Hope stood still, her breath shallow, as she stared at her reflection in the grand mirror. The woman looking back at her didn't feel like her-she looked regal, almost untouchable. She was already dressed in a dark red velvet gown, off-shoulder, cinched at the waist, the fabric hugging her like a second skin before flowing down in graceful folds. A high slit revealed her toned leg, and beneath the hem, blood-red heels glinted like secrets beneath moonlight.

Her makeup was done-flawless. Her dark lashes curled upward, dusted with mascara, her cheeks kissed by a golden highlighter, and her lips painted the same sultry shade as her dress. The soft scent of rose and powder lingered in the air from the brushes and sprays used moments ago, still hanging like whispers around her.

But beneath the surface of her elegance, her insides churned.

Tonight, he was taking her to a party.

But what party? What surprise? Who exactly was "he" referring to? Those questions ran through her mind like static-constant, irritating, impossible to shake off. The more she thought about it, the tighter her chest became, as if an invisible thread was slowly winding around her ribs, constricting her breath.

She touched her bare shoulder absently, her fingers trailing over the softness of the velvet gown. A shiver ran through her-not from the cold, but from something else. Something that lived deep inside her, clawing at her spine with unease.

Then came the knock.

Hope's spine stiffened. Her head turned sharply toward the door, her heart suddenly beating louder than her thoughts.

"Mam, Sir is calling you downstairs," the maid said from the hallway, her voice muffled but audible.

Hope didn't reply with words-she only nodded, even though the woman couldn't see it. She didn't speak to the maids. There was no comfort, no warmth exchanged. They weren't close, and politeness wasn't something shared in this house. She had learned early on that silence kept things easier. Quieter.

She exhaled slowly.

Then, lifting the front of her gown slightly to avoid stepping on it, she moved toward the door, her red heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Every step she took echoed like a whisper in a cathedral, as if the mansion itself was listening.

She descended the grand staircase, her hand brushing along the dark mahogany railing. Each step made her feel like she was walking deeper into something she couldn't escape-a tunnel with no visible end, only the growing hum of tension and unanswered questions.

The house was a blend of old-world luxury and chilling quiet. Oil paintings lined the walls, their watchful eyes following her. Candles flickered in their sconces. The chandeliers above sparkled with crystal teeth, dripping light that scattered across the polished floor.

Everything was beautiful.

Everything felt wrong.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her gaze swept the vast space of the foyer. No one in sight yet. The silence was deafening-sharp, like the moment before lightning splits the sky.

She took one slow breath and walked down the hallway, the velvet of her gown whispering with every graceful stride. Her heels tapped with precision, the sound distant and surreal.

Then she saw him.

Tristan

Standing near the fireplace, one arm tucked casually into the pocket of his tailored suit, the other swirling a crystal glass filled with amber liquid. His expression was unreadable-his lips neutral, his eyes somewhere between admiration and calculation.

The fire behind him cracked softly, casting his shadow long across the room.

Hope stopped at the threshold. Her throat felt tight. Her hands, hidden in the folds of her dress, clenched slightly.

He turned slowly, his eyes landing on her. For a moment, they said nothing. He simply looked at her the way a collector admires a rare and flawless piece.

"You're ready," he said after a long pause. His voice was velvet, low and rich, slipping through the air like smoke.

She nodded.

The corners of his mouth curved into something resembling a smile-not warmth, not affection, but approval.

He took a step forward and extended his arm.

She hesitated.

It lasted only a second-but she felt it. That instinct. That warning bell. That strange tension in her stomach that whispered, Something is coming. Something you're not prepared for.

But then, she reached for his arm and gently rested her hand against it.

His fingers closed around hers with practiced ease, leading her toward the door where a sleek black car waited just outside, engine already humming. The butler held the door open, but Hope barely registered him.

The cold air outside hit her skin like a second slap, sharp and bracing. The scent of rain lingered in the breeze, even though the sky was dry, as if the weather held back for this moment.

She slid into the car, the leather cold beneath her as Tristan joined her in silence. The door shut. The locks clicked.

And that was it.

No one knew where they were going.

Not even her.

As the car began to roll down the long driveway, Hope stared out the tinted window. The mansion grew smaller in the distance, disappearing behind iron gates.

Her reflection in the window looked back at her.

Beautiful.

Silent.

Trapped.

And in her chest, the feeling remained-cold, alive, and certain.

Tonight, something would change.

And she wasn't sure if she'd ever be the same again.

******

Hayden stood in front of the full-length mirror, his fingers smoothing over the crisp fabric of his navy-blue suit. The tie sat neatly at his collarbone, but he adjusted it again anyway. Something about tonight made him restless.

His reflection looked sharp, collected. But his eyes... they told a different story. There was a weight there-something unspoken. Something missing.

I wish you were here...

The thought arrived like a whisper, uninvited yet familiar. A soft ache rose in his chest as his fingers stilled. He leaned slightly closer to the mirror, as if her reflection might appear beside his.

If you were with me tonight, Hope... if I could walk into that party with your hand tucked in mine

He didn't finish the thought aloud. Instead, he swallowed it down, forcing himself to breathe. But in his mind, the image played vividly-Hope beside him, her hand on his arm, her eyes looking only at him.

His lips curved, just a little. A smile, quiet and faint, crept in without his permission.

No girl could match you. Not a single one in that crowd tonight. Your presence beside me would make me a hundred times more confident. I wouldn't need words. I'd have you.

He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm with fondness.

Then he exhaled and stepped back, scanning his reflection one final time. A calm, somber confidence rested in his posture now. But his eyes stayed soft-still hers.

He raised one hand slightly, palm facing the mirror, as if touching her face through the glass.

"I'm not going to cheat you, Hope," he whispered, voice tender. "Just like you're mine... I'm yours too."

His jaw tightened. His voice dropped lower, thick with a quiet promise.

"I did say I'd steal his girl... but not for love , for power, to win . I love you. And I always have. Only you."

He lingered in front of the mirror a second longer, like he didn't want to break the illusion of her presence. Then, checking the time on his watch, he blinked away the heaviness in his eyes and turned away.

"I should go now," he murmured to himself.

And with that, he walked out of the room-his steps steady, but his heart still reaching for someone it couldn't hold.

********

The hum of the engine filled the space between them as the car glided through the empty road, swallowed by shadows and streetlights. Inside, the silence was suffocating. The air felt thick-not with heat, but with the weight of things unsaid.

Tristan sat beside her, his arm casually draped across his side of the backseat. He hadn't spoken a word since they left the house, but she could feel his eyes on her. Watching. Studying. Admiring.

Hope didn't meet his gaze. She kept her eyes fixed out the window, watching the blurred world slip by-trees, buildings, lights-but nothing truly registered in her mind. Her fingers fidgeted slightly, clutching the edge of her gown, twisting the fabric in slow, anxious movements.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

His eyes traced the curve of her bare shoulders, her elegant collarbones, the gentle waves of her hair cascading down.His eyes moved over her face, drinking in the curve of her cheek, the arch of her lashes, the way her lips were ever so slightly parted like she was holding her breath. His gaze dropped to her hands-those trembling fingers betraying what her face tried to hide.

A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. Slow. Quiet. Almost secret.

Still, he said nothing.

Instead, he reached over-without a word-and gently took her hand.

Hope froze.

Her entire body stiffened as if someone had whispered a command into her bones. Her head turned slowly, her eyes finally meeting his for the first time since they got in the car.

"Relax, Hope," he said, his voice soft but laced with something that felt like amusement. Like he knew her better than she wanted him to.

She didn't speak. Her lips remained still, her expression unreadable. She just... looked at him. Trying to find something behind those calm eyes of his. Something human. Something warm.

But there was only calm control.

He looked at her, holding her gaze and added with a faint laugh under his breath, "You look terrified. Like I just caught you cheating on me or something."

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

She turned her face away, eyes on the passing city lights through the glass. But her thoughts... her thoughts went elsewhere.

I'm not cheating on you, she thought silently. But if you ever find out about Hayden... will you say the same thing?

Is it even the same thing?

The weight of that unspoken name, Hayden, settled in her chest like a stone. She didn't dare let it reach her lips. She wasn't sure if it would come out as a whisper or a scream.

She felt him still watching her, waiting for her to say something, but she remained silent.

*******

The car rolled to a slow halt in front of the grand venue. Outside, the entrance was buzzing with activity. Cameramen, flashing bulbs, reporters shouting over one another, and a mob of curious onlookers created an overwhelming chaos. It was a wave of noise, light, and intensity that made Hope freeze in her seat.

From inside the tinted glass of the car, the bright, rhythmic flashes already made her squint. Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap, and she instinctively looked toward Tristan. He didn't seem fazed at all. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit, glanced once toward the crowd, and then turned to her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"It's time to officially show my soon-to-be wife to the world," he said, voice calm and coated with pride.

Hope swallowed hard.

As the vehicle pulled up to its final stop, cameras clicked rapidly. The sound was deafening even through the closed windows. She blinked against the onslaught of light. Her breath hitched when the first bodyguard approached the passenger side.

But before he could open her door, Tristan raised a hand silently, stopping the man without a word.

With a casual grace that came only from confidence, Tristan stepped out of the car. The questions fired off instantly:

"Mr. Tristan, is the rumor true? Did you come with your fiancée tonight?"

"Who is she? What's her name?"

"Is this the woman from last month's leaked photo?"

Tristan didn't reply. He merely smirked at them, adjusting his jacket as if the cameras were only a mild breeze brushing against his skin.

He walked to her side, his shoes tapping on the stone like the entrance belonged to him, and only him. Hope remained frozen. Her hand clenched the silk of her dress, knuckles white. But her breath caught again when he opened the door for her himself.

He extended a hand toward her. His expression was patient, but his gaze held something sharp beneath the surface.

"Come on," he said softly, though the weight of it made her stomach tighten.

She looked at his hand. Her fingers curled tighter into her lap. But then she glanced at his eyes. That warning was there again. No anger. No raised voice. Just calm intensity that told her resistance would only bring more attention.

With a slow breath, she gave in. Her trembling hand met his, and as soon as she stepped out, the lights exploded around her like a sea of lightning.

Flinching, she winced, and Tristan leaned in slightly.

"You'll get used to them," he said, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. The gesture was intimate, claiming. Her red heels clicked on the pavement as he led her forward, never letting her hand go.

Reporters surged closer.

"Is she your fiancée?"

"Are you engaged?"

"Is this the official announcement, Mr. Tristan?"

He remained silent. The smirk stayed on his face, unfazed. Around them, the air shifted. The crowd parted for them like royalty. Hope felt every pair of eyes on her-judging, curious, envious. She caught the glares of women watching her as if she had taken something that belonged to them.

Inside the venue, golden chandeliers lit the marbled hall. The moment they passed through the entrance, she could hear laughter, music, and the faint clink of glasses. Celebration was in full swing.

Tristan paused to shake a few hands, greet a few important faces. All while keeping her close. He introduced no one. Made no attempt to explain her. She stood beside him, quiet, breathing shallowly.

Her mind screamed.

Why am I here? Why like this? Why does it feel like I'm being paraded instead of welcomed?

They continued their slow walk toward the heart of the ballroom. The main doors stood tall, glass and gold, already glowing with the lights inside. From behind it, the sound of voices and clinking glasses rose like a wave.

As the staff opened the doors, a booming voice on a microphone spoke up:

"Attention, everyone! The moment we've all been waiting for has arrived! Mr. Tristan is finally here!"

Applause burst out instantly. The guests turned. Every face. Every stare. Every gasp.

Hope's fingers tightened around Tristan's arm.

He leaned in. "Let's go," he whispered.

They stepped inside. All eyes followed.

The spotlight followed them as well. The crowd stood still, glasses raised mid-air, some mouths parted in surprise. Others whispered.

Hope kept her eyes low.

"So, Mr. Tristan," the announcer said with a laugh, stepping toward them with a microphone in hand, "who is this young lady beside you this time?"

The crowd chuckled.

Tristan, without missing a beat, smiled coolly. "You'll know soon."

The announcer tilted his head with playful curiosity. "Is she the one? The queen to our king?"

The crowd erupted in teasing laughter and cheers.

"I said," Tristan repeated, amused, "you'll get to know soon."

Hope stood still. The satin of her gown flowed beautifully with every breath she took, but inside, she was stone. Frozen.

She didn't speak. She didn't smile.

She was just there-a presence. A face.

But she knew what everyone saw.

She could hear it in the whispered comments from the crowd.

"Who is she?"

"Is she new? I've never seen her before."

Her fingers gently curled inward.

Tristan gave her a glance. She felt it but didn't look at him.

As the party continued around her, laughter and celebration rising like confetti, she stood still. Bound by a hand that felt too tight on hers, surrounded by people who didn't know her, beside a man she couldn't yet escape.

********

Hayden was already at the party, though not in the main hall where Tristan had made his grand entrance. He was seated in a more private room with a few fellow businessmen, all dressed immaculately in tailored suits, glasses of wine resting untouched on the table before them as they went over some final discussions.

But Hayden's attention wasn't fully on the conversation. Though he nodded, responded when necessary, and pretended to skim through a few papers, his mind was trailing elsewhere. Specifically, toward one curiosity that wouldn't leave his thoughts.

Who was Tristan going to bring tonight?

His jaw clenched slightly. He shouldn't care. And yet...

One of the men stood suddenly. "We should head to the main hall now. The party's officially started."

"Yes, let's go," another agreed.

Hayden rose as well, adjusting his suit. "Right."

"Do you think Tristan's actually bringing his fiancée tonight?" one asked, smirking. "Rumor is, he's finally showing her off."

Another clapped Hayden on the back. "And what about you, man? When are you going to bring your girl? You always show up solo. Don't tell me you haven't found someone yet."

Hayden gave a small smile, calm and unreadable. "I'll bring her soon."

"Oh?" the first guy teased. "So there is someone."

Hayden didn't respond. His mind had already wandered to the thought of her. Her smile, her eyes.

He didn't say another word. "Let's go," he said, his tone quiet but firm. With that, they all made their way toward the main event.

---

Meanwhile, in the heart of the party, Hope was seated beside Tristan, surrounded by hundreds of glittering lights and sharper gazes. The chandeliers above sparkled like stars, the room buzzing with clinking glasses, soft music, and whispered gossip. Guests in lavish gowns and tuxedos swirled around the room like it was a choreographed stage.

Hope sat stiffly, her spine straight, her hands placed carefully on her lap. The red gown hugged her body, dazzling under the lights, her red heels peeking out beneath the fabric. Despite looking like perfection, inside she was spiraling.

Everyone was staring.

She could feel their eyes-probing, judging, comparing.

Beside her, Tristan leaned in, laughing and conversing smoothly with one of his partners. His hand rested on the back of her chair as if to stake his claim. She said nothing. She hadn't said much since they'd walked in.

She couldn't.

Her throat felt tight.

"I need to use the washroom," she whispered to him, barely above the noise of the party.

He turned slightly toward her. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Just... I need a moment."

He nodded, though his eyes lingered on her longer than needed.

"Waitress," Tristan called smoothly.

One of the staff girls appeared instantly, her uniform crisp and her expression neutral. "Yes, sir?"

"Help her to the ladies' room."

"Of course."

Hope followed the waitress through the crowd, her steps careful. She could feel the buzz of whispers following her even as she walked away. She could feel him watching.

Tristan's eyes remained on her back. Was she bored? Of course she was. She didn't belong here. Not yet. But soon, she'd grow used to it.

A faint smirk played on his lips. "Soon."

---

Across the hall, Hayden had just entered, laughing faintly at something one of his companions said. The entrance behind him was bustling with energy, but he seemed separate from it. Detached.

Then his eyes swept the crowd-and for a fleeting second, something unusual caught his attention.

A girl.

Not a clear view, just a glimpse. But the silhouette in red, the way she moved-it struck a chord in him. Too familiar.

Hope.

The name left his lips before he could stop it.

"What?" one of his companions asked.

Hayden didn't respond. His gaze was fixed, intense. He stared ahead as the girl in the red gown disappeared down the hallway, led by a waitress.

No. It can't be.

But it looked like her.

She was supposed to be in abroad, isn't she?

He was already moving.

He didn't tell the others. He didn't offer an explanation. He just followed. His heart was pounding harder than it had in weeks. The hallway ahead of him shimmered with soft lighting, golden and elegant, but it was the glimpse of red that he chased.

Was she here? With someone?

His pulse thundered in his ears.

But just as he was about to turn the corner, someone stepped in front of him.

Tristan.

Hayden's steps came to an abrupt halt.

"Hello, Hayden," Tristan said, his tone smooth, unreadable.

They stood inches apart.

Hayden's jaw tightened. "Tristan."

"I didn't expect you to follow my guest," Tristan said, his voice calm but heavy with warning.

"I wasn't following anyone."

"Really?" Tristan's lips curved into a smirk. "Because from where I stood, it looked like you were quite interested in her."

Hayden's eyes remained cold. "She looked familiar."

"Lots of people look familiar in a crowd. Especially in red."

Hayden didn't answer. He was still trying to process what he saw. What he thought he saw.

"She's with me " Tristan said, eyes boring into Hayden's.

"I didn't ask."

"No, but I figured you'd like to know."

The silence hung between them like a storm cloud. Finally, Tristan stepped aside. "The party's that way."

Hayden didn't move. "Enjoy it."

"I always do." Tristan smiled.

They brushed past each other, the tension crackling in the air. Neither said another word.

Hayden didn't follow the hallway again. But his mind wouldn't stop spinning.

Could it really be her?

*******

Tristan and Hayden stepped back into the heart of the party — a grand ballroom glowing with golden lights, clinking glasses, and murmured admiration. But Tristan didn’t need to look to know where Hayden’s attention still lingered.

Even with music playing and people offering their congratulations, Hayden's eyes subtly scanned the crowd — toward the direction she had gone.

Tristan’s smirk deepened.

Don’t worry, he thought, sipping his drink, you’ll meet her soon enough.

Just then, the host of the night — the event planner in a crisp black suit — stepped up to the microphone at the center stage. He tapped it gently, gaining the attention of the crowd as the music dimmed.

"Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice rang out smoothly, “tonight is no ordinary celebration.”

A soft hush fell over the room.

“We are honored to celebrate the success of the man who doesn’t just walk into a room… he owns it. The one who just secured the biggest win of the year — in business, in power, and in reputation.”

Guests turned with anticipation.

“The name that makes rivals shiver and allies cheer — please give a round of applause for the one and only…”
A pause.
“…Mr. Tristan Knight.”

The applause erupted, polite yet respectful — the kind reserved for someone who wasn't just rich or powerful, but dangerous. Champagne glasses were raised, camera flashes sparked, and the atmosphere shifted slightly — from celebration to reverence.

Tristan stepped forward with practiced confidence, adjusting the cuff of his black tailored suit, every step echoing with control.

He took the mic, his voice calm and firm.

“Thank you,” he said, eyes briefly scanning the room — until they met Hayden’s for a second.

“This win isn’t just about numbers or deals. It’s about power. Loyalty. Control.” He let those words sink in. “And let tonight be a reminder — when I set my eyes on something… or someone… I get it.”

There was something chilling in the way he said it. Something personal.

He raised his glass slightly, locking eyes with no one and yet everyone.

“To more wins. More silence from enemies. And more surprises.”

Cheers echoed, but Tristan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

He stepped down slowly, brushing past Hayden.

“Enjoy the night,” he muttered, voice low enough only Hayden could hear. “It’s just getting started.”

*******

Hope stood in front of the mirror in the grand washroom, her hands resting tensely on the marble sink. The chandelier above reflected on the glass, casting soft shadows over her face, but nothing could hide the anxiety swimming in her eyes. She’d been here for a while — longer than necessary — just pretending to use the water, pretending she belonged.

Even in this silence, she could still feel it.
The stares.

Those rich, elegant women who had just walked out — their designer heels clicking against the floor, their perfume choking the air — hadn’t just passed by.

They had stared.

Not in a subtle, polite way. Not like a fleeting glance.
But deep, judgmental stares that sliced through her like invisible knives.

She had kept her head high, avoided showing the sting in her expression. But now, as the door clicked shut behind the last one, the facade dropped.

Her shoulders slumped.

She turned the tap on again, watching the water flow like she had something to do with it. Like she was just fixing her makeup. But her hands didn’t move. They hovered near the stream without touching it, as if even water could sense the tension she carried.

"Why were they staring at me like that?" her mind whispered, louder than anything else.

Her heart beat unevenly, thudding so loud it echoed in her ears. She placed her hand gently on her chest, trying to calm it, but it wasn’t slowing down. Not even a little.

Something is wrong. Something’s coming. I can feel it.

Hope looked up at herself in the mirror. Pale skin. Nervous eyes. A forced calmness cracking at the edges. She looked like someone waiting for a storm — not knowing how close the lightning had already struck.

He had told her, “There’s a surprise waiting for you.”

But why had he said it like that? There was no smile. No warmth in his voice. Just a strange, unreadable expression. Like he was keeping something from her. Like it wasn’t a pleasant surprise, but something darker. Something meant to shake her.

And then, her thoughts spiraled again.

What could be worse? Is he going to announce me as his soon-to-be wife? Is that why those women were staring at me — like I’m some outsider crashing their perfect little world?
Is that what all those stares meant? Pity? Judgment? Disgust?

What’s the point now? Why stare at me like I’m the villain in their story, when I never had a choice in mine?

Couldn’t one of you have taken his attention before? Before he set his eyes on me? Before he made me his prey?
Only if one of you had tried harder… maybe he wouldn’t have chosen me.
Maybe he wouldn’t be ruining my life now, piece by piece.

She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. “Stop overthinking,” she whispered under her breath. But it wasn’t just anxiety. It was intuition. A gut feeling pressing on her nerves like an invisible weight.

She exhaled, long and slow.

“I should go back,” she muttered to herself, forcing her lips into a small, practiced smile. “Before he gets angry.”

Wiping her hands on a paper towel — even though they weren’t wet — she stood straight and glanced at her reflection one last time. The doubt was still there, sitting in her eyes.

But she had no choice now.

She pushed open the door, walking out of the quiet safety of the washroom, into the unknown — where the stares had followed her, and where the surprise was waiting.

Whatever it was… she would face it.

******

Hayden was still looking around, his gaze drifting over the elegant crowd, golden lights, and shimmering gowns—but his eyes weren’t focused on any of it. Not Tristan. Not the celebration. Not the cheers around.

Only her.

The girl who walked in with nervous steps, like she didn’t belong. Like she wanted to disappear under the weight of every stare she felt. Hope.

His breath hitched. He shot up from his seat before he could stop himself, his steps large and fast.

She hadn’t seen him yet.

“Hope!” he called, his voice low but sharp.

She froze.

That voice. That familiar voice that once brought warmth. Now it struck like thunder.

Her eyes turned, and widened.

“Hayden?” she whispered.

He didn’t stop. He reached her, grabbed her wrist before she could step back. “What are you doing here? Your aunt said you were abroad. You lied to me.”

She stayed silent. Her lips parted but no words came. She just looked—helpless, shocked, caught.

“I asked you something!” he said, this time firmer, his grip on her wrist tightening. She flinched.

Just then, Tristan’s voice boomed from the stage.

“Well, well, guys… now it’s time for the surprise!”

Hayden’s jaw clenched.

“As you all know, I’ve been getting pressured by my family to settle down… so please, give a round of applause to my soon-to-be wife.”

Gasps.

And then applause erupted.

Hayden’s hand slipped from Hope’s wrist as his eyes followed Tristan’s hand—pointing at her.

Hope.

Hayden stumbled a step back in disbelief.

Tristan strode forward, the spotlight following him as he reached Hope, grabbed her hand like a prize.

“Hope,” he said into the mic, “an innocent girl from the heart, just as she looks from the outside. She stole my heart… and now, I’m stealing her from the world.”

His eyes met Hayden’s as he slid his arm around Hope’s waist possessively.

“To make her completely mine.”

Hope flinched again, but Tristan’s grip didn’t loosen.

Hayden’s fist clenched. His knuckles turned white.

“When’s the wedding?” someone called.

“Very soon,” Tristan said, still smirking at Hayden.

“When did you fall in love with her?” another asked.

“I fall in love with her every time I see her,” Tristan said smoothly. “But for your answer, I’ll say I fell twice. First, when I saw her… and then, when I realized—she’s the win herself.”

The room cheered.

But not Hayden.

His jaw clenched.

“When is this wedding?” someone from the crowd called out, curiosity thick in their voice.

Tristan’s reply was calm, almost too calm. “This month itself. 27th May, 2025.”

Hope’s heart stopped.

Her eyes shot to Hayden, whose expression twisted in shock. His gaze flickered toward Tristan, confusion and disbelief battling in his eyes. Hope could barely breathe. That date... it wasn’t random.

It was the date—pre-fixed by Hayden long ago. The day he'd decided he would marry Hope, exactly three days after her 18th birthday. A promise. A nightmare, A secret only they had shared.

Her breath hitched as Tristan stepped closer, too close. His voice dropped, brushing her ear like a ghost.

“I always knew,” he whispered.

Her body stiffened.

How?

The question screamed inside her, louder than the pounding of her heart.

And now… he was using that date. Their date. As if rewriting the story himself.

Tristan let go of Hope’s hand, his fingers slipping away with a confidence that made her heart stutter. Then, slowly, he walked toward Hayden—each step calm, calculated.

Stopping just beside him, Tristan leaned in slightly, his voice low and cutting, meant for Hayden alone.

"You must’ve come here thinking you’d steal my girl,” he whispered, lips barely moving. “But poor you… turns out I stole yours.”

Hayden’s eyes darkened.

Hope stood frozen, unable to hear what was said—but the shift in Hayden’s expression said enough. Whatever Tristan whispered had hit the nerve he was aiming for.

Around them, the hall bloomed with celebration. Laughter. Clinking glasses. Applause.

But within that bubble of joy, the tension between the two men was a silent war.

Tristan straightened, smirking upward like he’d just conquered the world.

Hayden didn’t move. He simply stared—unblinking, quiet, intense. Hope’s gaze flicked between the two, her chest tightening.

One looked victorious.

The other? Broken—but burning.

And she stood in between.

*******

Hayden stormed into his house, rage pulsing through every step.
The door slammed shut behind him.

One of his men quickly approached. “They’ve been captured,” he said. “They were Tristan’s men.”

Hayden’s jaw locked. No words. Just a sharp turn.

Without a second thought, he marched down the hallway, fury blazing in his eyes.

In the basement, two men lay bound on the floor, their wrists tied with thick rope, blood already smeared from struggle. They flinched the moment they saw him.

Hayden didn’t hesitate. He walked over to the nearby table, picked up the gun—cold, loaded—and without warning, fired.

Once. Twice.

Both collapsed.

“You LIED to me!” he roared, again and again, firing with each scream until the room echoed with silence. His chest heaved, breath ragged, fury not yet satisfied.

He threw the gun to the ground with a loud clatter, metal meeting concrete as if echoing his heartbreak. His hands trembled. His world? Shattered.

---

Meanwhile…

Tristan and Hope arrived home.

He walked ahead, whistling with ease, hands tucked in his pockets like a man at peace with the world. His smile stretched wide—as if today had gifted him everything he ever wanted.

Hope followed behind, her steps slower, her heart heavy.

“Tristan,” she called out.

He stopped mid-step, turning to face her, brow raised in casual amusement.

Her eyes met his, searching. “Are you doing this to me because of him?”