The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 345

Third Person's POV

Trista set down her silver fork, her tone turning blunt and jagged. "Cassian, did it ever occur to you that I barely touch the food whenever we come to these fancy places? I hate the food here. Every time I finish playing the part for you, I have to go home and find something real to eat."

Cassian's expression soured. He stared at the expensive, untouched entree.

"I only sat here and pretended to enjoy it because you liked it," Trista said with a bitter laugh. "But you're not worth the performance anymore. I hate this place. Every bite feels like a waste of my time."

Cassian's hand gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

He looked down and took a deep breath, avoiding her overly perceptive gaze. When he looked up, his eyes were bloodshot.

"If you don't have an appetite, don't force it," he said, his voice hoarse. "At least try the matcha truffles. You used to beg for those."

The corners of Trista's mouth curled into a cold smirk. "Did you forget? I haven't touched those since you told me to 'leave it to the professionals.'"

Cassian slumped back into his chair, feeling like he'd been stabbed.

He remembered that afternoon. Trista had been so excited, asking him if he'd ever make matcha truffles for her from scratch. He'd been so preoccupied with Samantha that he'd brushed her off, telling her that the restaurant chefs were professionals for a reason—if she wanted them, she should just go buy them.

He hadn't realized then that Trista had already seen the photo of the cake he'd baked for Samantha.

She had been testing him, hoping her Alpha would lower his guard for her just once.

But he had shut her down completely.

They'd had a massive fight after that.

Since then, no matter how expensive the desserts he bought were, she wouldn't even look at them.

Looking back at his own arrogance, Cassian felt sick.

Seeing her so completely done with him, he stood up, his movements almost frantic. "Fine. If you're not eating, let's go."

They walked out of the restaurant into the night air. The atmosphere between them was suffocating.

The "peaceful" final weekend they'd planned was a total wreck, buried under layers of old wounds and heavy silences.

Cassian stood under a streetlight, watching Trista.

He finally realized that the rift of "trust" was too wide to ever bridge.

"Let's just go home," Trista said, watching the distant neon signs. "Tomorrow morning, we finish the procedure."

As she turned to leave, Cassian lunged forward and pulled her into a tight embrace from behind.

They walked the rest of the way in agonizing slow motion.

Cassian pointed out every stall, every shop, every memory, trying to find a spark. Every time, he was met with the same silent rejection.

By the time they reached the end of the street, he'd lost count of how many times she'd said no.

He finally stopped and grabbed her shoulders, his gold eyes searching hers. His voice was a raw rasp. "Trista, please. Just say something to me."

He remembered taking her here before—she used to be so bubbly that her energy would light up the whole block. She wouldn't stop talking the entire way. Now, she was like a block of ice.

"Let's just go home," she said, avoiding his eyes. "We have things to do tomorrow morning."

They locked eyes in the dark.

Cassian stared at her for a long time before finally, defeated, he gave a slow nod.

Back at the house, Trista went straight to the master bedroom and locked the door.

She showered, changed into something comfortable, and began a final check of her bags.

She'd already moved most of her things out when they first separated. The expensive jewelry and clothes Cassian had bought her? She wasn't taking a single piece.