Chapter 136: Love Makes People Crazy

“How would you like me to end my life, Rose? ”Tristan’s voice was low, almost eerily calm, as he sat solemnly on the couch, the barrel of his gun pressed against his temple.

My heart stuttered in my chest, a wave of panic surging through me. “Tristan, what are you doing?” I stepped forward slowly, hands trembling. “Put down the gun, please.”

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and heavy with hurt. “You’ve wounded me, Rose," and the gun was steady against his head. “I can’t understand why you love Jacob Alvarez, a man who has done nothing but hurt you. You’re blind to his arrogance, his control over you.”

I forced my voice to stay steady. “Let’s not talk about Jacob right now, Tristan.” I took a cautious step closer. “What I need to know is about my mother. You said you knew where she was. Please take me to her.”

For a moment, his expression softened, a flicker of something like hope crossing his face. “I can take you to her, Rose,” he murmured, lowering the gun slightly. “But you have to promise me something first.”

My stomach churned. I needed to get to my mother, and Tristan was my only way. I’d deal with Jacob later. “What do you want?” My voice came out softer than I intended, but I needed him to believe me.

He paused, studying me with a calculating gaze, before his voice sharpened with resolve. “I want you to call Jacob. Tell him you’re with me.”

His demand struck me deeply. I froze, feeling my heart drop. “Tristan...”

“This is non-negotiable, Rose,” he cut in, raising the gun again. “You want your mother? Then prove to me that you’re done with him.”

Every nerve in my body screamed at the impossible choice he was forcing on me. My mother’s safety, my heart’s loyalty. But there was no time. I had to choose.

“I don’t have a phone to call him,” I said, trying to sound earnest, hoping to buy some time.

But Tristan had already thought of everything. He moved over to a small drawer by the second-floor living room, pulling out a pen and a sheet of white paper. “Then write,” he said calmly, handing them to me. “You can leave him a message.”

I stared at the paper for a moment, hesitating, but Tristan’s gaze bore into me, unyielding. I had no choice. With shaky hands, I began to write, my heart pounding with each word. It was Tristan’s message, not mine—cold, final, and cruel. It was a farewell message to Jacob, telling him I was leaving for good. When I finished, Tristan snatched the paper from me, his fingers brushing mine, icy and possessive.

Before I could say anything, he grabbed my arm and pulled me outside, ushering me into his car. “Don’t do anything foolish, Rose,” he warned his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t want to ruin your chance to see your mother.”

My pulse quickened as we sped off, leaving William’s glass house far behind. The silence in the car was suffocating, thick with unspoken fear and uncertainty. We’d been driving for over half an hour when the familiar streets faded into unfamiliar territory. South, somewhere I had never been before.

I watched Tristan at the wheel, my chest tightening with a mix of dread and pity. His face was unreadable, eyes fixed on the road, lost in some dark place. My mind raced—was I being led to my mother, or was this a trap? Was I heading toward my own destruction?

The fear gnawed at me, but I had no choice. I had to survive. I had to see my mother.

I needed to get through to him. “Where are we going? ”I asked softly. Tristan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. He seemed miles away, locked in his own thoughts.

Desperation crept into my voice. “Tristan... Where’s Lily Brinson now? ”

That seemed to jolt him. His eyes flickered, but he kept them on the road. The mention of Lily was a trigger, one that might bring him back from the edge. But whether it would bring me any closer to the truth—or to safety—was still unclear.

“Before we get to your mother, there’s a place I need to take you first,” Tristan said, his voice low and firm. And then he fell silent, leaving me with a sinking feeling.

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words never came. Arguing wouldn’t help me now. I swallowed my hesitation and nodded, keeping my eyes on the road ahead.

After what felt like an eternity, the car made a sharp left turn onto a private road, flanked by tall, arching trees that swayed gently in the wind. The landscape shifted, and it felt like we’d entered another world. As we followed the road, the air became cooler and fresher, and the sprawling green fields stretched out as far as the eye could see. In the center of it all stood a two-story white house, its gleaming facade almost too perfect, like something out of a dream. Sunlight bounced off its walls, casting long shadows over the fenced area where horses of different colors and sizes grazed peacefully.

Tristan slowed the car, finally breaking the silence. “We’re here.” His voice was quieter now, almost wistful. “This is the place where I was born.”

I blink, taken aback. The contrast between the Tristan I knew—the one filled with anger and pain—and this serene, almost idyllic place was jarring. I turned to look at him, but his face remained unreadable, his eyes fixed on the house.

“Why here?” I asked softly.

Tristan didn’t answer right away. He sat still for a long moment, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as if gathering the strength to say something he’d kept hidden for years. Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with something fragile. “I wanted you to see where everything started.”

Tristan opened the car door for me, and without a second thought, I stepped out. I needed to know what was going on in his mind, what his plans were. His silence weighed on me, but curiosity and fear pushed me forward.

He led me to the front door of the white house, crouching down to retrieve a key hidden beneath a flowerpot. A simple, almost nostalgic act. He unlocked the door, and as it creaked open, a rush of cool air greeted us. Inside, the living room was quiet, save for the sound of startled birds fluttering away through an open window. Beyond the house, the lush green cornfields stretched into the horizon, perfectly maintained, a picture of tranquility.

But that peace felt like a lie.

Near the window, I noticed an elderly woman kneeling in the dirt, busy planting something in the garden. Her movements were slow and deliberate, as if each task carried the weight of a lifetime. I glanced at Tristan, watching as he moved closer to the window, his gaze locked on the woman.

“That’s our mother,” he said softly. His words hung in the air like a confession. “She blames me for my sister’s death.”

His voice cracked, and I could feel the pain behind his calm facade. There was more than sorrow in his words—there was a deep, unhealed wound. I stood frozen, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to respond to a revelation that felt so raw, so personal. This was the heart of Tristan’s torment, the source of all his anger and confusion.

I had always seen Tristan as calculated, in control, but here, in this house, in front of this woman, he was vulnerable. Broken, even.

“Tristan...” I began, but my words trailed off. What could I say? I didn’t know the full story, but it was clear that whatever had happened, it had changed him in ways I could barely comprehend.

“I promised our mother that I would take care of my sister after our father died,” Tristan sighed, his voice heavy with regret. “But when we were in college, I chose a different path, away from her. I left her in the city, too naive for what was waiting for her. She was surrounded by monsters, ready to prey on her innocence. And that monster...” His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “That monster was Jacob Alvarez.”

I could feel the bitterness radiating from him. Every ounce of pain he carried had been funneled into blaming Jacob. But I knew there was more to the story.

I stepped closer, choosing my words carefully. “Tristan, you can’t put all of this on Jacob,” I said gently. “You made choices too. You left her vulnerable. And yes, Jacob may have hurt her, but you—” I paused, my eyes meeting his. “You have to take responsibility for your part in her fate.”

His eyes flashed with something between anger and pain. “You think I don’t know that? ”He snapped, but his voice broke, betraying the guilt that was eating him alive. “I abandoned her. I failed her. But Jacob—he destroyed her.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unspoken truths. I could see that his hatred for Jacob was rooted in something deeper. And yet, I couldn’t let him drown in that hate.

“You have to understand,” I said, my voice softer, “people can lose themselves when they love someone too much. Love makes people do crazy things. I know you’ve seen that in me.”