Page 65 of False Heir

Enough. I couldn’t torture myself like this any longer.

I yanked my phone from my pocket, the cool metal a jarring contrast to the warmth of my palm. I dialed her number, each ring dragging out longer than the last, until the call ended abruptly without an answer. Frustration surged through me, a red-hot surge that demanded release. But I swallowed it down, shoving the phone back into my pocket with more force than necessary.

Then, as if summoned by my desperation, the screen lit up with her name. I answered immediately, my voice steadier than I felt.

“Adriana?” I said, barely hiding the relief that laced my words.

“Tristan,” her tone was all business, “I’m at Carmen’s. Dr. Davies can see us, but it has to be now.”

“Dr. Davies? The…the historian Kieran recommended?”

“Yeah, I reached out to him when I was…it doesn’t matter,” she said, trailing off.

“Can it wait? I need...” What? To catch my breath? To make sense of this mess?

“Listen, unless you’re out of town, there’s no time. This is short notice as it is,” she cut me off, her voice leaving no room for argument.

“Fine. I’ll be there.” I ended the call, staring at the device as if it held some secret to unraveling the chaos of my life. Adriana needed me, and whatever Dr. Davies had to say, I’d face it head-on. Because failing her wasn’t an option, not when every fiber of my being screamed to make this right. With a deep breath, I turned from the marina and set off to find answers, leaving the echo of the sea—and my uncertainty—behind.

I hailed the first cab that came into view, impatience vibrating through me like a live wire. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes quickly taking in my agitated state.

“Harvard Yard, fastest you can get me there,” I said, thrusting a wad of cash at him without bothering to count it.

“Sure thing, boss,” he replied, and we were off, the engine growling in response to his heavy foot on the pedal. The city unfolded before us in a frenetic rush of motion as we weaved through traffic.

Buildings merged into a blur, their edges softened by the flurry of snowflakes that danced in the air, clinging to my window with fleeting persistence before melting away. My reflection stared back at me, a ghost amidst the chaos of the city’s lifeblood pulsing around us.

“Bad day, huh?” the driver tried to make small talk, probably sensing the tension radiating off me.

“Something like that,” I muttered, not in the mood to elaborate.

My mind raced alongside the speeding cab, turning over the possible catastrophes awaiting me. Was this disaster of my own making? A consequence of the tangled web woven by my family’s legacy and my attempts to escape it?

“Damn,” I whispered under my breath, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on my shoulders. Had I stepped too far out of line?

“Almost there,” the driver announced, snapping me back to reality. The crimson façade of Harvard’s buildings loomed ahead, a beacon in the thickening snowfall—my destination, where answers awaited.

At least I hoped.

I slammed the cash in his hand, and the cab peeled away from the curb with a jolt, leaving Harvard’s hallowed grounds behind. Questions I’d been dodging for months now hammered at me with each heartbeat. Was it cowardice that made me feed Adriana promises like breadcrumbs? Stringing her along...was I stringing her along?

My phone buzzed in my pocket, a text from Adriana no doubt, but I couldn’t bear to read it. Not now. The thought of her, the kids—our kids—caught up in this mess, it clawed at me, panic sinking its teeth deep.

I paced the sidewalk outside Harvard, my breath clouding in the biting wind. I couldn’t stand still, each step a futile attempt to shake off the weight of dread settling on my shoulders. The students milling about seemed to stare, their glances like knives questioning my presence here, a man clearly out of place in their academic oasis.

“Tristan Callahan” was a name that commanded respect—or fear—in the dark corners of Boston, but at Harvard, I was just another anxious soul waiting for a woman who could very well decide my fate.

“Adriana,” I muttered under my breath, scanning the sea of young faces for the one that haunted my every thought. The cold gnawed through my coat, a harsh reminder of the chill she’d left in my heart.

She appeared suddenly, striding toward me from a side street. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat screaming her name. Her short dark hair danced wildly in the wind, framing a face set hard with anger and defiance.

“How’s Liam?” she asked. “Wait, are you drunk?”

“No, just a pint–Ade, please. Hear me out.”

“Another chance? You’ve had your chances, Tristan.” Adriana’s voice cut deeper than the winter air.

“Look, I know I’ve messed up,” I said, my plea drowned out by the clamor of students around us. “But we need to see Dr. Davies. There are things—things about my family, about us, that might change everything.”

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