Chapter 3 - Hell Day

Alexandra Rossi.

I started today with mixed feelings.

There was anger, disappointment, frustration, and disbelief that I’d been toyed with by a jerk like Tristan all this time.

My years of devotion and willingness to give up my career as a professional sommelier were repaid with betrayal from the moment we met.

However, all these facts also answered all my questions from the past.

They also explained why I hadn’t gotten pregnant despite our frequent intimate encounters almost every night.

“What’s for breakfast today, honey?”

I was interrupted when I heard Tristan’s voice and felt his arms wrap around my waist.

Tristan even buried his face in the crook of my neck. He was breathing there, sending shivers down my spine.

My entire body froze; my heart raced, and I hated the warmth spreading through me from his touch.

I hated how my body was still enjoying Tristan's touch right now, so much so that without realizing it, tears streamed down my face and a sob escaped my lips.

"Honey? Are you crying?" Tristan asked.

He turned me around and cupped my face with both hands.

At that moment, a small part of my heart refused to accept last night's reality. Especially when Tristan gently wiped away my tears and kissed my wet eyelids before pulling me into his embrace.

“What’s wrong, honey? Hmm?” he whispered in my ear.

Soft, warm, and so sincere.

His serene expression, gentle gaze, and thin lips curving as he looked at me left me speechless.

There were thousands of questions I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t.

I could only shake my head until Tristan hugged me tightly again and kissed my face.

"Don't cry, dear," he pleaded. "If you're tired, let the servants handle all the tasks, hmm?"

Like a fool who again believed my husband's words, I nodded and hugged Tristan tighter.

I inhaled his scent, a mix of masculine cologne, plant fragrance, and the expensive aroma of sandalwood.

My favorite perfume.

“I just wanted to pack your lunch, dear,” I finally said.

Tristan loosened his embrace and looked at me more intently.

“Lunch?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Yesterday, when I went to the socialite gathering at our hotel, they talked about it.” I put on a sad, guilty expression before Tristan while lowering my head deeply.

“Then what’s the problem?” Tristan asked.

Surprisingly, Tristan picked me up and placed me on his lap.

His hands then moved up, gently caressing my face, giving me his full attention.

“I think I’m not a good wife for you, Tristan!” I replied. “Even those busy with important activities can still prepare a lunch box for their partners. While I?”

I puckered my lips and looked at Tristan with sadness.

“Oh my gosh, my love!” Tristan burst into laughter.

He pulled me into his embrace and kissed my arm all the way down to my hip before cupping my face so I would look at him.

“So you were trying to make lunch for me, so you could be my perfect wife?” Tristan asked again.

I nodded slightly.

“I wanted to prove to you that I’m worthy!” I replied.

Tristan paused momentarily, then took a deep breath and nodded at me.

“You don’t need to prove anything, my love!” Tristan said. “You’ve always been the best for me. But—”

Tristan paused.

"If you insist, I’d be very happy... to eat the lunch you prepared, dear!" Tristan finally said.

My eyes immediately sparkled.

I didn’t expect Tristan to grant my wish and make my heart race again.

I even let out a small squeal and rushed into Tristan’s embrace.

My legs moved wildly, like a child being held by their parents.

“If that’s the case, I’ll prepare the food, okay!” I exclaimed.

Tristan’s final nod sent me to the kitchen to busily prepare many of his favorite dishes to pack for lunch.

Meanwhile, Tristan enjoyed his breakfast, occasionally glancing in my direction, but I didn’t look back at him.

**

Night fell and grew late, but Tristan hadn’t returned and couldn’t be reached.

Until I heard his car pull into the driveway, I was greeted with disappointment as Andreas, Tristan’s personal driver, returned alone with the usual message.

“Where is Tristan?” I asked Andreas at the door.

"Madam!" Andreas looked startled and bowed his head to me.

He also looked a bit anxious, with an awkward smile.

"Mr. Tristan is staying at the office again tonight, Madam."

"Staying again?" I asked back.

My brows furrowed as I tried to remember the day until I realized it was Friday.

On one of the days of the week, Tristan had to work late and stay at the office to finish the new wine product experiment for Laurent.

But the same night, just an hour after I received the news from Andreas and decided to go to the Osvaldo Golijov Classical Music Opera in downtown New York, I saw Tristan accompanying Isabella Thorton watching the same show.

Their presence jolted my heart and brought back memories of that night.

Everything spun, and their laughter filled every corner of my mind until my thoughts, until my hands unconsciously clenched the opera ticket I’d been holding.

“Pianist Igor Levit.”

After I learned that the musician was Isabella’s idol, that name should have been a reminder.

Even his music, the orchestra, and tonight’s opera were all Isabella’s tastes—things Tristan had never allowed me to do for various reasons.

“You’re not worth watching such an expensive opera, Alexa!” Tristan had said last month when I had whined about wanting to see a Disney opera.

“But I also want to know about opera, Tristan!” I had protested at the time. “You always attend these events. Can’t I introduce myself as your real wife?”

I clearly remember the look on Tristan’s face that night, as if he were belittling me.

“Don’t embarrass yourself by trying to fit in with new people, Alexa!”

Tristan snapped at me without pause.

He didn’t even realize how his words hurt me.

And how foolish of me not to interrupt, to defend myself against his insult.

Until I realized that this place was one of the many locations where Tristan and Isabella had their dates, aside from the warehouse behind the house.

The way they greeted important guests at the event, even looked like a married couple.

My heart shattered again.

My hope of trusting Tristan again this morning was instantly shattered, crushed, and gone.

I fell back into the foolishness I was crying over, before a masculine voice greeted me and startled me.

"A beautiful woman can't cry outside an opera performance!"

I turned around and saw the imposing figure of Mr. Antonio Bianchi standing before me. His smile stopped my tears, and his gaze hypnotized me.

I stood there, speechless, trying to process what was happening.

But Antonio surprised me again with his warm greeting.

“Would you... Be willing to accompany me to the opera tonight, Mrs. Laurent?”

***