Shadows Gathered Under Fading Lights by Nyx Rowan novel Chapter 5

Tristan parroted Natalia’s words like they were the absolute truth.

“She told me everything,” Tristan said, eyes cold, his words dripping with accusation. “You

threatened her, you tried to force her to leave me, then you threw yourself down the stairs to frame her, and you still had the nerve to call the police. How could you be this vicious?”

He paused, and his next words were delivered like a favor. “I told you already, the title Mrs. Royston

is yours forever. Why do you keep going after her?”

Even a stranger would’ve taken one look at me and asked if I was all right.

Tristan didn’t even let me speak.

I forced my trembling hand up and threw the medical paperwork at his chest. “Tristan, I was

pregnant. She killed my baby, and it was your baby too.”

For a split second, he looked stunned.

Then he let out a short laugh, sharp with contempt, like something clicked into place. “I swapped your vitamins for birth control a long time ago. How could you possibly be pregnant?”

He didn’t even glance down before tearing the papers into shreds.

So that was it.

I sank back against the bed, and all the emotion inside me drained away at once, leaving my mind

blank, hollow, quiet.

Then Natalia video–called.

Tristan answered immediately, almost frantic, like his body moved before he thought.

Natalia appeared on a rooftop, crying so hard her face was blotched and swollen. “Mr. Royston… it’s all my fault. I’m the one who made Fiona misunderstand you.”

She choked on a sob, eyes glistening. “As long as you and Fiona are happy, I’m willing to die.”

The screen went dark.

Tristan’s eyes were bloodshot as he grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the door.

I swung my hand and slapped him so hard my palm stung, rage ripping through me. “Tristan, I

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want a divorce!”

He hesitated, just a fraction, then kept dragging me anyway, ignoring the officers, ignoring the blood seeping from my injuries.

“Come on,” he snapped. “Go apologize to Natalia on your knees, then withdraw the report.”

The door flew open with a loud bang.

Henson walked in.

Years ago, the Royston Group had nearly split apart from internal warfare, on the edge of

bankruptcy, and Henson had carved through it with ruthless precision, rooting out the rot.

He’d even sent his own older brother to prison, and the man still hadn’t gotten out.

After that, people started calling Henson something of a boogeyman, the kind of man no one

wanted to cross.

Once the company stabilized, he went overseas, and there was almost no news about him

domestically.

Until five years ago, when Tristan and I married, and Henson returned long enough to name Tristan

the heir.

Tristan respected him, and feared him.

The second he saw Henson, Tristan released my arm like it burned, shot me a furious look, then

turned on a smile for his uncle. “Uncle Henson… why are you here?”

Henson’s gaze didn’t soften. “Fiona, or that woman. Pick one.”

Tristan opened his mouth, but a message from Natalia popped up on his phone.

[Tristan, don’t you want to see me one last time?]

Panic flashed across Tristan’s face, obvious as daylight.

He lunged toward the door, but Henson stepped in front of him.

“Sign.”

“Uncle, it’s not what you think…”

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“If you want to leave,” Henson said, voice flat, “sign.”

Tristan stared at me for a long moment, then signed the divorce petition.

“Fiona,” he said, voice tight, like it was supposed to mean something, “wait for me. I’ll come back

and explain.”

Three days later, when I held the divorce decree in my hand and boarded a flight to France, that explanation still never came.

It didn’t matter anymore.

A life without Tristan was finally starting.