"There's only one way Karl would have known I was in Atlanta. You told him, didn't you?"
The rage in Tristan's voice was unmistakable as he accused someone of betraying him. But was it possible he was talking to Rogers, the man who'd been with him since he was a small child?
I listened outside Rogers' door as he denied telling anyone where we'd gone, but I knew guilt when I heard it. He had told that awful man where Tristan and I were. But why? Why would he betray Tristan?
"I've told you that I don't care what you think of Nina. I don't care if you think we should be together or not. I've tolerated your sideways looks when we're together and your opinion on how I should handle my life. I won't tolerate you getting into bed with the man who wants to ruin my happiness. When you put Nina in danger, then I fucking care what you're doing."
"I would never do anything to cause hurt to come to you, Tristan. You know that," Rogers said in his stiff, official style.
"What I know is that I have a traitor in my house. Are you going to tell me why? I deserve to know at least that."
"I've never done anything but protect you."
"By putting the woman I love in danger? How does that protect me? How does that show your loyalty to me?"
What did he mean by danger? Karl had made me uneasy, but was I truly in danger from him? My mind raced as I jumped to conclusions. Had my car accident been something else and were Karl and Rogers to blame? Bursting into the room, I pointed at Rogers. "He's never liked me, Tristan. Did you cause my accident, Rogers?"
"Nina, wait outside. I don't want you around this," Tristan ordered.
"No. I want to hear from him why he hates me—why he wants me out of your life. And I want to know if he tried to hurt me already."
We stood there staring at each other in Rogers' plain white room, and I saw Tristan consider what I'd just accused his butler of. His expression morphed from one full of rage to one of hurt as he looked over at Rogers.
"Answer her. Was her accident something else?"
"Karl is only looking out for your welfare, Tristan, as I am."
His lack of denial sent a chill up my spine. Was he saying he'd intentionally set out to hurt me or worse, kill me?
"You've been like a father to me. How could you do this to someone I love? I trusted you!"
Rogers tilted his chin up in a gesture of defiance. "I'm proud to say that as much as you're a Stone, Tristan, you've been like a son to me. I've watched over you, protecting you for years. When your father chose Taylor over you, as he always did, I was there to watch your football games and hockey matches. It was I who was there with your mother to cheer you on, to take pictures of you with your trophies. Never your father. When you got into trouble, I cleaned it up for you. I cared for you. I'm doing that now. This is no different."
His mention of Tristan's trophies hit me like a slap to the face. Suddenly, I had a memory of me looking at pictures of him as a child. Everything around me faded away as I struggled to place where and when I'd seen the pictures. I could see in my mind Tristan as a young boy holding a trophy high above his head, smiling as his mother stood nearby gazing at him in adoration for his accomplishment. But none of the pictures in the house were of him as a child, so where had I seen this image?
I was torn from my memories as Tristan's voice grew increasingly louder at Rogers' continued denials of doing anything wrong. "Answer the question Nina asked you. Did you have any part in her accident?"
"I would never physically hurt her, Tristan."
"Did Karl do something to the car with your help?" he barked at the older man. "Tell me!"
"Her accident was not due to anything I had any part in. What Karl did is something you need to ask him."
Tristan lunged at Rogers, grabbing him around the neck as he yelled, "I trusted you! You know how much she means to me! You know!"
Rogers clawed at his forearms to pull him off him, but he was no match for Tristan, who was much younger and stronger. The strangled cries of the butler filled the room as he was slowly being choked to death. As much as I hated Rogers for what he'd done to me and Tristan, I couldn't let the man I love kill someone.
Pulling on his arm, I struggled to tear Tristan away, but I was no match for him either. The more I tore at his arms to make him release him, the more he fought to hurt him. I watched in horror as Rogers' face began to turn blue.
"Tristan, don't! Let him go! Don't do this!"
He stilled, and I was sure that the old man was next to death. Tristan slowly raised his hands up and backed away, his face covered in revulsion at what he'd almost done to the man who'd been closer to him than anyone else in his life.
Rogers fell to the floor clutching his throat and coughing. He sat there with tears streaming down his cheeks as the blood began to flow back to his face. Slowly, the bluish tint faded and he looked like himself again. Unable to talk, he simply looked up in shock at the man he thought of like a son.
"Get out! Take whatever you think you need and get out," Tristan growled down at him.
A gurgling sound came out of Rogers' mouth as he tried to protest the order, but Tristan merely repeated himself with even more viciousness. He was cold and distant, scaring me when he spoke.
"Leave and never come back. You're dead to me now."
Rogers' eyes grew wide at the sound of those words. He stood on shaky legs and slowly walked past us into his bathroom, still hunched over from the attack. I remained there stunned at what I'd just witnessed, unsure what to say. Gently, I touched Tristan's arm, but even that slightest contact made him spin around to face me, his dark eyes flashing the fury that hadn't subsided inside him yet.
"Tristan, it's okay. It's me. Everything's going to be okay."
He seemed to stare right through me for a moment and then his expression calmed as he pulled me tightly to him. No words came, but I felt the tension and rage begin to fade away as he held me in his arms.
"I'm sorry, Nina. I had no idea. I should have known. I would have sent him away if I'd known."
I looked up into his troubled eyes and cradled his face in my hands. "Are you okay? What's going on? Why would he want to hurt me or want me out of your life?"
Tristan looked back toward the bathroom where Rogers still remained. "I want you to go to my room and stay there. Don't come out until I come get you. Do you understand?"
"Why?"
He bent down and kissed me softly on the lips, whispering, "I promise someday I'll be able to tell you everything, Nina, but for now, please, no more questions. All I can say is that I would never let anyone hurt you. I need you to believe me."
Nodding, I hugged him. "I do. Just promise me you won't get hurt."
Above me, he said, "I'll be fine." He pushed me back from him and cupped my chin. "Now go stay in my room and lock the door. Don't come out until I come get you."
I wanted nothing less than to leave him there to deal with the devastating reality of being betrayed by the person he'd known and trusted longer than anyone else in this world, but I was frightened enough not to fight him on this. Quickly, I ran to his room and locked the door behind me, my hands shaking in fear at everything I'd seen and heard.
Looking around, I remembered the first night I'd come over from my side of the house to pronounce my anger at being held against my will. That Nina had been so ignorant of who Tristan really was. Never a jailer, he was my protector. I trusted him, and now more than ever, I needed to rely on him, even though I didn't know what danger surrounded us.
At that moment, my memory was what could help me the most, but all I had was the recollection of watching a cartoon with my nieces and the fleeting images of looking at pictures of Tristan as a child. I sat on the edge of his bed and closed my eyes, trying to piece together the memory Rogers' mention of sports trophies had caused to become so real in my mind.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember where I'd seen those pictures. Had Tristan shown me them before my accident, maybe as we began to learn things about one another when we were first dating? Something about the images in my mind gave me a sense that I hadn't seen them with him, but then how would I have seen pictures of his childhood?
I opened my eyes and scanned the room around me. Maybe I had seen them in this room. He had said we'd shared this room before my accident, so that would make sense. I knew it might be an invasion of his privacy, but I wanted to know more about why this memory seemed so important, so I began to look through his dresser drawers.
Running my hands over pair after pair of black dress socks and cotton boxer briefs, I found nothing that felt like it would be pictures. I moved through all the drawers and there was nothing but what belonged in them. His desk sat across the room, so I tried there found nothing that made me think I had seen them in this room.
But if not here, where in this house would pictures of Tristan as a child be?
A noise outside in the hallway jarred me out of my thoughts, and I stood frozen in place staring at the bedroom door. I listened for it again, but nothing happened. My fear at a strange noise was replaced with concern for Tristan, so I took a deep breath and opened the door to find him standing there.
"Why did you open the door?"
"I was worried about you. What happened? Are you okay?" I asked as I pulled him into the room.
"I'm fine."