His Lost Little Lady

By the time I left the office, I felt hollowed out, as if every bit of strength had been drained from me.

When I passed the Spallone clubhouse, grief pressed down on me like a heavy weight.

After days of barely eating, my low blood sugar level sent the world spinning. My vision blurred to black, and I caught myself against the wall by the entrance, barely managing to stay upright.

Just then, a black Bentley I knew too well eased to a stop at the door. Behind the wheel was Tristan. In the passenger seat sat Winnie, her makeup flawless.

Tristan's gaze flicked past me, not stopping for even a beat, as if I were just some random stranger. He yanked the car door open and strode straight into the clubhouse.

I had no idea how much time had passed. Cold sweat was pouring down my face, and I was about to pass out when the clubhouse doors finally swung open again.

Tristan walked out with two bottles of whiskey dangling from his hand. The instant he saw me still standing there with my head down, his brow tightened.

"Come on. Isn't a ride what you were after?"

"I didn't want that," I whispered.

He brushed off my words, caught my wrist, and shoved me into the backseat of his car.

"Faking illness now? That's your new trick to bother me? Anna, if you want a ride, call the driver. Don't stand in my way. I don't have time for this."

He used to always bring me coffee. Out of pure habit, he passed me one of the bottles of whiskey in his hand. I never touched alcohol, so I left it alone. Seeing this, he set it down without a second glance.

A heavy silence settled in the car.

Winnie suddenly turned from her seat in front, flashing me a courteous smile. "You must be Anna Jovine, huh? Tristan talks about you all the time. I should thank you for looking after him these past few years."

Her voice carried a thin layer of arrogance, the way a hostess might thank a maid for her service.

Before I could even catch my breath from the sting of it, Winnie laid a hand on her stomach and said, "Tristan, my period just started. My cramps are killing me."

Tristan quickly pulled out some painkillers and a heat patch, pressing them into her hand. "Here. Take these, and put this on your stomach."

Winnie smiled. "You've always been the one who looked out for me. I still remember that time we were on business in Sirelia. My period started in the middle of a snowstorm. It was freezing outside, and you kept my stomach warm."

Tristan answered instantly, as if it were the most natural thing. "That's just what a gentleman does."

I curled into the far corner of the backseat, small and out of place. I kept still, listening as they traded stories that belonged only to them—from a snowy night in Sirelia to the sunrise over Mount Astrelle.

I wasn't part of any of it.

Streetlights streamed past the window, one after another, like splashes of whiskey. My eyes drifted to the two bottles Tristan had set on the seat.

Our first date had been in a whiskey bar. I remembered him ordering the fiercest malt they had, sliding the glass toward me with a single push, his gaze shadowed and intense.

"Drink it, and I'll marry you."

I wasn't a drinker. But that night, I threw the alcohol back in one reckless swallow, not knowing what possessed me. The whiskey seared my throat raw, and my heart went wild in my chest.

The rest of that night blurred into a drunken stupor.

What I never forgot was waking the next morning in Tristan's strong embrace, a ring shining on my finger. Tears of joy spilled down my face as I thought myself the happiest woman alive.

It wasn't until much later that I learned of Tristan's greatest regret—that he'd never handed that glass of whiskey to Winnie.

A bitter smile crossed my lips. Now, at last, maybe he could.

Memories surged up in relentless waves, and a bone-deep weariness dragged me under. I sank into a troubled, uneasy sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, the car was already sitting in the villa's garage. Winnie was gone. She must've slipped out without me noticing.

Tristan was turned toward me, his brow furrowed deep. His voice was low as he said, "Anna, did you really have to pull a stunt like that just to catch my attention? If you wanted a ride back, all you had to do was say so.

"Why put on that fainting act at the clubhouse entrance?"

His tone was sharp and laced with impatience. I couldn't quite tell what had him so wound up. Perhaps he was just angry that I'd cut into his stolen moments with Winnie.

"Tristan, you've got it all wrong. I never wanted you to bring me back."

He snorted, as though my denial was nothing but stubborn pride. "Oh, really? And were you planning to crawl home in that state?"

I met his gaze without flinching. "I can take a cab. Tristan, I'm not useless without you. I went along with everything before because I loved you, but that doesn't mean I can't survive if I leave you."

He stared at me like I'd just told the funniest joke he'd ever heard, the derision in his eyes only sharpening. "Leave me? Anna, by all means, try. Then we'll see who ends up regretting it—you or me."

I didn't bother to argue further. Once he saw the divorce agreement, he'd realize I was serious this time.