Tristan's Point of View

“I need an heir, Tristan. No matter how hard I try to deny it, I still think you are important in continuing the family's lineage,” my father said over the phone, his voice filled with anger.

My chest heaved, my grip tightening around the edge of the telephone, my breathing coming out in short, haggard gasps.

Heir. That was all he cared about. He never bothered about how I coped since he cut my allowance and froze my bank accounts. To him, I was of no use—just some random asshole who managed to get into his life.

“Father,” I began, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. As far as I was concerned, he didn't deserve the title. He did nothing to earn it other than make my childhood miserable.

“I owe you nothing, Father. I owe you nothing,” I replied, struggling to keep my tone in check.

“You owe me your pathetic existence,” he shot back.

“An existence you contributed nothing to? You don't care about me. All you fucking care about is some goddamn company and an heir!” I thundered, my voice filled with indignation, harsher than I intended.

The air was thick with unspoken words, and I regretted speaking to him in such a manner, fear crawling down my spine. I was raised to fear nothing but him, obey nothing but him.

“Care?” he scoffed. “I raised you to be like me. When did the Hawthorns attach emotion to what they do? You are nothing but a disappointment to me,” he whispered coldly, ending the call.

I flung the telephone to the other side of the room, a metallic clang filling the air. When would he get it? I never wanted to be like him. He was everything but a father. He deprived me of the childhood love, care, and attention I craved. I just couldn't fit in, which was why he settled for my cousin Damian.

A glance at the mirror, and I could see the scar that ran across my face—a reminder of the traumatic memories of my childhood.

“I can't be like you, Father,” I whispered to myself over and over again. I shut my eyes, trying to calm the voice in my head. It was loud, echoing through the walls of my mind, grating on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

I'd tried running away from him, but his influence stretched to all parts of the world. He was determined to frustrate me. I'd given the military, which was my passion, a chance, and he found out.

“All roads lead to me, Tristan. No matter how you run, you'll always come back to me,” he'd told me when I left home. I thought it was some kind of bullshit, but it wasn't. He meant every word.

My gaze shifted to the expulsion letter on the desk in my dimly lit room. I was kicked out of the military academy, according to my father’s wish.

I sighed, shrugging my shoulders. I was done running. I was going home to give him a piece of my mind. My steps were mechanical as I slowly packed the last item into my box, my shoulders shrugging in defeat. I stole a glance at the room before dragging my box out.

The ride home was quick, and in a few hours, I was before the Hawthornes’ mansion. It loomed ahead, the rays of the evening sunlight bouncing off the Italian frame. I swallowed hard, tracing my steps into the mansion.

The mansion was just as I had left it—nothing special. The cool air from the air conditioner brushed across my skin, and I shut my eyes, acknowledging the fact that I was back in hell.

The butler walked toward me with a cheerful smile, offering to take the box from me, but I waved my hand dismissively in the air. I didn't need any help.

I walked into my room, slamming the door behind me and collapsing on the bed. I needed to think of a way to face my father without fear and explain to him that I was an adult and he wasn’t in a position to influence my decisions.

I lay on the bed for what seemed like eternity until the moon rose in the sky. I sat on the bed for a while before taking a bath. I needed to go out and clear my head. Maybe after that, I’d have the courage to speak to him.

I clenched my jaw, exhaling slowly as I stepped into the club. The bass of the music thumped through my chest, the dim lights casting shadows across the sea of bodies swaying in drunken ecstasy. The familiar burn of whiskey slid down my throat, but even that couldn’t drown out my father’s voice.

My eyes fluttered open, and I saw her. She took different shots of alcohol, tears rolling down her face. She looked vulnerable, weak.

I rolled my eyes, trying hard to mind my business, but my gaze kept snapping back to her. Staring at her made my anger vanish immediately, replaced by sympathy.

Before I could second-guess, my feet instinctively walked toward her. She raised the glass in the air to drink, and I stopped her, snatching it away.

“Give me back my drink!” she protested.

“That’s enough, young lady. You have taken too much,” I said, my voice firm.

She shot me a glare.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” she said, her voice trembling with sobs.

She stood up to take the drink but staggered, falling right into my arms.

A smirk tugged at the side of my lips. She couldn't even hold her own against me. She muttered incoherent words, stumbling backward. I grabbed her by the waist, pulling her to my chest. I wasn’t going to leave her like this, that was for sure.

“Let’s call it a night,” I mumbled.

She tried to fight it but it was no use, all she could do was follow me like a sheep being led to the slaughter house.

I walked to the receptionist and booked a suite to spend the night. Every action I took was a contrast to my personality, and I couldn't explain why.

Just as I was about to leave, I heard her voice, tiny and fragile. She was sobbing. I whirled around, my eyes resting on her trembling body. I had no idea how to console her, heck my father didn't raise me to be sympathetic.

I was torn between walking away and staying with her. With a resigned sigh, I chose to stay. I walked close to her, her breathing erratic.

“They don't want me,” she muttered, bowing her head, her hair dangling in the air.

My lips were folded into a thin line, my body stiffened. I didn't want to know her private life, hell, I had no idea who she was.

“Take a deep breath and become a better version of yourself,” I advised, my tone clipped.

“You think?” she asked, her voice calm.

I gave her a nod, a reassuring smile curling across my lips.

“Yeah. And, you don't need their validation. You are built differently,” I mumbled calmly.

Before another word left my lips,she clung to my body, a sigh of relief forcing out of her mouth.

I should have pushed her away, asked her to keep her hands to herself, but I found myself craving more of her touch. I felt hard down there and I had no idea how to react.

“You are drunk,” I said calmly, trying to push her away. It’d be stupid to imagine that I took advantage of her when she was drunk.

But she didn’t stop.

“I need you,” she cried, pulling me closer, her lips connecting with mine. Her tongue wrestled for dominance in my mouth.

Everything happened so quickly and I found myself reciprocating her energy.

I was done resisting her body. Maybe this was the price for saving her tonight from the excessive shots she took. She wanted me, and I was determined to give her all of me.

I grabbed her by her butt cheeks, my middle finger slowly sliding to her panties. I stripped off the thin straps of her clothes, dragging out my belt and tossing it to the other side of the room.

My dick sprang out of my pants, and I watched her gasp in shock, her eyes widening at the size. She grabbed my dick, sucking it like her life depended on it.

I shut my eyes, allowing her to satisfy herself with her toy. After a while, I broke free from her, my fingers thrusting her.

“Fuck,” she moaned loudly, biting her lower lip, her pupils dilating. I maintained a certain rhythm, and suddenly, I felt her muscles stiffen, her pussy walls tightening. She was about to squirt.

I paused. Her breath was forced and shallow, her chest heaving. I lifted her in the air, her back roughly hitting the wall as I pushed my dick in.

“Shit,” she growled, her hand instinctively grabbing my short hair. She took in the length like a pro, her eyes locking with mine. My balls jiggled, the slippery sound her pussy made filling the air.

The night was a blur of passion and romance.

Exhausted, I lay beside her, drifting off to sleep.

The shrill beeping of the alarm filled the air, and I woke up with a start. My gaze wandered around the room, my head aching badly—a result of the whiskey I took last night.

I stumbled out of bed, planting my feet on the floor. It took me a few seconds to realize she was gone. Worst of all, I had nutted in her, which meant one thing—she would be having my baby soon.

I paced back and forth, my knuckles whitening.

Just then, my gaze shifted to the nightstand, and I saw her ID. A wave of relief flushed over me as I walked over to it, my brow raising as I read the name.

“Selene Draven.”