Page 52 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Forty-Two

V ictoria’s gaze lingered on the food, but her stomach twisted into knots. Her throat felt like a rock was lodged inside, making it hard to breathe.

Her fork lay still in her hand, her grip too tight.

She tried to breathe, but didn’t settle the chaos inside her.

I have to tell him. But where do I even begin?

She forced a few bites down, but they felt more automatic than anything.

This is insane. I didn’t think things would go like this.

She avoided his gaze, staring at the window and noticed the storm clouds rolling in, hoping to delay the inevitable.

The scrape of his chair against the floor made her flinch. Tristan pushed his empty plate aside, his movements smooth, unhurried. When he turned to her, his gaze locked onto hers, dark, yet eerily calm.

“Why did my father’s men come after you last night?” His voice was quiet, almost casual, but there was no mistaking the weight behind it.

No hesitation. No warmth. Just the expectation of truth.

Okay. Here we go.

Victoria swallowed hard. Her throat felt raw like she’d swallowed glass.

“I—I…” She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, trying to buy herself a moment, but his gaze was steady, unwavering. There was no room for hesitation. No escape.

Focus.

“He wanted to send a message,” she forced out, her voice barely above a whisper. “To remind me that no matter where I go, he can reach me.” A shiver ran down her spine. “It’s not the first time.”

Tristan’s expression didn’t shift. He was too still. Too quiet. Only the slight tilt of his head gave away his thoughts.

“Why?” His voice was softer this time, but no less insistent.

Victoria clenched her hands into fists, nausea curling in her stomach. The memory of her father’s cold, determined expression crashed over her like a wave, nearly knocking the air from her lungs. But she didn’t look away from Tristan.

“I don't know where to start."

Tristan exhaled slowly, the only sign of impatience. “Then start anywhere, Grace.”

Victoria inhaled deeply, bracing herself. “To start, my name isn't Grace Scarlett. It’s Victoria Grace.”

The name landed between them like a gunshot. Tristan didn’t move, didn’t blink, but something shifted in his expression. A flicker of something she couldn’t place.

“Explain it to me.” His voice was level, unnervingly steady. “My father doesn’t make careless moves. So why you?” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching hers with quiet precision. “What makes you dangerous to him?”

“Do you know who Victor Grace is?”

Tristan’s expression remained blank. "No." His voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "Tyson is more involved in the business. I’ve kept my distance, until I don’t have a choice."

Victoria frowned. “Meaning?”

Tristan’s gaze snapped back to hers, sharp as a blade. “We are not changing the subject. Answer the question.”

Her pulse hammered. "My father was the accountant for the Locke Empire for five years, or at least, that’s what he let me believe. In reality, he was working undercover, trying to dismantle your father’s empire from within. But your father found out. And my father paid for it with his life."

Tristan didn’t react. No anger. No shock. Just a measured blink, as if processing a particularly difficult puzzle.

“My father kept a notebook,” she said, voice raw. “A ledger filled with everything. His crimes, drug and trafficking contracts, payouts to judges, dirty deals that would bury him if they ever got out.”

Tristan’s stare remained impassive.

“And?”

Victoria’s nails dug into her palms. "I was fifteen, Tristan. The night they killed my father, they tried to take me because of a contract my father signed. It stated that if anything happened to him, Cassian Locke would have full legal custody of me. Your father’s men beat me and locked me in a car.

I barely got away. I jumped out of a moving vehicle.

The next thing I knew, I was in witness protection.

I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since, as Grace Scarlett. "

She took a deep breath. “I still have nightmares,” she shivered. “I can still hear Razer…‘You’re lucky, little bird.’”

Silence. Heavy. Deadly.

Tristan exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping once against the table before stilling.

“The notebook.”

Victoria inhaled sharply. “The notebook was hidden until two days ago. I found it at my old house.” Her voice wavered. “I knew nothing about it until weeks ago when Justin?—”

Tristan cut her off immediately. “Justin who?” His brows pulled together.

Fuck. Here we go.

“Justin Virelli. He’s your father’s… something. He was kinda vague on the details.”

Tristan rubbed the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. “Yeah, I know him. He follows my dad around like a lost dog begging for a bone.”

“Justin was my old neighbor when we were kids, we were best friends. He knew my dad was murdered but never knew what happened to me until I showed up at the club.”

Her thoughts flickered to that night. The club. The heat between them. That dance. God, take me back.

She glanced at Tristan, catching the way his eyes glazed over for just a second. He was thinking about it, too.

“Anyway,” she said, shaking the thought away, “he told me he’s working with the police. They’ve been looking for the evidence my father had, the notebook.”

Tristan leaned forward slightly, his presence unnervingly calm. “Where is it now?”

She hesitated. Just for a second.

“I gave it to a detective.”

The air in the room turned razor-sharp.

Tristan studied her, his eyes dark pools of quiet calculation.

“So what was your plan, Gra—” He stopped himself, the name catching in his throat. When he spoke again, it was slow. Intentional. “I mean, Victoria. Was I just a convenient means to an end?”

The flash of hurt in his eyes nearly shattered her.

She forced the words out. “No. Not exactly.”

Tristan let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “So that’s it? You used me? Played me like a pawn?” His jaw tightened, his voice eerily steady. “I should take you straight to my father.”

Victoria flinched, but she didn’t look away.

Tristan dragged a hand through his hair, his controlled exterior cracking for just a second. Just long enough for her to see the war raging beneath.

Then it was gone.

“You should’ve never come back.” He turned sharply.

“Where are you going?” Victoria asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Tristan let out a breath, almost a laugh, but there was no amusement in it. “Anywhere but here.” His voice was cold steel. “Because if I stay, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Something inside Victoria snapped. “No.” She grabbed his arm. “You don’t get to just walk away, Tristan.”

He stopped, muscles tight beneath her grip. Pulling his arm away.

“Look at me,” she demanded.

When he finally did, it wasn’t the Tristan she knew. This Tristan was closed-off. And it hurt.

“I came back to this city to start living again,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I came back to find peace. But my past caught up with me, and I won’t apologize for wanting answers.”

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking in his cheek.

“At first… yes, I used you,” she said. The words cut as she forced them out. “But it wasn’t intentional. I stumbled into that gym late at night, shaking from another nightmare about the night my father died, the night I got the shit beaten out of me.”

She inhaled sharply. “I didn’t know it was your family’s gym.

I didn’t even know who you were until I heard your last name.

” She let out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through her hair.

“I knew of the Locke twins, but my father never gave me details. I was kept in the dark,” her voice wavered. “God, how did this get so fucked up?”

Tears slipped down her face, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

“Once I found out who you were, yeah, the plan was to get close. To find out information about your family, the deals, all of it,” her voice cracked as she looked up at him.

Her breath hitched, but she pushed forward, voice breaking under the weight of everything she’d held back.

“But then you ruined everything.” The words were sharp, unfiltered.

“I was supposed to keep my distance, to stay focused. But you got under my skin, Tristan. And the worst part?” She let out a shaky breath, her hands curling into fists.

“I let you. I let you crawl into places I swore no one would ever reach.”

She stepped closer, heart pounding against her ribs. “I wasn’t lying about all of it, Tristan. I?—”

Before she could finish, he moved. In one sharp motion, he grabbed her waist and yanked her forward,spinning her until her back hit the wall.

Tristan’s expression remained deceptively calm, but his hand moved in a blur, grabbing her wrist and pinning it above her head. He didn’t press, didn’t hurt her, but his control was absolute.

“Don’t push me, not right now.” His voice was restrained, like he was holding something back.

“I’m not scared of you.” She lifted her chin.

Tristan’s eyes darkened, his grip firm but steady. “You should be.”

His voice was rough. “I don’t know what’s worse.” He exhaled sharply, his breath controlled but ragged beneath the surface. “That you lied to me… or that I still fucking want you anyway.”