Chapter 16

—Tristan—

Damian’s expression was strained, but he wasn’t about to lose his shit again. He was staring into my eyes, no longer at Eleanor. He swallowed then the cold mask took hold of his face and he straightened.

“You will have to stitch her up yourself. You played this game and lost. You underestimated your opponent,” he drawled then left, leaving me standing there, fucking furious and fucking ecstatic.

I turned around slowly. Eleanor was swaying but trying to stand tall. Her chin was covered in blood from the wound in her lip, from biting down on it to stop a scream. She didn’t give me a single one. My gaze dipped lower. Her nightgown was stained with the blood still trickling from the cut in her arm, which she cradled against her chest.

She was supposed to choose differently like all the other women always did. Instead, she’d caught me off guard, had taken the painful road, had forced my fucking hand. She hadn’t given me the triumph of off