Page 86 of Shattered By Grace

Victoria didn’t respond. She kept her eyes on the window, watching the storm twist through the sky like it could unravel the one inside her.

When they pulled into the garage, the sound of the storm softened, muffled by concrete walls. Victoria took in the sleek, pristine, and undeniably expensive space. No surprise there.

Tristan got out first, rounding the car just as a flash of lightning lit up the entrance. Before she could even think about opening the door herself, he was already there. Thunder rumbled overhead as he pulled it open, his hand brushing her arm as he guided her out. His touch was light but firm, grounding her against the chill that swept through the open space.

Wordlessly, he led her inside, flipping lights on as they went. The interior was just as modern as she’d expected. Open space, sharp lines, and a color palette of black, white, and grays. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed nearly every wall, offering an uninterrupted view of the city skyline, except now, the reflection of rain streaked the glass like veins of silver. Beyond the skyline, dark clouds rolled, swallowing the stars whole. A jagged streak of lightning split the sky, illuminating the room for a heartbeat before fading.

Cold, but beautiful.

They ascended the floating staircase, the soft hum of the storm pressing in from all sides. Another crack of thunder boomed, vibrating through the glass as they reached what she assumed was his bedroom.

A massive California king bed sat against one wall, the bedding as sleek and dark as the rest of the house. A minimalist dresser, a few abstract paintings, and subtle lighting completed the space.

Victoria lingered near the doorway, arms crossed as she took it all in. The wind howled against the windows, rattling them ever so slightly, as if demanding entry.

Tristan didn’t say anything, moving straight to his closet and pulling out clothes. One pile for himself, another for her. Helaid hers on the bed, a t-shirt and a pair of sweats that would undoubtedly swallow her whole.

“I’ll change downstairs,” he said, already heading toward the door. “Come down when you’re done. I’ll have food ready.”

Victoria raised a brow. Rain streaked down the glass behind him, city lights shimmering through the distortion. “You cook?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing fancy.”

“Didn’t peg you as a chef, Locke.”

“Good,” he mused, stepping out the door. “I like keeping you on your toes.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving her standing in the middle of his ridiculously perfect bedroom, wearing the towel from the gym, with nothing but the scent of his cologne lingering in the air and he growling thunder outside.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Another flash of lightning lit up the skyline, casting shadows across the walls as the rain lashed against the windows.

This storm wasn’t ending anytime soon.

Victoria sighed, running a hand through her damp hair as she eyed the clothes on the bed. She pulled the oversized t-shirt over her head first, inhaling the lingering scent of cedar and something distinctly him. It was ridiculous how comforting it was. The sweats followed, cinched at the waist but still hanging loose on her frame. She rolled the waistband once, shaking her head at how utterly small she felt wrapped in his clothes.

Her eyes drifted across the room as she dressed. Everything was meticulous, curated. Nothing out of place. A man who needed control over his surroundings. No surprise there.

She padded toward the dresser, fingers ghosting over the smooth surface. A small silver watch rested near the edge, next to a leather wallet. Beside it, a framed photograph caught her attention. She hesitated before picking it up.

It was old, slightly worn around the edges. Tristan was younger, maybe sixteen or seventeen, standing next to a manwho had to be Cassian Locke. Even in the grainy image, the resemblance was undeniable—the sharp jaw, the piercing eyes. But while Tristan’s smirk held mischief, Cassian’s expression was unreadable. Cold. Detached.

But it wasn’t just the two of them.

Another figure stood beside Tristan, slightly smaller but unmistakably similar.

Tyson Locke.

Though the brothers looked nearly identical, there was a difference in their postures. Tristan stood with casual confidence, his smirk cocky, effortless. Tyson’s smile was more subdued, guarded even.

Victoria ran her thumb over the glass, her chest tightening.

A sharp crack of thunder rattled the windows, making her snap out of it. She set the frame back down carefully, exhaling as she turned away.

Her gaze shifted, catching something she hadn’t noticed before.

A book corner.

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