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“Um, well. I…that’s okay. I don’t care. I don’t have to dance. I’ll tell Pierre that I’m done.” Tears pool in my eyes as I measure the distance between us. I’m losing him.

When he speaks again, he takes another step back. “I thought I could protect you. But I only made things worse.And not just for you, but for my family too.”

His family? Am I not included in that circle? Not too long ago, he said I was part of his family too. His words cut me like a knife. Because even if my brain hasn’t caught on yet, my heart has. He’s leaving me. Worst of all, he’s convinced himself he’s doing it for my own good. How is being apart from him good for me? I need him like I need air.

“Tristan,” I beg. “Don’t do this. I just got you back.”

“I’m not what you need. I warned you. From the very beginning, I warned you to stay away from me. I am exactly the monster you think I am.” He winces as if he’s in terrible pain. “I wanted to give you this in person.” He hands me a manila envelope. “It’s the deed to this house.”

“I don’t want anything from you. Take it back. I don’t want it. I want you. Just you.” I let the tears flow freely. “Tristan, please don’t do this. Don’t leave me. I don’t think I can survive your absence again.” I swallow the lump stuck in my throat. “Please. I love you.”

“I don’t deserve your love.” He shakes his head, his eyes red with unshed tears. “It’s better this way. I promise you. In time, you will see I’m right. No one else will die because of me.”

I open my mouth to beg again, but I can’t find the words. He takes a step toward me but then shuffles back. I stand there and watch him walk out of my life for good. I want to chase after him, but my body feels heavy. All the air has left my lungs, and I can’t breathe. My knees hit the floor, and I welcome the pain.

Somewhere, on the other side of the room, my screams echo, and it’s as if my soul has left my body and I’m glaring at myself from above. I look pathetic in my pain. Sobbing, I press my cheek to the cold marble and bring my knees up into my chest. His words play in my head over and over.

I’m not coming back. I’m exactly the monster you think I am. It’s better this way.

And finally, it hits me with all the force of a devastating firestorm. The realization burns through me as every fiber in my body understands the one fact.

Tristan is gone.

CHAPTER41

PALOMA IS NOT SAFE

Gardenia

A month later…

“Fuck.” I release a breath, staring at the document in front of me. “Fuck.”

“What’s going on?” Jacob stops at my office door and leans on the threshold. “Wait. I know that face,” he says when I glance up to look at him. Shaking his head, he leans back to peek at Tristan’s corner office at the end of the hallway. “What did you do?” He steps in and shuts the door behind him.

“Nothing.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Why do you always assume I’m up to no good?”

“Because you’re always up to no good.” He takes the chair on the other side of my desk. The corners of his eyes wrinkle as a smile spreads across his face. “Wow, you really did a number this time. Spill it.”

“It’s nothing.” I rub the creases on my forehead. “I mean, it’s not, not nothing.”

“What?” He squints at me.

After we returned to the UK, Dad warned me to stay away from Tristan. Dad was afraid I would make a move on him. Given Tristan’s current state of mind, he was also afraid Tristan might give in.

Of course, I still want Tristan. But not like that. I don’t want to be his rebound girl. Losing his mom and the love of his life in the same week broke him. He’s barely alive. I’m not that big of an asshole. I would never take advantage of him that way, which is why I decided to do something stupid instead.

I went searching for Paloma’s mom.

Aunt Freya and I made quite a bit of progress before she was killed. She was determined to find out who Paloma’s mother was. She had a feeling something bad had happened to her friend. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought her friend Clara de Armas, who was the Swan Queen at the time, could be Paloma’s mother.

At first, Aunt Freya couldn’t remember her name. But Paloma gave us a good enough lead by giving us Clara’s maiden name. Of course, any trace of her was wiped from pretty much everywhere. There wasn’t even a death certificate on her. But Aunt Freya had the brilliant idea to check the Performance Arts Centre archives. A quick hack later, we found a bunch of photos of Clara de Armas. She looked so much like Paloma, like two peas in a pod.

“What did you do?” Jacob asks again.

“I thought it would be nice to finish what Aunt Freya started. So I kept digging on the lead we had to find Clara de Armas.”

“Clara who?” His brows furrow.