I Stopped Fighting For My Husband and He Panicked Chapter 02

There was nothing I could do about the rumors, so I worked myself to the bone, determined to prove that I deserved my position.

Tristan even cut off my allowance to make sure I’d take my job seriously. If I got fired, I’d be left with absolutely nothing.

I’d spent six months clawing my way out of the mess, using my own hard work to silence the gossip and finally earn some respect.

And then Tristan had nearly ruined everything all over again.

Thank God I’d thought fast enough to come up with a believable excuse for why we’d been alone together.

By the time I got home, showered, and washed up, it was well past midnight. I hadn’t even bothered to dry my hair before collapsing into bed.

Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I heard the front door open.

Tristan was home.

Ever since our explosive fight over Ivy six months ago, he’d barely set foot in our apartment.

I’d cried more times than I could count because of it.

At first, I’d thought he was heartless. How could he abandon me so easily, without a second thought?

But as the weeks passed, my anger had slowly given way to worry.

Was he comfortable sleeping in a hotel? Would eating takeout every day upset his stomach?

Tristan had always been the one to swallow his pride first after our fights, regardless of who was at fault. He’d always been the one to come after me and make things right.

This time, I decided, it was my turn to make things right with him.

I took some vacation days, cooked all his favorite dishes, packed them into containers, and brought them to the hotel where he’d been staying.

Except the front desk informed me that he had no reservation.

I stood there, stunned.

If he wasn’t staying at the hotel, where the hell was he?

A strange sense of dread crept over me. Before I knew it, I’d made my way to Ivy’s apartment building.

I’d recently learned that she was Tristan’s first love from college and had since become his secretary. I’d looked into her background and found out where she lived.

Should I go upstairs? Should I knock?

And if Tristan really was inside her apartment, what would I even say?

But if he wasn’t there, would he get angry that I’d suspected him and find some other way to force me to admit I was wrong?

I couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Before I could decide what to do, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

Tristan and Ivy stepped out together, catching me completely off guard.

The moment Tristan saw me standing there, his first reaction wasn’t guilt.

It was anger.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and his dark eyes turned glacial.

“Vivian, are you still not done with this?”

In his eyes, I was making a scene when I’d questioned why he’d hired his first love as his secretary.

I was making a scene when he’d forgotten my birthday because he’d been busy celebrating Ivy’s.

And now, after discovering that the two of them were living together, I was still the one making a scene.

Suddenly, I was exhausted.

If Tristan didn’t want me to make a fuss, fine. I wouldn’t.

From that day on, we gave each other the silent treatment for six straight months.

During that entire time, he came home only once to pick up some documents. I didn’t see him otherwise.

So when I felt someone sitting on the edge of my bed that night, I jolted awake.

I scrambled toward the opposite side and hurriedly switched on the bedside lamp.

The moment I recognized Tristan’s face and saw the startled look in his eyes, I finally let myself breathe again.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

His handsome features tightened into a frown.

“Vivian, this is my home. Am I not allowed to come back?”

I couldn’t be bothered to argue.

My commute took an hour and a half each way, and tomorrow’s morning meeting meant I’d have to get to the office an hour early. In other words, I’d need to be up by six.

I barely had enough time left to sleep as it was.

I switched off the light, rolled over, and went straight back to bed.

Tristan pressed his lips together, simmering with barely contained anger.

He made a ridiculous amount of noise while washing up, clattering around the bathroom as if he wanted to make sure I knew exactly how annoyed he was. Then he practically threw himself onto the mattress.

I didn’t so much as stir.

The next morning, my alarm went off.

I opened my eyes and found Tristan propped up beside me, his head resting on one hand.

He hadn’t slept a wink.

He’d been watching me all night without blinking.