Todos los capítulos de Dear Ex, You Missed a Fashion Icon: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

MARISSAThe drive to Malibu was a silent war of nerves. Dante insisted on driving me himself in his black obsidian Ferrari, leaving the corporate shuttles and Tristan’s silver Bentley trailing in our wake. Every time I glanced in the rearview mirror, I could see Tristan’s car—constant, looming, and suffocatingly close.When we pulled into the driveway of the Vance Beach Estate, the air changed. The scent of salt and expensive cedarwood filled the car. The estate was a sprawling masterpiece of glass and bleached wood, perched precariously on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. It was a place built for romance, for transparency, for the kind of intimacy that could either heal a soul or dismantle it.As the staff began unloading luggage, Tristan and Tina pulled up. Tina stepped out, looking like she was heading to a photoshoot rather than a creative retreat, her hand immediately finding Tristan’s forearm."Welcome," Tristan said, though his eyes never left mine. He looked weary, the bravado

MARISSAThe next day, during breakfast, another wave of tension brewed on the terrace of the Vance estate.There was a symphony of clinking silver and the rhythmic roar of the Pacific. The air was crisp, smelling of pine and sea salt, but the atmosphere around the long mahogany table was suffocating. I sat at the head of the table, flanked by Dante, while Tristan sat directly opposite me with Tina anchored to his side like a gilded weight.I felt Tristan’s eyes on me. I didn't look up from my coffee, but I could feel the heat of his gaze. He was watching the way Dante leaned toward me, the way Dante’s hand hovered near mine. It was a silent, agonizing pressure. Across from me, Tina was making a show of buttering Tristan’s toast, her movements exaggerated and performative."You haven't eaten a thing, Marissa," Dante murmured, his voice a low velvet. He was playing the part of the doting lover to perfection—perhaps too well. He reached for a small, elegant ceramic bowl in the center o

MARISSAThe silence following the light flicking on didn't last. It was the heavy, breathless pause before a bomb detonates.I scrambled off the counter, my fingers trembling as I yanked the straps of my silk gown back into place. Tristan stood his ground, his chest heaving, his eyes still dark with the remnants of the fire that had just nearly consumed us.Dante didn't wait for an explanation. He moved with the terrifying speed of a man who had spent his life taking what he wanted by force. He crossed the kitchen in three strides, and before Tristan could even raise his hands, Dante’s fist connected with Tristan’s jaw.The sound of the impact—flesh hitting bone—echoed sickeningly against the marble. Tristan’s head snapped back, and he stumbled against the island, his glass of scotch shattering on the floor."Tristan!" Tina shrieked, rushing forward to grab Dante’s arm, but he shook her off like a bothersome insect."You bastard!" Tristan roared, wiping blood from his split lip. He lu

MARISSAThe Malibu sun was a relentless, shimmering weight, turning the white sand of the Vance estate into a stage of blinding light. After the emotional wreckage of the bonfire, I expected a cold morning of avoided glances. Instead, I found a version of Tristan I hadn't seen in years: the architect of comfort, the man who knew every curve of my needs before I even voiced them.By midday, the heat was stifling. I was reclined on a low linen lounger beneath the shadow of a silk canopy, the rhythmic crash of the Pacific lulling me into a dangerous state of relaxation. I felt a presence beside me, the scent of expensive cedarwood and salt air announcing him before he spoke."You're going to burn, Marissa. Your skin was always too stubborn for this much sun."I opened my eyes to find Tristan kneeling in the sand beside my lounger. He held a bottle of high-end sunscreen, his expression uncharacteristically soft. Without waiting for an invitation, he poured a pool of the cool lotion int

MARISSAThe vibration against the nightstand was a relentless, mechanical heartbeat, a ghost trying to claw its way back from the dead. I didn't have to look at the screen to know it was Tristan. His name had been lighting up the room for hours, a glowing reminder of the man who had just used the most traumatic moment of my life as a PR sacrifice.I sat by the window, watching the rain lash against the glass in jagged streaks. Each ring of the phone felt like a fresh bruise."Marissa." Dante’s voice was a low rumble from the doorway. He didn't ask if I was okay; he knew I wasn't. He just stood there, his shadow long and protective.I reached out and turned the phone face down, silencing the light. "Prepare a press conference, Dante. Emergency. I want it set for tomorrow morning."I heard the shift in his posture, the slight hitch of surprise. This wasn't the broken woman he’d carried off the beach in Malibu. "A press conference? Marissa, the media is a shark tank right now. Let’s allo