Chapter 30
Gabriella’s POV
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I smirked as I caught the familiar name lighting up my screen. Sophia. Her little profile picture showed up beneath the message I sent, the “Read” receipt glowing like a trophy in the dim light of the bar.
She saw it. She read it.
And I knew exactly what it did to her. A slow grin tugged at my lips as I tilted my head to the side, watching the unreadable emptiness of the screen for a moment longer before I locked the phone and dropped it carelessly into my clutch.
“She read it,” 1 murmured, more to myself than anyone else, feeling that sharp satisfaction blooming deep in my chest. The kind of satisfaction you only get when the knife you twisted finds its mark.
“Who read what?” Tristan’s voice slurred into my ear as he stumbled closer, his breath heavy with the sharp scent of whiskey. His arm lazily found its way around my waist, and I let him, giggling softly as he leaned in like a moth drawn to the flame. He tried to kiss me sloppy and eager lips grazing the corner of my mouth in his drunken haste.
“Mm–mm,” I teased, pressing a finger to his nose. “Not here, baby. Want to have some real fun? Come upstairs with me. To my suite.”
Tristan’s eyes lit up in that hungry way they always did when I dangled something just out of reach. He grinned – sloppy, crooked, and charming in the way only men like him could be. “Hell yes,” he breathed, already trying to guide me toward the exit with a clumsy enthusiasm.
We slipped out of the bar, unnoticed by most, though I imagined more than a few whispers would stir once people realized the esteemed Mr. Bernard had disappeared with me. But I didn’t care. That was the entire point.
As we stepped into the elevator, the air between us buzzed with heat. His hand slid from my hip to my lower back, possessive and unashamed, but I turned to face him, keeping a playful distance. The doors slid shut behind us with a soft ding, and I arched a brow, my tone dipped in curiosity and mischief.
“So,” I began slowly, running a fingertip up his chest through his shirt, “what exactly are you going to tell your wife when you don’t come home tonight?”
Tristan blinked, then threw his head back and laughed. A real, chesty laugh that echoed through the elevator. He looked at me again with those glazed eyes and shrugged.
—
–
“Tell her?” he snorted. “Gabriella, please. I don’t need to explain a damn thing to her. That woman that fool she’s so desperate to make me happy, she’d probably think it’s her fault I’m not coming home. She’ll apologize for something she didn’t do, cook me a meal in the morning, maybe even put on that awful dress I said I liked once.”
My smirk faltered just slightly, but I didn’t let it fall. I leaned back against the elevator wall, folding my arms across my chest. “Are you really that confident in yourself, huh?”
He looked at me, his expression smug – lazy, even. “I’m not confident in myself, Gabriella. I’m confident in Sophia. That woman… She’s like a mindless slave. You should see the way she looks at me, like I’m the sun and the moon and all that poetic bullshit. It’s pathetic, actually. You know, Gabriella, I could run her over with my car, and she’d probably apologize to me for getting in the way. That’s how stupid she is. That’s how docile she is.”
There was a flicker of something sharp in his words not regret, not guilt. Just raw, ugly dominance. He knew the power he had over her, and he reveled in it.
And for a moment, as I watched him standing there with his shirt half–untucked, lips swollen from whiskey and arrogance, I saw just how easy it was for men like Tristan to walk all over someone like Sophia.
But I didn’t pity her.
No, I was just curious how long it would take before she finally broke.
But there was something else still on my mind.
“What happens if Sophia finds out about the affair?” I asked, smiling through the chaos. “What then, Tristan? You think she’ll just cry in a corner, or do you think she’ll burn the whole house down?”
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12
C
