Page 125 of The Temporary Bride

Genevieve.

My eyes widen. Despite the grogginess clouding everything, a jolt of shock cuts through it. I knew I was innocent, but I’d assumed it was some kind of mistake on his end, that maybe the data hadn’t actually been taken or something had gotten mixed up somewhere. It never once occurred to me that my own sister did this. That she sat across from me at that little West Hollywood bistro, her salad fork in her hand, and listened to me talk about falling for my husband, knowing exactly what she’d done.

“How could she?” I whisper, mostly to myself.

Tristan’s face is hard. I’ve seen that look before, and I know what it usually means. He’s not the kind of man who lets things go. What Genevieve took was huge—the full expansion strategy, the market plans, everything he and his brothers spent the better part of a year building. MediaSphere could use every bit of it to gain a massive advantage over Tristan’s family.

My stomach twists. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” he says.

I blink. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says again. “Not unless you tell me to.”

My morphine-slowed brain still feels like it’s moving too sluggishly, and I frown. “Why?”

“Because I’ve hurt you enough already.”

Something shifts in my chest. I’ve always known him as someone who hates to lose, who doesn’t let transgressions slide. The idea that he’d let my family walk away with everything he built, just because he hurt me, is almost too much to process lying here in a hospital bed.

Tristan takes my hand, his fingers slightly rough against mine, and presses his forehead down against my knuckles. The scruff on his jaw brushes against the back of my hand. He stays there a moment without saying anything, and my throat goes tight.

“I’m so sorry, Chloe,” he murmurs. “I should’ve trusted you from the start, the second you looked me in the eye and told me you didn’t do it. That should’ve been enough.”

He lifts his head, his eyes finding mine. “After Iris, I was always waiting for it to happen again. Another betrayal, another person turning out to be something different than I thought. I had my walls so fucking high I stopped seeing what was right in front of me.” He shakes his head. “That’s not your fault. And I’m sorry.”

His thumb moves across my knuckles, tracing back and forth over the same small path.

“You’re my wife,” he says quietly. “I should’ve trusted my wife.”

He reaches into his pocket and sets my wedding ring down on the blanket between us. The diamonds and spinel catch the harsh fluorescent light, scattering tiny points of brightness across the white cotton.

I stare at it for a moment, the ring I wore every day until it stopped feeling like a lie and started feeling like mine. I think about Genevieve’s face at that bistro table, smiling past her betrayal. Then Tristan’s expression in his office as he refused to listen to my confused pleas. The road in the dark, the flash of headlights coming toward me.

Dragging in a breath, I pull my hand back slowly.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I say, my voice trembling. “I thought we had something real, but now? I don’t know. I don’t know about anything anymore.”

The words stick in my throat as it fully hits me that things might never be the same. I see the hurt in Tristan’s eyes, and it makes me feel even worse. He’s been by my side through all of this, his dedication evident in every gesture and action. But the trust between us has been shattered, and that’s something that can’t be easily repaired.

He nods slowly, his face a mask of pain and resignation. I can tell he understands, even though it’s breaking him inside. It’s breaking me too. But right now, I need to be alone, to figure out what I want and what this all means for us.

“Tristan, I’m so sorry… but I think I need some time apart.”

Chapter 47

Tristan

Chloe’s words hit me like a fist to the chest. I rest my forehead against her hand and stay there for a moment with my eyes closed. I don’t try to stop the tears. There’s no point pretending—she can feel them on her skin and we both know it. I stay like that for a few seconds, just breathing, because walking out of this room is going to take everything I have.

When I lift my head, she’s watching me with hazy, medicated eyes, her lids heavy. She’s in pain, both physical and emotional, and I’m the goddamn reason for both. The fractures will heal. The invisible wounds are going to take longer, and that’s on me.

I pick up her ring from the blanket and set it on the table beside her bed, next to the water cup and the call button, close enough that she can reach it without straining.

“Even if you won’t wear it right now, I’m not taking it back,” I tell her. “It’s yours. It belongs to my wife.”

Tears slip from her eyes and track down the side of her face into her hair. I reach out and wipe them away, unable to help myself. She doesn’t pull back from my touch, and I run my thumb over her cheekbone lightly before finally withdrawing my hand. I lean down, my mouth close to her good ear as I speak in a low voice.