Page 178 of Reckless Obsession

Then he shifts.

Tristan.

Fucking Tristan Sinclair.

He is still in the black suit from the photograph, though his tie has been loosened and his jacket is draped over the chair beside him. His elbows rest on the table.

He looks exhausted.

He also looks like he’s been sitting here for a long time, staring at nothing.

My breath catches.

Every question I have rises at once.

Every accusation.

Every terrible thing I saw online.

But all I can manage is his name.

“Tristan?”

Chapter 30

MAKSIM

Tristan doesn’t move when he sees me. He doesn’t stand. He doesn’t come toward me. He simply watches me from the other side of the room with that same unreadable expression carved across his face, and somehow that hurts more than if he’d looked guilty.

“How long have you been sitting there?” I ask.

His gaze drops briefly to the table.

“Since I got back.”

“When was that?”

“Three in the morning.”

Three.

He has been sitting in this apartment for hours while I slept down the hall, spiraling over a headline he apparently already knew was waiting for me.

The silence stretches between us.

I search his face for something I can understand. Guilt. Regret. Anger. Anything.

But Tristan’s expression is completely blank.

He has always been good at locking every feeling behind his eyes until I’m left standing outside the door, guessing whether he wants me to come in or go away.

My chest aches with the effort of holding myself together.

I let out a breath that shakes at the edges.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” I manage to say. “I don’t understand what’s happening, Tristan.”

His eyes close for one second.