Shadows Gathered Under Fading Lights by Nyx Rowan novel Chapter 10

Tristan went home and headed straight for the third floor, the one place he’d never bothered to set foot on before, and the shame hit him harder with every step.

Natalia spammed him with calls and messages, but he ignored every single one like the sound itself

made him sick.

The third floor felt unfamiliar, hollow, and cold, and the emptiness hit him like he’d walked into a house that had never belonged to anyone.

There wasn’t a trace of me left, not even the small, quiet little things people leave behind when they’re loved.

He stopped at my bedroom door, took two slow, steady breaths to steel himself, then pushed it

open.

The first thing he saw was a wedding portrait on the wall, half torn, its torn edge jagged like an open

wound.

Something inside his chest twisted so violently it felt like being torn open.

Five years ago, I’d stood there with the photo in my hands, eyes bright, voice hopeful. “Honey, what

if we put this in your room?”

And he’d barely looked up, brushing me off like I was asking for something embarrassing. “Put it in

the attic, these things don’t need to be displayed.”

Now he stared at the closet, at how few clothes and pieces of jewelry were left, and the realization

crawled over him, slow and brutal.

Aside from the wedding ring, he couldn’t remember giving me anything that marked a birthday, a holiday, an anniversary, any moment that would have shown I mattered to him.

His mind flashed to Natalia’s closet, bursting with dresses, handbags, jewelry, proof of attention he’d never given me.

Tristan slapped himself, hard, and the sound cracked through the quiet room. “I’m a piece of trash!”

He turned as if to go up to the attic and bring the wedding photos down, but something on the nightstand stopped him, a small box that clearly wasn’t there by chance.

Chapter 10

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He opened it, and the first thing he saw was an ultrasound printout, ripped into pieces and carefully taped back together.

A dull ache punched through his chest, and he gripped the edge of the box like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Inside were two documents, a bottle of vitamins, and a USB drive.

He recognized the vitamins instantly, because he’d told a doctor to swap them for birth control pills, and he’d told himself it was for “safety,” as if that excuse made him less cruel.

He snatched the box and sprinted to his study, hands shaking as he plugged the USB drive into his

computer.

There was only one audio file and one video.

He clicked the audio first, and voices filled the room, familiar, smug, laughing. “Tristan, you really had good taste, Fiona was perfect as Mrs. Royston, obedient, quiet, never causes trouble.”

Another voice chimed in, amused. “That test we staged back then was worth it, we needed someone who’d actually risk her life for Tristan.”

The words kept going, and Tristan’s face drained, because he finally understood what the box

meant.

“She knew,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “She knew the whole time.‘

And suddenly he remembered, fully, the reason I always tilted my head to hear, the injury I’d taken because of him, the damage that never healed.

Worse than that, he realized he hadn’t just ignored it, he’d mocked it, over and over, and every complaint he’d ever tossed to his friends now felt like needles in his heart.

He couldn’t take another second of it, so he shut the audio off and opened the video.

Security footage filled the screen, the stairwell camera, the moment Natalia shoved me, my body tumbling, the impact, the blood, the way I disappeared from the frame.

It was the footage the officers had given me when I withdrew the report.

Tristan collapsed into his chair, staring at the screen until his eyes burned, one thought looping in his mind until it felt like it was branded into his very bones.

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Fiona wasn’t coming back.

Then his gaze drifted to the vitamin bottle sitting in the box, and something feral sharpened in him.

He grabbed it, barked an order to the house manager to bring every wedding photo out of the attic and hang them up, then drove straight to the hospital.

The doctor looked at the bottle, then at Tristan, expression uneasy. “This isn’t birth control, it’s just vitamins.”

Tristan’s brow knotted. “But I told you

to…”

“You did,” the doctor admitted, “but long–term birth control can mess a woman’s body up.‘

”

The doctor hesitated, then continued, quieter. “And with your low sperm count, conception was already difficult, so we stopped swapping it later.”

It hit Tristan like a truck, and he sank back into the chair, stunned.

“So the baby,” he said, voice hollow, “that baby really was mine.”

Natalia called right then.

Her name flashed across the screen, and when Tristan remembered the footage, his face darkened until it was practically oozing with rage.

He answered with a voice like ice. “I’m at the hospital.”

“Come here,” he said, controlled and cold. “Perfect timing, we’ll do a prenatal checkup.”

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