My Best Friend's Dad

The Weight Of Everything

Tristan's POV

The hallway felt colder than it should’ve been. Each step I took echoed too loudly, bouncing off the walls like the doubts ricocheting through my skull. My feet moved on their own, carrying me away from Elona, away from the soft bed I just sat on with her. I couldn’t stay there. Not with the way that she looked at me. Not when I didn’t know how to fix what I had shattered.

The house was too quiet, except for the soft hum of the fridge and the faint rustle of Camille moving around in the kitchen in her heels. She was now walking down the hallway towards me in a silk robe as if she wore it like she owned the place already, like she belonged here more than anyone else. A mug of coffee dangled carelessly from her fingers. She looked up at the same time as I did and smiled. Smug and calm, like she was waiting for me to unravel.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she said, her voice were sugar-laced with something far too knowing.

I came to a stop in front of my study room, and she stopped walking. Her gaze was heavy as it slid over me, taking in the tension across my shoulders, the tightness around my jaw. She leaned against the doorframe, her hip cocked lazily. “Rough night?”

“You spoke to Elona,” I said flatly.

She took a sip of her coffee, not even blinking. “She wanted the truth. I gave her a piece of it.”

“I’m warning you, Camille.” I stepped closer, barely keeping my voice from rising. “Stay away from her.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is that so?”

“I mean it. You don’t get to stir things up like you always do and expect to walk away unscathed. She doesn’t need your manipulation. None of us do.” I hissed.

“I didn’t manipulate anyone,” she replied smoothly. “But you do realize, don’t you? That this house, your precious little haven, is mine just as much as yours until the court says otherwise, which they won't because there are legal papers. So if I see someone crying in the hallway, forgive me for asking why.”

I clenched my jaw. “You don’t get to play the good Samaritan here. We both know what you’re doing.”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Do we?”

“I don’t care what you think your claim is. Elona isn’t moving out. End of discussion.”

Camille laughed, light and dry and dangerous. “Oh, Tristan,” she said, stepping past me, trailing her fingers along the wall. “We will see how that works out. With this big case and all... I imagine it will get awfully messy. Lots of stress, lots of attention. So many opportunities for cracks to form.” I said nothing.

She turned at the end of the hall, her eyes dancing with wicked amusement. “But don’t worry. I will keep my distance, just like you asked. Cross my heart.” She made a dramatic X over her chest. “Though… it might be hard. We all live together now, remember?” She disappeared up the stairs before I could respond.

I stood frozen, every muscle tight, my hands shaking at my sides. My breath hissed out between my teeth as I shoved open the door to the study room and walked in, shutting it harder than I meant to. The moment it closed, I exhaled, long and slow, like letting the pressure out of a sealed pipe. But it didn’t help, the walls felt too close.

I sat at my desk, hands hovering over the keyboard of my laptop. The screen stared back at me, it was opened to the case file. Harassment Lawsuit. Grace's name in bold black letters. The pictures. The statements. The photo of me standing too close to her outside Lucenti PR, caught mid-confrontation, my face twisted with fury. That damned image was still haunting me. Out of context, it looked terrible and that’s what the media will feed on when they get wind of it, the moments without context.

I blinked, trying to focus. My vision was blurred. My hand reached for the mouse but missed slightly. I grabbed the desk instead, grounding myself. Focus, Tristan. You’ve been through worse. This isn’t the time to break. But it was already happening.

The pressure in my chest was building, sharp and merciless, like something invisible was clenching around my ribs. I tried to breathe through my nose deeply, but my lungs only took in shallow gasps. I pushed back from the desk, rising too fast, the room spun.

“No,” I whispered, gripping the edge of the desk. “Not now.”

The panic swelled, like a wave pulling back, threatening to crash. My fingers dug into the wood of the desk. The sound of my blood roaring in my ears drowned out everything else.

Camille’s voice. Elona’s eyes. Grace’s name. The trial. The company. Too many pieces.

I staggered back a step, then another. My back hit the bookshelf and I slid down to the floor, dragging my knees up as my chest tightened even further. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see properly. My hands were tingling.

“Breathe, damn it,” I muttered, trying to pull in air. “Just... breathe.”

The harder I tried, the worse it got. My throat felt like it was closing. My heart was thundering, too fast and too hard. The ceiling felt like it was collapsing inward. I pressed my palms to my face, willing it all to stop.

This case could ruin everything. Not just the company or my reputation, but Elona too. It could destroy her modeling career. What if she gets called to the stand? Cross-examined? They would drag her name through the mud just for being close to me. And she is living with me, but they need to know that it was with her consent that we started a relationship. She was of legal age...f^ck, Grace had to ruin things out of obsession and rejection. What kind of man lets the woman he loves get torn apart because of his mistakes? I have to fight for both Elona and me in that courtroom.

I sucked in a desperate breath, but it caught in my throat. I curled forward, elbows on my knees, my head between them. Get a grip. You’ve handled worse. You survived Estelle’s death. You built Crane Industries from nothing. You faced boardrooms of people who hated you. But this felt different, because this wasn’t about business. This wasn’t about survival. This was about not losing the one thing I actually gave a damn about.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until the tears hit the floor. Silent, hot and useless. I pressed my forehead to my knees. The floor beneath me was cold. The air tasted metallic. My body was screaming at me to fight the attack, but there was nothing to fight, just ghosts and possible headlines and my own voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, I deserved to fall.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that. Eventually, the tightness in my chest started to ease...just a sliver. My fingers stopped tingling. I forced one breath, then another. My pulse, though still fast, was no longer deafening. I dragged myself up slowly, using the edge of the desk to steady myself. My shirt was damp with sweat. My hands were trembling. My knees barely held. I sat back down and stared at the screen again.

Grace.

Camille’s twisted smile.

Elona’s broken expression.

My company.

This wasn’t just a case. This was war. If I let the panic consume me, I would lose everything...her, the company, and my future. I wiped my face on the sleeve of my shirt and opened the draft statement for the court. My breathing was still uneven, but I would make it through the night... I had to, because if I didn’t… Grace wins. Camille will gloat, and Elona pays the price.