*
Tears spilled downDiana’s cheeks, warm and relentless, as she stood by the window, staring blindly at the world beyond the glass. The muffled voices of her parents and Lord Hollingsworth filled the room behind her, discussing the details of her swift, inevitable wedding. Their words were like knives slicing through her composure, and she trembled beneath the weight of her despair.
She had waited all morning, clinging to hope like a lifeline, desperate to hear something—anything—about the duel. But when her father had delivered the news, it had hit her like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from her lungs.
Tristan didn’t show up for the duel… Took the coward’s way out… He’s nowhere to be found.
The words echoed endlessly in her mind, a cruel refrain that refused to fade. She bit her lip until it hurt, trying to keep herself from sobbing aloud. She couldn’t afford to believe it. Shewouldn’tbelieve it. Tristan had promised her, hadn’t he? He was supposed to fight for her, to free her from the chains that Hollingsworth had tightened around her life.
Yet, where was he now?
Witnesses at Harvey’s Cliffs had confirmed it—Tristan hadn’t shown up. Only Hollingsworth had been there, standing smug and victorious. And Tristan, the man she had trusted with her heart, had vanished.
Abandoned her. Left her to the mercy of a vile, ruthless viscount whose interest in her wasn’t love, but possession. She was nothing more than a prize to Hollingsworth, a trophy to be displayed. He didn’t care about her hopes, her dreams, or her fears. He only cared aboutwinning.
Piece by piece, her heart splintered, breaking under the weight of betrayal and shattered dreams. Tristan hadn’t loved her—not the way she had loved him. She had been willing to give up everything, even prepared to elope with him if it meant escaping the suffocating future her parents had arranged. But he hadn’t fought for her. He hadn’t shown up.
He’d left her alone.
A sob finally escaped her lips, and she pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle it. The truth was unbearable, but she couldn’t run from it any longer. Tristan was gone, and she was trapped.
In a way, Diana wanted to feel relief—relief that she had seen Tristan Worthington’s true colors before she had married him. A coward. A deceiver. A man who had abandoned her when she had needed him most. Her mind whispered that she should be grateful, that fate had spared her from tying herself to someone so unreliable. But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, the ache in her chest wouldn’t subside.
Her heart stubbornly refused to let go of him. Even now, with her trust shattered and her future slipping through her fingers, it clung to the memories of the man she had believed him to be—the man who had once made her laugh, who had stolen her breath with tender kisses and whispered promises of forever.
She hated him. Sheshouldhate him. But the truth burned like a brand in her soul: she still loved him, despite it all. And that love, unwanted and unbearable, was what hurt the most.
Tears blurred her vision as she stared out the window, her mind replaying moments that now felt like cruel illusions. She had imagined a life with him, had dreamed of a future full of adventure and freedom, away from the rigid constraints of duty and expectation. Now, that future had dissolved, crumbling like a fragile dream in the morning light.
Her gaze drifted to the road beyond the window, as if hoping, irrationally, to see him standing there. But there was nothing. Only the cold, indifferent world outside.
The bleak reality of her situation settled in her chest like a stone. She would marry Hollingsworth, a man who saw her as a possession rather than a partner. She would live a life dictated by duty, her hopes buried beneath the weight of someone else’s ambition.
The thought suffocated her, and yet she could do nothing to change it. Tristan wasn’t coming back.
Her heart had been wrong to believe in him. But even now, it refused to stop hoping. And that, more than anything, was the cruelest betrayal of all.
Chapter Thirteen
Three years later, back at the unknown cottage
Tristan’s body achedterribly, and his skin chafed from the rope burns. When he wasn’t so mad, he’d have to compliment that maid for being so thorough with his bindings. But until then, he was content to be upset with her—and Diana—for forcing him to stay here.
The ladies had retired for bed hours ago and were probably sleeping just fine in their comfy beds while their prisoner was completely uncomfortable in this chair. He glanced over at the sofa only a few steps away from him. If only he could bounce somehow to those soft, inviting, cushions and lay his head on something soft, then he’d be able to sleep.
As well as he could using only his chin and shoulder, he tried to remove the gag. It moved a little, but didn’t come off. Still, it was enough that he could at least lick his lips if needs be.
Using all of his strength, he concentrated on jumping in the chair. It took him a few times, but soon, he was able to move the chair—if only an inch at a time. That would be good enough for now.
He huffed and groaned as he forced his body to move with the chair, commanding the chair to move in the direction he wanted to go. Finally, when he got close enough to the sofa, he lunged. The chair tipped, and thankfully, landed on the cushions. Half of him was on the sofa, while the other half was still on the floor. It didn’t matter, because at least his head had something soft to lay on now.
Exhaustion filled him and he took slow breaths, trying to relax. Too bad his mind wouldn’t relax. He still wondered why Diana felt that what had happened between them three years ago washisfault. Her words had not made a bit of sense. If anything, he should loathe her, which he did. He just couldn’t remember exactly why…
His memory hadn’t fully returned, and that irritated him more than anything. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried to recall the past, the further away he was taken from the truth.
Slowly, he closed his eyes and listened to the rain pounding the roof in a steady rhythm. Soon, his mind drifted asleep. Diana’s wide green eyes—passionate eyes—were in this thoughts.
Three years ago, he’d been crushed to discover she hadn’t tried to stop the duel. Not that he wanted her to chase after him, but she didn’t even voice her opinion or pretend that she cared. Many of the events that occurred before the duel were foggy, but he remembered feelings of despondency.
