Page 50 of False Heir

“Jesus Christ, Kieran, shut up,“ Tristan said.

I shook my head, trying to ignore the tears stinging my eyes.

“Just, look, everything will be okay,” Tristan insisted, stepping closer again. His voice was filled with pleading, an odd mix of reassurance and desperation. His blue eyes locked onto mine, searching for a sign of forgiveness or understanding.

I shook my head, unable to accept his words as truth. The morning air felt colder now, and I wrapped my arms around myself, both for warmth and to hold together the fragments of my composure.

“Tristan, I can’t do this—not now,” I said, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. My voice was steadier than I felt.

“We need to talk about this,” he insisted, his tone firm yet laced with an underlying concern that only served to tighten the knot in my stomach.

“Talk?” I scoffed. “We’re way past talking. I’m getting my own lawyer.”

The words hung heavy between us, a declaration of war in a battle I never wanted to fight. But it was no longer just about me; it was about the two lives growing inside me and the future of Tristan’s son and daughter. I’d do whatever it took to protect them, even if it meant going against the man who, until recently, I thought I could trust with my life.

“Adriana, don’t be like this,” Tristan pleaded, his hands outstretched as if he could bridge the chasm with his bare palms.

“Like what? Rational? Protective?” I countered, my voice rising despite my attempts to keep calm.

“Okay, I’ll leave you two to it,” Kieran interjected, sensing the depth of our conflict. He started to turn away, giving us space for a private conversation.

“Kieran, wait in the car,” Tristan ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

“I’m just going to…”

Kieran hesitated, glancing at me with a look that conveyed both apology and support before nodding slowly and walking away to stand a few feet from the door, his back turned to give us some semblance of privacy.

“Tristan, this isn’t about you or me. It’s about doing what’s right for these kids,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. It was important that he understood this wasn’t a personal attack but a move borne out of necessity.

“Let’s just sit down inside and figure this out together,” he suggested, his voice softening, but I could see the muscle working in his jaw, betraying his frustration.

“Figure it out? Tristan, your world doesn’t exactly scream stability. This isn’t a game. I need legal assurances, and I won’t apologize for that.” The morning air carried the faint sounds of the city stirring to life, but all I could focus on was the man in front of me and the churning turmoil within me.

“Adriana, please—“ he began again, but I cut him off.

“No, Tristan. I’ve made up my mind. We’ll talk later.” With that, I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving him standing there, a mix of anger and helplessness written across his face.

“Ade, wait.” Kieran’s voice sliced through the cool Boston air, halting my determined stride. I paused but didn’t turn to face him, my hand resting on the cold metal of the townhouse gate.

“Please, just hear me out,” he pleaded from behind me. His presence was a constant reminder of the complex threads that wove our lives together, threads I was tempted yet terrified to pull.

“Kieran, this isn’t your fight,” I said, my voice tinged with an edge of defiance that surprised even me.

“Maybe not, but it affects me, doesn’t it?” He was close now; I could feel the warmth radiating from his body despite the chill surrounding us.

“Look,” he continued, his voice low, “I saw a police car parked down the street. They’re watching us.”

“Let them watch,” I replied sharply, turning to finally meet his gaze. The thought of the cops lurking around didn’t scare me; it was Kieran’s proximity that set my nerves on edge.

“Adriana, think about what you’re doing,” Kieran urged, his dark hair tousled by the breeze, eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that threatened to unravel me.

“Tristan needs to understand the consequences,” I insisted, though Kieran’s concern was making it difficult to maintain my resolve. “He can’t just sweep this under the rug.”

“I get it, but…there are reasons my brother is doing what he’s doing.”

“And there are reasons I’m doing what I’m doing,” I said.

“Fine,” he conceded, stepping back as if to give me room to breathe. “But don’t let your pride lead to recklessness.”

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