Page 77 of False Heir

I passed it to her, my eyes never leaving the road. “Just don’t get any on the leather,”

She scoffed, scooping up a generous amount. “Please, like your driving hasn’t already tested this car’s interior. You better not pull another high-speed chase like last time. I want to enjoy my ice cream.”

I chuckled, but the sound was short-lived. The possibility that we were being tailed still gnawed at the back of my mind. My laughter faded into the hum of the engine as I checked the mirrors again, my gaze sharp.

“Relax, Ade,” I reassured her, though I kept my vigilance. “We’re clear... for now.”

The city lights blinked past us, casting shadows over Adriana’s face as she indulged in her small treat. She looked over at me, her lips curved in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Tristan,” she started, her tone serious despite the chocolate smeared at the corner of her mouth. “What happens next? I mean, really happens? We can’t keep dodging bullets forever.”

I took a deep breath, the weight of leadership pressing down on me. “We make our own path, away from all this chaos. It won’t be easy, but I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Even if it means defying your family?” Her question lingered in the air, thick with implication.

“Even then.” I reached over and wiped the stray chocolate from her face with my thumb. “You’re my family too, Adriana. And I don’t plan on losing you.”

“If you don’t want to lose me, you might need to start letting me in.”

I sighed. “Yeah, Ade,” I said. “I know.”

Chapter Thirty-Three: Adriana

The door to Tristan’s apartment closed shut behind us, the sound a definitive marker of our entry into his private world. I stepped further in, my boots clicking against the hardwood floor, an odd counterpoint to the silence that hung over the place like a heavy curtain.

Our footsteps were the only sound—a duet of trepidation and exhaustion—as we moved through the expanse of his domain.

“Over here,” Tristan said, his voice pulling me from the stillness. It was a casual invitation, but the distraction laced through his tone was anything but. He motioned toward a door that stood slightly ajar, leading to what I assumed would be the twins’ room.

I followed him, watching as he ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, the gesture betraying the burden that seemed to perpetually hover just above him, threatening to crush him with its weight. He didn’t look at me as he spoke, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the middle distance. “We won’t keep moving, Ade. You’re right, it’s too dangerous–and hell, we’re here now, right? So they’ll bunk here together for now,” he murmured, pushing the door open wider.

The room beyond was spare, unadorned—a far cry from the opulence of The Callahan Domain. But it was safe, and for the moment, that was enough. I knew well the responsibilities gnawing at him and I didn’t want to make it worse, but I found my patience wearing thin.

“Twins need their own space, Tristan,” I said, hoping to snap him back to the present. “Fraternal twins can’t bunk together forever.” My words, tinged with a mix of frustration and concern, bounced off the high ceilings of his lavish apartment. He needed to focus, but all I saw was a man adrift on the vast sea of his thoughts.

Tristan’s hand paused mid-air, halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, as if my voice had somehow reached him across the void. “Right,” he replied, the word hollow, absentminded. His gaze never met mine. “I’ll buy something bigger, better for their room.”

But the promise fell flat, his conviction as absent as his attention.

“Listen…” I tried again, this time my voice sharper, more insistent. “What’s going on with you? You’re everywhere but here, and I can’t stand it anymore.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “We need to talk about what happened with the historian and these whispers about Malachy not being your dad. You can’t just keep shutting me out.”

He finally turned to face me, the lines of his face drawn tight. “I’m not shutting you out. I’m processing, okay?” The words were curt, spoken by a man on the brink of something he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—face. “This isn’t the time.”

“Then when, Tristan? When is it ever the right time with you?”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought I had pushed him too far. But then his posture shifted, resignation seeping through the cracks of his armored exterior. “I couldn’t make it to The Crooked Thorn tonight. You know as well as I do that there is something off with Kieran. I need to check on it.”

“Be careful, Tristan,” I said, my voice softening despite my resolve. The worry for him was genuine, tightening my chest with an uncomfortable squeeze. “Can I come with you?” I asked, hating the vulnerability that crept into my tone. I needed to be there, to help, to understand—to be part of the world that kept pulling him away from me.

Tristan’s gaze softened for just a split second before he shuttered his emotions once more. “No, Ade,” he replied, firm yet not unkind. “Stay here. It’s better this way.”

“But I need to—“ I began, my voice quivering with the weight of unspoken confessions and suppressed desires.

“Adriana,” he cut me off, his voice not harsh, but resolute. “I won’t let you come with me or go back to your family. It’s not safe.” He stepped closer to me. “Your job is to stay alive and well, for yourself and for the twins. Okay?”

“Okay,” I murmured, the disappointment heavy on my tongue. I had known what his answer would be before I even asked the question, yet hope was a stubborn thing. Sighing, I resigned myself to his refusal. “Will you be back tonight?” There was a part of me—the part that still believed in fairy tales—that wished he would simply say yes, wrap me in his arms, and promise that everything would be alright.

He paused by the door, hand resting on the cool metal of the handle. “I don’t know,” Tristan said softly. “Try to rest, okay?”

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