Page 51 of False Heir

“Since when did you become the voice of reason?” I managed a half-smile, trying to mask the anxiety bubbling inside me.

“Since someone had to be,” Kieran shot back with a smirk that didn’t entirely reach his eyes. He knew as well as I did that the gravity of our situation left little room for levity.

“Stay out of this, Kieran,” I warned, although part of me wanted him to defy my words.

“Fine, alright,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “But we’re not done here. We’ll talk later, after things have cooled down.”

“Later then,” I conceded, my heart pounding as I turned away from him and stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk.

“You know,” he said, calling after me. “Maybe you two can stop talking about your relationship for a bit and actually work on a project? I think the box might have a lot more information than you realize.”

Chapter Twenty: Tristan

She was walking away. And I should have chased after her.

I wanted to. But…I needed to give her the out.

I stood there on the cobblestone street, just out of sight but close enough to see the flickers of emotion across Kieran and Adriana’s faces. Kieran, with his typically unreadable expression, gave nothing away as he listened to whatever Adriana was saying. Her hands moved like birds in animated flight, punctuating her words—a dance of frustration and fervor.

“Let’s take this inside,” I said, my voice cutting through their conversation as I stepped from the shadows of the townhouse. “Please.”

“Fucking why?” Adriana asked.

“Because the police is watching, and you could say something that gets you into trouble,” I said, gesturing toward the police car. “We can talk inside. If you still want to leave, then leave.”

The morning air was crisp, biting at the skin, but it was time to warm things up with truth, raw and unguarded.

“Fine,” Adriana acknowledged me with a nod, her eyes flashing a challenge that told me she wasn’t here for games. She brushed past me into the foyer, her scent—a mix of citrus and determination—lingering in the air between us.

Kieran followed, casting a sidelong glance that seemed to question everything and reveal nothing. I shut the door behind us, sealing us within the relative safety of our Boston sanctuary.

“Listen,” I started, locking gazes with Adriana, “there’s something we need to address.” My heart thudded against my ribs, not in fear, but in anticipation of laying bare the truths that had been shadowing us for too long.

“Adriana,” I began, my voice steady despite the tempest inside me, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking—about us, about our future.” She stood there in the foyer, her arms crossed as though bracing for impact. “I love you. More than power, more than my own life. And our kids...” I paused, the weight of fatherhood settling on my shoulders like a mantle. “I want to be there for every scraped knee and nightmare, every triumph and setback.”

Her dark eyes studied me, wary yet expectant. I stepped closer, closing the distance between certainty and the unknown. “I’m tired of hiding, of pretending we’re anything less than what we are to each other. I want to marry you, Adriana. I want it so much that I’d march you to the courthouse this moment if you said yes.”

Her posture softened slightly, but she held her ground. “Tristan,” she replied, her voice tinged with exasperation, “you can’t just spring a proposal on me because you’re feeling cornered or out of some sense of duty.”

“It’s not pity, Ade,” I insisted, frustration seeping into my tone. “It’s not about duty. It’s about wanting you as my wife, officially, irrevocably.”

She sighed, a sound that tugged at something deep within me. “I can’t—won’t—get married without my family present. It’s not about the spectacle; it’s about honoring the people who shaped us. Can’t you understand that?”

I opened my mouth to say something about her father but bit my tongue.

My hands clenched involuntarily as I struggled to reconcile my need for action with her desire for tradition. “Of course, I understand,” I conceded, but the urgency within me refused to subside. “But can’t you see? I’m trying to protect us, to give us legitimacy in this cutthroat world we navigate.”

“Protection doesn’t require a ring, Tristan.” Adriana’s resolve was a testament to her strength, yet her refusal felt like a rebuke to my deepest intentions. “And I don’t think you want to give me one anyway.”

“Then what does it take?” The question hung between us, a challenge and a plea mingled together. “Tell me, Adriana. What does it take for you to see that all I want is for us to face this world as one?”

Kieran’s touch on my arm was gentle but firm, an unspoken signal that cut through the tension. He shook his head slightly; his dark hair, always unkempt, fell into his eyes, shadowing their true emotion. The message was clear: we were spiraling into a fruitless argument, and Adriana’s patience was wearing thin.

“Tristan,” Kieran began, his voice low and measured, “we’re chasing our tails here. Let’s step back for a second. There’s something else we need to consider.”

I met his gaze, finding an intensity there that was unusual even for him. “What are you getting at?”

“Family history,” he said cryptically, then nodded toward the antique box that sat on the kitchen island, its wood darkened with age and secrets. “We’ve been so caught up in... current events,” he glanced at Adriana, acknowledging the understatement, “that we’ve neglected this.”

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