Page 80 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

TRISTAN

T he silence is suffocating.

Tristan stares at the ceiling, the weight of the night pressing down, heavy and unrelenting. His muscles ache from the fight, adrenaline still burning in his veins, but none of it compares to the hollow feeling in his chest.

The house is too quiet. Too still. The only sound is the soft, steady purring from the end of the bed.Clawdia, curled near Victoria’s feet. In the silence, even that seems loud. It’s the kind of quiet that makes your thoughts echo and your regrets scream.

Relax, she’s here. She’s safe.

His eyes flicker to Victoria, curled up beside him. The bruises on her skin stand out against the soft glow of the bedside lamp, a road map of every hit she took while he was forced to watch. Every moment he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t step in.

Enough .

But it’s not just the bruises. It’s the way she flinches when he moves too fast. The sharp inhale when he touches her too gently, like she’s bracing for a blow that won’t come.

God . He drags a hand down his face. He took so much from her. My family took so much from her. Her father. And now… this.

And Lena.

The thought of her name sends a bitter taste to his tongue. He worries what her death will steal from Victoria next.

Tristan swallows hard, his throat tight. She’s everything to me . And that terrifies him more than anything else. He’s spent his whole life keeping people at a distance, making sure no one got close enough to break him. But Victoria? She’s already inside his ribs, her name carved into his bones.

He doesn’t just want her. He needs her. Like air. Like blood in his veins.

And that kind of love, It’s dangerous. Because if he loses her, he loses himself.

His jaw locks, the tension spreading down his neck, into his shoulders. Cassian is finally going to pay for everything. Prison. Stripped of his power. It should feel like a victory.

It doesn’t.

The role I never wanted is mine now. My birthright.

The thought is suffocating. Cassian is gone, but instead of relief, there’s a noose tightening around Tristan’s own throat. He should feel free. But instead, he feels chained.

Tyson made his choice. He worked with Adams to take our father down, to protect our name. I respect it. I understand it.

So why does it twist in his gut like a knife?

Tyson, out of all of us, was the most loyal. If anyone should’ve inherited this empire, it should have been him. But it’s me. And I can’t walk away.

Because if their positions were reversed, Tristan would’ve done the same. He would’ve burned the world down to protect Tyson.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Because Cassian always did what he had to do to protect his empire.

And now that empire belongs to Tristan.

His hands curl into fists against the sheets, the tension in his jaw throbbing. His mind keeps circling back to the Cartel. To the contract. He needs to see it for himself in the morning, needs to know exactly what’s in it, because even Tyson didn’t know about the marriage agreement.

His stomach churns at the thought. I can’t marry Serena. I don’t want her. Not when my body, my entire goddamn soul, already belongs to this beautiful fucking woman.

Reaching out, he brushes a strand of hair from Victoria’s face. Even with swollen black eyes and split lips, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Jesus . His throat tightens.

There’s a ring in his bedside drawer. Three and a half carats, oval-cut, side stones on a thin, delicate band.

He remembers standing in that jewelry store, completely out of his depth, while the sales associate rattled off details about clarity, cut, and carat weight.

He barely heard a word, too focused on finding something that felt right for Victoria.

The saleswoman had suggested the side stones, calling them elegant without being too flashy. He just nodded, pretending he had a damn clue. But then he saw the way the oval-cut stone caught the light, how the band was delicate yet strong, and he just knew.

This is hers.

He chose it after she gave him something no one else ever had, her trust. After she chose to love him despite everything his name had done to her.

His fingers twitch, itching to reach for it. I love her. I’ve loved her longer than I want to admit. That makes it something Cassian, the Cartel, the entire corrupt world we live in could take from me.

The thought sends something sharp and panicked racing through his chest.

Victoria shifts beside him. A sharp inhale.

Tristan’s body moves before he can think, wrapping around her, pulling her against him. His pulse pounds, but he forces his voice to stay steady, forcing the panic from his tone, even as it claws at his ribs.

“Hey, I’m right here. You’re safe.”

His voice is raw, cracking at the edges, the promise as much for himself as it is for her.

Victoria’s eyes flutter open, barely, but when she looks at him, her lips curve into the smallest, most fragile smile.

And it wrecks him.

“I love you, Tristan.”

His breath stalls. His chest tightens like she’s just reached inside him and squeezed his heart with both hands.

He presses a kiss to her forehead, anchoring himself to the only thing that still feels real.

Before he can stop himself, his hand reaches for the drawer. His breath hitches as his fingers close around the ring box, the weight of it settling heavily in his chest. This isn’t how he imagined it, nothing about them has ever followed a plan.

He opens the box slowly, the soft click of the lid echoing in the silence. The ring sits there, gleaming, an unspoken promise. He slides it onto her finger, his movements gentle, like a vow. Silent, but binding. A future he’ll fight for, no matter the cost.

Marry me, Victoria. Please.

The thought hits him harder than anything else. He presses a kiss to her hand, then her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment longer than he means to.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, the words raw, cracking in the quiet. “It was always you, Victoria. Before I understood. Before I let myself feel it. Before I even had the right to say it, it was you.”

Victoria shifts, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of her swollen lips, too tired to do much more but still something in her gaze softens. The bruises, the cuts, the exhaustion, they all speak louder than words.

Her lips part, the word slipping past them like a breath,soft and tired, but certain.

“Yes.”