the porch, holding a garment bag. He waved at the camera, looking immaculate in a dove-gray suit.
I pressed the intercom. "Lonnie? What are you doing here?"
"I come bearing gifts!" his voice crackled through the speaker. "And gossip. Mostly gossip. Let me in, darling. It’s starting to drizzle, and this suit is silk."
I buzzed him in.
He breezed into the foyer, looking around at the repairs with a critical eye.
"Well," he said. "It’s certainly... rustic. I see you went for the 'post-apocalyptic chic' look."
"It’s called reconstruction, Lonnie."
"It’s called a mess." He handed me the garment bag. "Here. Your dress. Dry cleaned, restitched, and exorcised of bad vibes."
I took the bag. "The silver one?"
"The armor," he corrected. "You might need it. The press is still camped outside the gate like hungry raccoons."
"They can wait. Come in. I have coffee."
We went into the kitchen. Lonnie perched on a stool, looking entirely out of place amidst the construction dust.
"So," he said, accepting a mug. "Ida is in jail. Tristan is the tragic hero. And you... you are the woman who stood in the fire."
"I didn't stand in the fire, Lonnie. I ran from it."
"Semantics. You won. That’s what matters." He took a sip. "But tell me... what happens now? The dragon is slain. Does the princess go back to her tower in Milan?"
I looked into my coffee. "I don't know."
"You don't know? Or you don't want to say?"
"I’m still the architect, Lonnie. I have a job to finish."
"And the client?" Lonnie raised an eyebrow. "Is he finished too? Or is he just getting started?"
"Tristan and I are..." I searched for the word. "Complicated."
"Complicated is code for 'we’re sleeping together but haven't labeled it yet.'"
"We’re not sleeping together!" I protested. "We... we shared a bed. Once. Fully clothed. Because the house was under siege."
"Uh-huh. And the kiss?"
I froze. "What kiss?"
"The one at the gala? In the bathroom? When I walked in?" Lonnie smirked. "Darling, the sexual tension in that room was thick enough to spackle a wall. If I hadn't interrupted, you would have been doing a lot more than talking about hem lines."
I felt my face heat. "It was... intense. That’s all."
"It was possession," Lonnie said. His tone turned serious. "He looks at you like he wants to consume you, Mina. Are you ready for that? Are you ready to be consumed again?"
"He’s different now," I said defensively. "He knows the truth. He’s... trying."
"Trying isn't doing. Be careful, Mina. Old habits die hard. And billionaires with control issues don't just wake up one day and decide to be chill."
The kitchen door opened.
Tristan walked in.
He stopped dead when he saw Lonnie.
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Tristan was wearing a suit—charcoal gray, sharp, intimidating. He looked like the CEO he was. But his eyes... his eyes were locked on Lonnie with a predator’s focus.
"Lonnie," Tristan said. It wasn't a greeting. It was a warning.
"Tristan," Lonnie replied, cool as ice. "Lovely home. A bit drafty, but it has potential."
"What are you doing here?" Tristan asked, walking into the room. He moved to stand next to me, claiming the space. His shoulder brushed mine.
"Delivering laundry," Lonnie said, gesturing to the garment bag on the counter. "And checking on my best friend. She’s been through a lot. Arson. Assault. You."
Tristan’s jaw tightened. "She’s fine. She’s safe."
" Is she?" Lonnie asked. "Because from where I’m sitting, she looks exhausted. Maybe she needs a break. A trip. Milan is lovely this time of year."
"She’s not going to Milan," Tristan said.
"I think that’s up to her, isn't it?" Lonnie countered.
"I’m right here," I said, stepping between them. "I’m not going anywhere. We have work to do."
Tristan didn't look at me. He was still staring at Lonnie.
"You should leave," Tristan said.
"Tristan!" I hissed. "He’s my guest."
"He’s a distraction," Tristan said. "And we’re busy."
Lonnie stood up. He smoothed his suit.
"I can take a hint," he said. He looked at me. "Call me, Mina. If you need an escape route. Or just a drink."
He walked out.
I waited until I heard the front door close. Then I spun on Tristan.
"What is wrong with you?" I demanded. "He brought my dress back! He’s my friend!"
"He’s in love with you," Tristan said.
"He is gay, Tristan! I told you that!"
"I know what you said," Tristan growled. "But I see how he looks at you. He touches you. He makes you laugh. He has a history with you that I don't."
"Because he was there when you weren't!" I shouted. "He picked me up off the floor when you divorced me! He is the reason I survived!"
"And I’m grateful to him for that," Tristan said, pacing the kitchen. "But I don't want him here. Not now. Not when we’re..."
"When we’re what?"
"When we’re trying to fix this!" He gestured between us. "Every time he walks in, you relax. You smile. You become Mina. And when you look at me? You tense up. You put up walls."
"Because he’s safe!" I yelled. "Lonnie never hurt me! Lonnie never believed I was a whore! Lonnie never let his sister poison me!"
Tristan flinched. The words hit him like physical blows.
He stopped pacing. He leaned against the counter, looking down.
"I know," he whispered. "I know I’m the villain in this story, Mina. You don't have to remind me."
"Then stop acting like one," I said, my voice shaking. "Stop trying to control who I see. Stop trying to isolate me. That’s what Ida did."
He looked up. His eyes were haunted.
"I’m not trying to isolate you," he said. "I’m trying to keep you. I’m terrified, Mina. I’m terrified that one day you’re going to wake up and realize that fixing the house isn't enough. That fixing me isn't worth it. And you’ll leave. You’ll go back to Milan with him. And I’ll be alone in this big, empty house with nothing but ghosts."
I looked at him.
I saw the fear. It was raw. It was real.
He wasn't jealous of Lonnie because he thought we were lovers. He was jealous because Lonnie represented a life where I was happy without him.
I walked over to him.
"Tristan," I said softly.
He didn't move.
"Look at me."
He looked at me.
"I’m not going back to Milan," I said. "Not yet. I have a contract."
"Screw the contract."
"I have a promise," I corrected. "To the house. To the baby. To you."
He searched my face. "To me?"
"You said you wanted to earn it back," I said. "Well, this is part of it. trusting me. Trusting that I can have friends. Trusting that I can have a life outside of you and still choose to be here."
He swallowed hard. "It’s hard."
"I know. But you have to try. Because if you turn into a jailer, Tristan... I will break out. And this time, I won't come back."
He nodded slowly. He reached out and took my hand.
"I’m sorry," he said. "I’ll apologize to Lonnie. I’ll send him... I don't know. Flowers? Scotch?"
"Scotch is good. Expensive scotch."
He half-smiled. "Done."
He pulled me closer. He didn't kiss me. He just rested his forehead against mine.
"He doesn't look at you the way I do," he whispered.
"No," I agreed. "He doesn't."
"How does he look at me?"
"Like a friend," I said.
"And how do I look at you?"
I looked into his eyes. They were dark, intense, consuming.
"Like I’m air," I whispered. "And you’re suffocating."
"Exactly," he said.
He kissed my forehead.
"I have to go back to the office," he said, pulling away reluctantly. "The lawyers are drafting the civil suit against Ida. I need to sign the papers."
"Go," I said. "I’ll be here."
"Will you?"
"I’m the architect," I said. "I live here now."
He smiled. A real smile this time.
He left.
I stood in the kitchen, listening to the silence.
It was fragile. The peace was fragile.
Tristan was trying. But the jealousy... the possessiveness... it was woven into him. It was a flaw in the foundation.
I picked up my coffee. It was cold.
I poured it into the sink.
"Back to work," I said to the empty room.
I walked out of the kitchen, heading for the library ruins.
There were walls to rebuild.
And this time, I was going to make sure they were bulletproof.