Tristan’s P.O.V

I sat there on the damn floor of my near empty mansion, like some tragic hero in a third-rate drama, my back against the wall, my legs sprawled out like they were too tired to even keep up the act anymore. I let out a laugh, a hollow, stupid laugh—and shook my head as I stared up at the ceiling.

"God, Tristan, you're a fucking idiot," I muttered to no one. The silence in the room answered me like it agreed. I let my head fall back and closed my eyes for a ...