Chapter 74. What Part Was a Mistake?

Athena

Jess. His dead mate. The woman he’d never gotten over, never stopped loving.

He wasn’t making love to me. He was making love to a ghost, to a memory, to someone who would never come back. In his drunken state, he’d confused me for her, and everything—the tenderness, the declarations of love, the promises—all of it had been meant for someone else.

Before I could stop myself, my hand flew across his face.

SMACK.

The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. The force of it sent shockwaves up my arm, my palm stinging from the impact, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony tearing through my chest.

The slap seemed to snap Tristan back to reality. He blinked rapidly, his eyes clearing as he tried to focus on where he was, what had just happened.

I watched the confusion morph into horror as he realized he was in my bed, naked, and I was looking at him with pure hatred.

“Ath,” he said, reaching toward me.