By midnight I found myself going stir crazy. It was a feeling that my father used to call “Shack-Whacky,” that sensation of cabin fever that sets in when you isolate yourself far from civilization with no company but your own tortured, lonely mind.

I was desperate enough for human contact—any contact at all, really—that I was even contemplating seeking out Kara for some girl time. Even if she couldn’t tell me what was going on, anything would have been better than sitting on my hands, wondering where Tristan was, if he was safe, if I’d ever see him again.

But something told me if I talked to her it would only freak me out. She’d been so odd in the car, so hard to read. She was a strange woman anyhow, but I’d felt this wall around her, like she was trying to protect me and herself from some outside force that could hurt us both.

Maybe I’d imagined it. All I knew was that I hadn’t felt like this in a long time—this feeling of foreboding, of danger. Of loss.

Not since the night my father had died, when I was twelve years old. I still remembered hearing about the accident. Remembered my mother running out of the house, leaving me there alone, waiting in horror for any news.

I’d loved my father. He was my world. Tristan wasn’t, at least he wasn’t supposed to be. He was supposed to be a guy I hardly knew. A man I’d never kissed on the lips. He was nothing more than a fantasy that I’d pumped up too much in my own mind. So why did I feel the pain of his absence in the marrow of my bones?

What was wrong with me?

On the table in front of me my phone buzzed, drawing a throb from my chest. I reached over to grab it, only to see a text from Clarissa.

I could have answered her. Could have told her about Tristan, about his offer of the deed and my acceptance. But right now it all seemed so far removed from me, from my emotional state, that I couldn’t face it. I was withdrawn from my own existence.

I rose to my feet and padded over to the French doors that led out to the balcony. Slipping out silently, I pressed into the railing only to spot two silhouettes on the lawn below.

I could hear the quiet roundness of Tristan’s deep voice, his form shadowed against the dark woods. I could tell by the shape of the other shadow that he was talking to Kara. No doubt he was telling her what had happened. Why he’d left me so abruptly.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, my emotions began to collide inside me. I was relieved, of course, to see that he was all right. But I could barely fight back the violent pang of envy that hit me, to know he’d gone to her first. He was confiding in his receptionist before coming to check on me. That hardly boded well for the future of our relationship.

I had no idea what the two of them were talking about, other than the fact that it was serious. But after a few minutes, Kara let out a cry that could only be described as a wail of utter anguish. Tristan grabbed hold of her and pulled her tight to his body, like he was trying to keep some deep pain from setting in.

He was shielding her like I wished he would shield me.

All of a sudden I was beginning to feel like I was invading their privacy. But there was something else, too.

The feeling that I no longer belonged in this place.

Maybe I didn’t fit into this world of his. It was beyond my understanding, beyond my grasp. I’d probably never manage to get Tristan to care about me like he obviously cared about Kara. Which meant that I shouldn’t have come with him in the first place.

As quietly as I’d stepped out, I turned and walked back into the bedroom, my stomach tying itself in tight, destructive knots. I sat down on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with my fingers as I tried to work out what to do. I wished I had a car, a plane of my own—any means to escape this place. Suddenly I had no idea why I’d come, why I thought it was a good idea to isolate myself with a man who was clearly wrapped up in affairs he’d never trust me enough to tell me about.

Finally, a knock sounded at the bedroom door. For a few seconds I considered not answering, but when a second series of knocks came, I rose reluctantly to my feet and trudged over.

“I’m back,” Tristan said a little too cheerfully when I’d opened the door. Clearly he took me for an idiot.

“Yes, you are, aren’t you?” I stared at him, my expression probably as sour as my insides were feeling.

“And you’re not happy to see me,” he replied, frowning. “Listen, Ariana, I’m sorry for what happened—I’m sorry I had to leave like that. It was an emergency. A matter of life and death.”

I turned and strode over to the couch, plopping myself down hard. “Right. A matter of life and death. I don’t suppose you’re going to explain it to me, though,” I said. “Are you?”

“I can’t explain it,” he said. “Except to say that things have become too dangerous here. I’m too dangerous. I told you I made a mistake by bringing you here. You shouldn’t be with me, Ariana. It was stupid of me. A mistake, to think I could make this work. I take full responsibility.”

I let out a snort of derision. “I don’t suppose you’re going to explain what you mean by that,” I said, staring at him. He pulled his eyes away to look towards the window. “No, of course you aren’t,” I added. “You tell your fucking assistant what’s going on, but not me.”

His mouth set itself in a stern grimace. “So, you were outside, watching us,” he said. “I thought I picked up your scent.”

At that, I let out a guffaw. “My scent? Right, because you’re a dog,” I said. “A bloodhound, right? You can smell me from a mile away.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he just turned and stared at me, those feral eyes of his focused like intent lasers. I felt like he was waiting for me to come to my senses. But that wasn’t going to happen. I was too angry. My walls had come up with a vengeance and there was no way I was going to let him break them down again.

“You should leave, Ariana,” he said. “You should get far away from me, and we shouldn’t…be together.”

With those words of his, the quiet rage that had been burning inside my chest twisted into a sharp, acute pain. He was right, and I knew it. But it hurt. Somehow, I’d let myself get wrapped up too tight in the web that was Tristan Wolfe, and now the thought of actually pulling myself away was like torture.

“You’re right,” I said miserably. “I should get far away from you. But not because you’re dangerous. I should leave because you don’t fucking trust me, Tristan. You don’t trust me enough to let me into your world.”

For a few more seconds we locked eyes, a silent battle of wills raging between us. But he didn’t argue.

“I’ll have Kara take you to the airfield,” he said. “They’ll fly you back tonight.”

“No,” I replied. “I don’t want to spend time with her. Call me a taxi. I’ll get there on my own. If she has to co-pilot, fine. But I don’t want to be near her.”

I didn’t want any reminder of what had happened, of the intimacy I’d witnessed between them. I just wanted to get away so the tightness in my chest could disappear. So that I could breathe again.

“Fine,” he said. “Be ready to leave in ten minutes.”

He left the room, shutting the door behind him.

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see him again.

The only thing I knew was that I was better off in New York, far from the bastard who was doing his damnedest to break my unbreakable heart.