The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 165

Chapter 165 

Third Person’s POV 

Samantha spat out a single word through gritted teeth, “Bitch.” 

She had played the long game, calculated every move. In terms of looks, education, or connections, she didn’t think she lacked a single thing compared to Trista. 

She honestly couldn’t wrap her head around what Cassian was so hung up on. 

That evening, Trista had barely stepped through the door when Cassian pulled up right behind her. 

The second the door swung open, his aura flooded the room–a scent of fire and iron that claimed the entire living room. It was a silent declaration of ownership, the kind of heavy quiet that usually precedes a brutal interrogation. 

Cassian marched up to Trista, cutting straight to the point. “What happened at the hospital today? Why is Algernon hurt?” 

The question wasn’t a concern; it was an indictment. It was the same clinical, accusatory tone he used when they were grilling a suspect. 

Trista set her phone down and stood up straight. 

Her movements were steady, even restrained. 

But the moment she looked up, her eyes were as cold as a scalpel. 

For a few beats, they just stared each other down in the middle of the living room. 

Trista gave him the facts, start to finish, without blinking. “Attwater did grab him by the collar.. And yes, he did say he’d kill Algernon.” 

She paused, locking eyes with Cassian, her voice turning to ice. “I know your heart bleeds for those two. If you want to get even for them, don’t mind me. Go ahead–hit me. Take it out on me if that’ll make them feel better.” 

Cassian’s face contorted, the mask of “decency” finally slipping. She had just dragged his ugly truth out into the light. “Trista, I’m just asking a simple question. What the hell is with this attitude?” 

Trista’s voice rose, her bottled–up rage finally showing its teeth. “And what the hell is with yours? You walk in and start interrogating me like I’m a criminal!” 

The air in the room solidified. 

Their pheromones began to clash like physical waves, grinding against each other. 

A few seconds passed before Cassian spoke again, his voice dropping a notch. “Trista, we’re mates. We’ve grown up together. Have I ever laid a hand on you? Ever?” 

Trista let out a sharp, hollow laugh that held zero warmth. “Don’t act like you’ve got amnesia, Cassian. For the sake of the woman you actually love, you snapped Attwater’s wrist. Remember that?” 

Cassian’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked like he was literally swallowing his own rage. 

He didn’t deny it; he just offered a strained, hushed defense. “That… that was an accident.” 

Trista’s hands were balled into white–knuckled fists at her sides. 

Her scent was suppressed, but a lethal chill still seeped out. “Funny how every ‘accident‘ ends with me and my family being the ones bleeding.” 

Cassian’s eyes were a mess of conflicting emotions. 

He stared at her. “So that’s it? You’re never going to let this go?” 

Trista didn’t flinch. Her voice was flat, final. “I’ll remember it until the day I die.” 

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