Page 14 of Secrets of the Past (Secrets of Mustang Island #3)

T he city blurred past his windshield, neon streaks bending in the glass as if the whole world had slanted.

Tripp drove too fast, his jaw aching from how tightly he clenched it.

He should have gone straight to his office, buried himself in case files, drowned in work until the heat of his mother’s revelations cooled.

But the storm inside him wouldn’t quiet.

His mother’s words clung like smoke.

She tried to trap you. That ridiculous wedding. You had your future mapped out.

She had known. All along, she had known.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles throbbed.

For twenty years, he had carried the belief that Nicole had walked away.

That she had chosen ambition over him. That she hadn’t loved him enough.

He’d used that betrayal like armor, every late night, every long case, every wall he built around his heart.

He’d even married a nice girl, trying to forget Nicole. Hoping that Anna would somehow wipe his mind clear of the girl he’d loved. But all he’d done was hurt her in the end.

And today, in the span of a few careless sentences, his mother had ripped it all apart.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, he knew there was no more running from the truth. He had to go home and confront his mother.

The streetlights flickered over him as he drove, throwing shadows across the dashboard.

His chest heaved, fury pressing against his ribs like it wanted out.

He saw flashes of Nicole in his mind, her laugh, bright and reckless, the way she used to kiss him under the bleachers like they were the only two people in the world.

And the way she’d looked at him in court today, sharp, unflinching, refusing to back down.

She didn’t leave me, he thought savagely. She was taken from me.

The thought burned through him, scorching away twenty years of certainty.

He didn’t realize where he was driving until he pulled into the long circular drive of the family estate. The house loomed in the darkness, sprawling and immaculate, every window glowing with warm light. To the world, it was a picture of elegance. To Tripp, it had always been a gilded cage.

A cage he was living in, but starting tomorrow, he’d hire a real estate agent to find him a house. A place of his own. It was time to move out and move on. He’d only moved in to help his mother with the grief of his father, but the woman wasn’t grieving; she was conniving.

The boy who had once adored his mother could never have fathomed the cruelty she was capable of, the depths of evil she would embrace.

You don’t imagine that of the people meant to love you, the ones you trust to want your happiness.

And realizing it now felt like having the very ground ripped out from under him, leaving nothing but betrayal where love had once been.

He killed the engine, sat in silence, breath harsh in his throat. He could have turned around. Should have. But fury propelled him forward. He slammed the car door and strode up the stone steps, his shoes echoing in the humid night.

The front door opened before he could open it. Of course, she’d heard the car. His mother stood framed in the light, a glass of wine in hand, pearls catching the glow.

“You’re home,” she said as though she’d summoned him.

“Right now, I live here, but not for long,” he snapped, brushing past her into the foyer.

She shut the door with quiet grace, the click of the latch loud in the cavernous entryway. “You’re upset.”

He spun on her, fury sparking. “Upset? You let me live for twenty years believing Nicole left me. You knew what we were planning, and you ended it.”

Her expression flickered, the faintest tremor, before the mask slid back into place. “I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” His voice cracked. “From what? From being happy? From the only woman I’ve ever loved?”

Her tone sharpened. “From throwing away your future. You were a boy, Dustin, blinded by hormones and puppy love. That girl would have ruined your life.”

His fists clenched. “She was my life.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed. “No. The Masterson name is your life. The firm. The legacy. That girl didn’t belong in our world, and you know it. She’s made good, but she still is beneath you.”

Even now, Nicole wasn’t enough for her. In his mother’s world, the only woman fit to be his wife was one she handpicked, some polished puppet she could control.

Like that blonde she’d dragged to dinner the other night, dull as dishwater and twice as forgettable.

He couldn’t even recall her name, and the fact his mother thought she was suitable made his blood boil.

Better single forever than shackled to one of her puppets.

Tripp laughed, jagged and bitter. “You’re wrong. She belonged more than you ever did. She was kind. She was real. Everything you can’t even pretend to be.”

Her nostrils flared, the stem of her wineglass trembling in her hand. “Mind your tone. I am your mother.”

He stepped closer, fury radiating off him. “No. For once, you’re going to hear me. You lied. You let me believe Nicole chose to walk away. You made me hate her for something she didn’t do. Do you know what that did to me?”

Her lips thinned. “It made you strong. Cold. Exactly what this world requires.”

Oh my God, she wanted him to be shattered. Her own words. It was like someone ripped the blinders from his eyes, and for the first time, he saw her clearly. Not as his mother, but as the cold-hearted bitch she truly was, a woman who cared only for wealth and power.

His chest heaved. “No. It made me empty.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. The chandelier above threw fractured light across the marble floor, gilding the distance between them. His mother lifted her chin, her mask of composure cracking just slightly at the edges.

“You’ll thank me one day,” she said softly, her voice honey over steel.

Tripp stared at her, the woman who had orchestrated his life like a chessboard, moving pieces in secret while he bled for her victories. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Don’t hold your breath.”

He turned, yanked the front door open, and strode out into the night. The door slammed behind him, the sound echoing like finality.

He sat in his car in the driveway, the leather seat hot beneath him, his breath ragged. The house loomed in the rearview mirror, glowing with all the false warmth. He couldn’t stay here tonight.

For twenty years, he had lived inside a lie. His mother had stolen his past, rewritten it, twisted it into something that had fueled his ambition but hollowed him out inside.

God, how he wanted to speak to Nicole. To find her, to sit across from her, and finally untangle how it had all gone so wrong.

But they couldn’t—not in public. Not until the trial was over, or risk handing the judge a reason for a mistrial.

So he bit back the urge, even as the past clawed at him, fierce and relentless, begging to be dragged into the light.

The past was a grave he’d thought long buried. Tonight, it cracked open, and everything inside clawed its way out. All the ugliness, but not the details. Sooner or later, he had to have the details of how they had carried out this devious plot that destroyed their happiness.

He sat there for a long time, the cicadas screaming in the humid night air, headlights washing over his car as neighbors came and went.

Finally, he drew in a shuddering breath. He couldn’t sit here drowning in the wreckage. He needed answers. Paige had come back and was doing her best to learn what she could about that night. Tonight, he needed to talk to her.

Before he could second-guess himself, he shoved the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, headlights slicing through the darkness. He pulled away from the house, gravel spitting under his tires.

This time, he wasn’t driving to outrun the past.

This time, he was driving straight into it, a storm of truth and betrayal that churned inside him like a hurricane, every gust threatening to tear him apart.

At its center stood his mother, cold and immovable, feeding the winds with her lies.

And circling just as fiercely was Nicole, the only woman he’d ever loved, the one he’d lost, the one he might never reclaim.

He gripped the wheel tighter, bracing for impact, knowing there was no way out, only straight through the heart.