All Chapters of My Best Friend's Dad: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

160 Chapters

Dinner Date

Tristan's POV The candle flickered between us on the table of the restaurant, the shadows dancing on Elona’s cheekbones. She looked beautiful tonight, effortlessly so. Her hair fell in soft waves, and the black dress she wore only made her eyes stand out more. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her wine glass, her lips curved in a subtle, content smile. But across the table, I felt like I was failing to hold it all together. She didn’t notice at first. I was good at hiding my thoughts...too good. But tonight, it all sat in my chest like concrete. “I heard back from my attorney today,” I finally said, pushing my steak around my plate like a man who had suddenly forgotten how to eat. “About Estelle. Apparently... she amended the Will before she died.”

The Case Talk

Elona's POV The drive back from the restaurant had been quiet. Not the kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, but the brittle kind. The kind that hummed with unspoken arguments and stiff silences, like one wrong word would crack it all open. I hadn't said much. I simply went straight to the bedroom, changing into my tank top and pajama shorts, and then curling up on the bed with my phone, trying to scroll my mind into numbness. But my fingers had stilled on the screen more than once. Each time, the image of Grace’s smug little smirk or worse, her fake innocence flashed behind my eyes. He made it worse. He always makes it worse with his bursts of anger. Tristan’s voice came from the hallway, deep and tight as he spoke on the phone.

History

Elona's POV I pulled the blanket up to my chest like it could shield me from the thoughts echoing in my head. The dim bedside lamp cast shadows across the room. Tristan remained seated on the bed, his shoulders curved forward, elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. Camille’s words still echoed inside me like a bitter aftertaste I couldn’t spit out. Did Tristan still trust her more than he trusted me? What is she trying to do or say? I closed my eyes tightly, but instead of quiet, there was only a growing ache in my chest. I opened my mouth before I could stop myself. “Tristan,” I said quietly, my voice cracking like thin ice. “Do you have… some kind of history with Camille?” I asked.

The Weight Of Everything

Tristan's POV The hallway felt colder than it should’ve been. Each step I took echoed too loudly, bouncing off the walls like the doubts ricocheting through my skull. My feet moved on their own, carrying me away from Elona, away from the soft bed I just sat on with her. I couldn’t stay there. Not with the way that she looked at me. Not when I didn’t know how to fix what I had shattered. The house was too quiet, except for the soft hum of the fridge and the faint rustle of Camille moving around in the kitchen in her heels. She was now walking down the hallway towards me in a silk robe as if she wore it like she owned the place already, like she belonged here more than anyone else. A mug of coffee dangled carelessly from her fingers. She looked up at the same time as I did and smiled. Smug and calm, like she was waiting for me to unravel. “Couldn’t sleep?” she said, her

Boardroom Meeting

Tristan's POVElona was combing her hair in front of the mirror as I sat on the edge of the bed, shirt halfway buttoned, staring at my own reflection in the mirror. My eyes were ringed with fatigue, the weight of the past few days carved into every line on my face. The anxiety clung to my chest like smoke I couldn’t clear. Today was the board meeting, the one where I would have to explain the pending investigation. The one where I would be stared at like a liability.“Tristan,” her voice broke through. I turned to look at her. She was standing by the bedroom door now, her eyes scanning me. I didn't realize that she had walked away from the mirror. “Are you okay?”I nodded slowly. “As okay as I can be.” I stood up, tucking my shirt into my slacks, forcing my body to move even if my brain wasn’t ready. “You always look stunning,” even when she was in her VFS uniform, the leggings and cropped top. She held her gym bag in one hand, waiting for me as I now pulled on my jacket.She smiled,

Only Child

Tristan's POV The knock on my office door was soft, but it might as well have been a thunderclap in the quiet. I knew it was her. I have been glancing at the clock every few minutes since Donovan told me she was on her way up. A strange mixture of anticipation and dread had been twisting in my gut for the past half hour, anticipation because I had missed her, dread because I wasn’t sure what version of her I would be facing today. That is besides all the emotions I'm facing with the case. “Come in,” I said, my voice was lower than I intended. The door opened, and there she was... Cris. My daughter. My only child. She stepped inside with her hurried grace, though there was a guardedness in her posture I didn’t like. Her hair was tucked behind her ears, her eyes sharp but unreadable. She was dressed in casual layers, a sweater, jeans, and boots, but she might as well have been weari

Jasmine

Elona's POV The studio was colder than I expected. Not just from the air-conditioning, but from the way the room looked at me as I stepped inside, white walls, camera lights, a glossy backdrop, and too many pairs of eyes that didn’t blink. The stylist shoved a hanger into my hands, the satin brushing my skin like a whisper I didn’t want to hear. Black lace, sheer panels, the kind of lingerie meant for someone who wanted to be looked at, not someone who wanted to be seen. “Change in there,” she pointed to a narrow booth with a curtain that barely reached the floor. After stepping into the changing room, my fingers trembled as I slipped out of my leggings, the chill biting into my bare legs. I could hear the photographer adjusting his camera outside, his voice low but impatient. The satin stuck slightly as I pulled it up, clinging where my skin was warm, exposing more of me

The Uninvited Guest

Tristan's POV The moment I stepped through the front door, I smelled something cooking besides the aroma of coffee. Camille’s perfume mixed with garlic and rosemary. My jaw locked. And then I saw him. Rowan was sitting at my dinner table. He was holding a mug of coffee. His suit jacket hung neatly on the back of his chair, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up like he was settling in for a comfortable evening. Camille was in the kitchen, back to us, humming as if this was some domestic, happy family scene. Elona stood beside me, her hand brushing my arm, as if she could already sense the fury coiling inside me. I didn’t bother to hide it. “You didn’t show up at the Crane Industries board meeting this morning,” I said, my voice low and edged like glass. “And now I find you here.” Rowan glanced up at me without an ounce of guilt. “Somet

A Silent Promise

Tristan's POV The house was too quiet after Rowan left. The kind of quiet that didn’t settle but scraped along your nerves, like the silence itself was mocking you, yet the tension was still in the air. Camille was still sitting at my table with a wine glass balanced in her hand, a smirk carved into her lips like it was permanent. I didn’t bother hiding my irritation. I leaned against the wall as I crossed my arms, and let my eyes cut through her. “You’re a pain in my ass, Camille.” Her smirk widened. She swirled the wine in her glass, the liquid catching the light. “At least I live up to my last name.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling hard through my teeth. She had always been like this, quick, sharp, infuriating. But now, with her suddenly shoved into my house under Rowan’s so-called authority and the amended Will, the air fe

The Vultures

Elona's POV I didn’t think leaving would feel like this. I stood in the hallway in my VFS uniform which was black leggings clinging to my legs, the cropped top tight across my ribs, it felt like I was wearing the wrong skin. My body ached in places I didn’t know could ache except for my Endo, but it was nothing compared to the hollow pressure sitting behind my breastbone. Tristan lifted one of my bags from the floor, and then another. His movements were controlled and too precise, like if he slowed down, something inside him would split open. I watched him when he wasn’t looking. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. His jaw was tense, the strength in his shoulders weighed down by something invisible and heavy. He looked older this morning, not by years but by loss. “It’s okay,” he said quietly, as if reading my thoughts. He turned toward

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