Chapter 6

Not long after Rose's taxi pulled away from the house, Tristan came screeching up the driveway, having run countless red lights to get there.

He threw the front door open, and the familiar, soft scent of Rose's perfume hit him. For a fleeting second, his chest loosened. She had been here. She was here.

He tore through the house, searching every room like a man possessed. Her clothes were still hanging in the closet, but her passport, birth certificate, and all her legal documents were gone. The only photo they had ever taken together—the one the Municipal Courthouse clerk snapped on their wedding day—had been cut cleanly in half.

A crushing weight settled on Tristan's chest. They had never even done a proper wedding photoshoot; that blurry picture from the Municipal Courthouse was all they had. He remembered the day they got their marriage license. He had asked if she wanted to book a photographer to take real photos. Why had he bailed on that?

Tristan squeezed his eyes shut as the memory hit him like a truck. Two years ago, he had received a phone call from Vivienne, and he had just left. He left Rose waiting alone at the bridal studio for an entire day.

A bitter, burning taste filled his mouth. Even though their marriage had started as a scheme, somewhere along the way, Rose had become the most important thing in his life. Now, staring at the divorce papers on the table with her wedding ring resting on top, the pain in his chest was unbearable.

He thought back to that day at the hospital. Rose had stumbled out of the clinic soaking wet, her face streaked with tears. He had assumed the wetness on her cheeks was just rain. Now he knew the truth. She had heard everything.

Every memory came flooding back, sharp and agonizingly clear. Tristan's face went pale, and his shoulders began to shake. He was such a fool. He should have seen it coming. He should have noticed how off she had been over the past few days.

Julian's company was based in Ashcroft. Rose had never set foot in that town again after the wedding. She had told him a hundred times how much she hated those cinnamon rolls, so there was no way in hell she would have walked all the way there just to get them.

He slammed his fist into the table so hard the wood cracked, his teeth gritted in self-loathing. The biggest red flag of all had been her asking to visit the Sterling family estate. It was the absolute last thing she would ever want to do, and he had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

His hands shook as he pulled out his phone and called Rose again. This time, the number went straight to voicemail. He stood there, frozen, for what felt like hours.

The entire world was spinning out from under him. He had never felt this way before. Not even two years ago, when Vivienne married Julian, had he felt this hollow and broken.

In that moment, Tristan Sterling finally realized the truth. He had never loved Vivienne. He loved Rose. And he had lost her.

The thought of her hearing every single word of his conversation with the doctor—of discovering what he had planned to do—made him want to carve his own heart out. He ran back to the hospital, desperate to find the doctor and learn exactly how much Rose had heard. But the doctor's sad, defeated stare told him everything he needed to know.

Tristan stumbled back to the empty house, his face wet. When his shaking fingers brushed his cheek, he finally realized he was crying.