He Said I Love Him Enough to Let Him Marry Her and Kill Our Child Chapter 07

He Said I Love Him Enough to Let Him Marry Her and Kill Our Child Chapter 07

I looked into those pathetic, pleading eyes and answered with a single word. “No.” 

My mother gave me an approving nod and took my arm to guide me into the car. 

Tristan scrambled around and threw himself in front of the 

hood. “Elena. For the sake of what we had back then, when we were kids. Please. Give me one more chance.” 

Back then. When he brought me food. Fought off my bullies. 

I’ve never forgotten those moments. Not one. 

But I’d be damned if he got to use them as a leash. 

I met his eyes and said it clearly. “Tristan Shaw, the moment 

you brought Bianca in to torment me, we were even. Whatever I owed you? Gone.” 

I got in the car. 

Tristan still didn’t move from the hood. 

My mother’s voice was ice. “If he won’t move, drive over 

him.” 

The driver revved the engine. Tristan scrambled out of the way so fast he nearly face–planted into the curb. People on the 

sidewalk laughed at him openly. 

My parents took me home, and they poured out love like they were trying to fill twenty years of absence in a single week. 

They turned me into a treasured daughter, and after so many years of suffering, I soaked in every moment. Within days, our 

bond felt seamless and whole, like we’d never been apart. 

Blood ties. Strange, powerful thing. 

My father brought me into his world. New faces, new friends. I eased into my identity until the ugly past felt like a distant, fading memory. 

As for Tristan Shaw, I heard things. Whispers. How he’d scraped his way into upper–class circles, only for Belmont Manor to turn him into a laughingstock. 

The elite shut him out completely. No invitations. No events. 

Once, someone invited him as a cruel joke. Tristan showed up 

in his best suit, pathetically grateful. They spent the entire night mocking him. 

He was humiliated, but he refused to leave. He just stood 

there, face thick as concrete, hoping that once they finished 

ripping him apart, someone might throw him a scrap. 

Nobody threw him anything. 

Everyone knew he’d crossed Harrison Grant. No one was stupid enough to touch that. 

After that night, Tristan went hollow. Defeated. 

I thought he’d finally vanish from my life. Then, days later, a 

text arrived. A wall of words. Thousands of them. 

Tristan poured out his soul or the closest thing to a soul someone like him could fake. He claimed he’d always loved 

1. me. 

That he’d chosen Bianca because her family could boost him up, and he’d done it all for us, so he could give me a better life. The abuse? Just a performance he had to put on for Bianca. Temporary. A necessary evil. 

Once he rode the Harringtons‘ influence to the top, he’d dump 

Bianca and come back to me. We’d live our real life together. 

At the end of the novel–length confession, he begged for my 

forgiveness and swore on everything that if I just said the 

word, he’d divorce Bianca immediately. 

I read the whole thing. 

Then I forwarded the message to Bianca Harrington and 

blocked Tristan’s number. 

The next day, fresh drama lit up the social circles. The Harrington family, for reasons nobody could quite pin down, had erupted in fury and cut all ties with Tristan. 

Truth was, the Harringtons had been teetering since Belmont Manor. My father hadn’t targeted them directly, but Bianca’s name was poison now. Nobody wanted to be associated with 

them. 

The family tried to cut Tristan loose and save themselves, but Bianca threw a fit, tears, threats, ultimatums, demanding they keep bankrolling Tristan’s business. 

When that screenshot hit her phone, something inside her finally broke. The Harringtons kicked Tristan to the curb, and his business raced straight toward bankruptcy. 

Desperate and cornered, Tristan took his meltdown public. He started posting online, blasting the Harringtons‘ secrets, calling Bianca the real homewrecker. He thought he was proving his loyalty to me. Earning his way back. 

I just watched the trainwreck and ate popcorn. 

Then the Harringtons fired back. A brutal, scorched–earth smear war followed, both sides proving exactly how vile they 

were. 

By the end, their reputations were so toxic that nobody 

bothered to parse who was right. People just heard the names. 

Tristan or the Harrington family and noped out on instinct. 

Soon enough, the Harringtons were on the verge of collapse 

too. 

One rainy afternoon, both parties filed for bankruptcy on the 

same day. 

And after that, I figured my life and Tristan Shaw’s would 

never cross paths again. 

Then, days later, my phone rang. 

It was Tristan’s voice, hoarse and broken. “Elena. Do you still 

remember our baby?”