Chapter 61 Rejection
The silence in the kitchen was heavier than the air in a tomb.
Tristan was still on his knees. The coffee in the mugs on the table was getting cold. The morning light filtering through the window felt intrusive, illuminating a moment that should have been kept in the dark.
He had just offered me his life. His groveling, endless devotion.
And I had kissed him.
I had kissed him because I loved him. I had kissed him because seeing him broken on the floor tore at my heart.
But as I pulled back, looking into his hopeful, shining eyes, reality crashed back down.
A kiss wasn't a reset button. A confession wasn't a time machine.
He stood up, his hands still resting lightly on my waist. He looked at me, waiting for the words that would officially bring him back from the cold.
I opened my mouth to say them.
But they tasted like ash.
"Tristan," I started. My voice was trembling.
His smile faltered slightly. He recognized the tone. It was the tone I used when I found a structural flaw in a load-bearing wall.
"Mina?"
I stepped back, forcing his hands to fall away from my waist. The loss of his warmth made me shiver, but I held my ground.
"You know the truth now," I said, looking at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. "You know what Ida did. You know I was innocent."
"I do," he said eagerly. "I know everything."
"And you think that changes things?" I asked, looking up at him.
His brow furrowed. "Of course it does. It changes everything. It means we don't have to fight anymore. It means we can just... be."
I shook my head slowly.
"Knowing the truth doesn't fix the scar, Tristan."
The air left his lungs in a rush. He stared at me, the hope draining from his face, replaced by a cold, creeping dread.
"What are you saying?" he asked.
"I’m saying that you knowing I didn't cheat on you doesn't erase the fact that you thought I could."
I crossed my arms over my chest, a physical barrier between us.
"Five years ago," I said, my voice gaining strength, "you walked into that bedroom. You saw Julian Thorne. And you made a choice. You didn't ask me what happened. You didn't listen when I tried to explain. You looked at the woman you supposedly loved, the woman carrying your child, and you decided she was garbage."
"I was blind," he pleaded, taking a step toward me. "I was manipulated. Ida—"
"Ida set the stage!" I interrupted, my voice sharp. "But you wrote the script, Tristan! You chose to believe her over me! You chose to believe the worst version of me!"
He stopped. The words hit him hard, pushing him back.
"You want me to say I forgive you," I said. "You want me to say that now that the truth is out, we can go back to normal. But there is no normal. Because the man I married... the man I thought you were... would have fought for me. He would have torn that room apart looking for an explanation before he threw me out."
"I’m here now," he whispered. "I’m fighting for you now."
"You’re fighting for the woman who survived the fire," I said. "You’re fighting for the architect who doesn't take your crap. But five years ago, I was just a girl who loved you. And you threw her away."
Tears were streaming down my face now, hot and angry.
"I love you, Tristan," I confessed, the words tearing out of my throat. "I think I always will. But love isn't enough. Not when the foundation is built on the fact that you are capable of abandoning me when it gets hard."
He looked like he was dying. He looked like the air was being sucked out of the room.
"So that’s it?" he asked, his voice cracking. "I find out the truth, I lay my soul bare, and you... you reject me?"
"I’m protecting myself," I said.
"From what? I would never hurt you again! I swear to God, Mina, I would burn the world down before I let anyone touch you!"
"I don't need you to burn the world down!" I shouted. "I need you to trust me! And you didn't! And I don't know how to pretend that didn't happen!"
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain control.
"I can't be your wife right now," I said softly. "I can't step back into that role. It’s too heavy."
He stared at me for a long time.
He looked at the kitchen table, where the list of his 'grovel schedule' was still sitting next to the cold coffee.
He picked up the piece of paper. He looked at it.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he tore it in half.
He dropped the pieces into the trash can.
"Okay," he said. His voice was completely devoid of emotion. It was the voice of the CEO shutting down a bad deal.
"Okay?" I echoed, surprised by the sudden shift.