It was a quiet Saturday afternoon, and I was deep in my work, sitting at the kitchen table in my parents' house. I'd been crashing with them ever since coming back from Milan, trying to save money while I worked on my new business. Things had been going pretty well. I was focused, grinding, and—most importantly—I'd been moving on.
That is, until my mom poked her head into the kitchen, a confused look on her face.
"Tristan," she said, her voice laced with surprise. "There's a car parked in front of the yard. A really... fancy one. I think you should take a look."
I frowned, pushing my laptop aside. "A fancy car? What are you talking about?"
My mom shrugged, giving me that mom-look that said I don't know, but you'd better check it out. "Just go see. It's not something you see every day."
Curious, I stood up and walked to the front door. As I stepped outside, I froze in my tracks. I couldn't believe my eyes. Parked in front of the house, gleaming under the afternoon sun, was Vanessa's red Ferrari. The same car she'd had in Milan.
"What the fuck..." I muttered, my heart pounding in my chest.
For a moment, I thought I was seeing things. Maybe I'd been working too hard. Maybe I was hallucinating. But then the driver's door opened, and Vanessa stepped out, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders like it always did. She was dressed in a sleek black outfit, perfectly tailored, and her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity I hadn't seen in a long time.
I blinked, completely stunned. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.
"Vanessa?" I said, my voice shaky, disbelief hanging in the air.
She closed the car door and walked toward me, her heels clicking softly on the pavement. There was something different about her—something softer, more uncertain. I could see it in her eyes, the way she looked at me with a mix of hesitation and determination.
When she reached me, she stopped just a few feet away, her expression serious. "Tristan," she began, her voice low but steady, "I've been thinking. A lot."
I swallowed, my mind racing. "What are you doing here? I mean... how did you even find me?"
She sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "It wasn't hard. I knew you'd come back to LA. And I needed to see you."
I shook my head, still trying to process what was happening. "Why? After everything that happened... why now?"
Vanessa looked down for a moment, her hands clenched at her sides. Then she looked back up at me, her eyes filled with something that looked like regret. "Maybe I was too hasty with my decision last time. I... I didn't give you the chance to explain. I was hurt, and I reacted without thinking it through."
I stared at her, stunned. This was not the Vanessa I knew—the Vanessa who always had everything under control, who never second-guessed herself. This was a different side of her, a vulnerable side, and it threw me off completely.
"I blocked you," she continued, her voice softening. "I didn't want to hear your side because I was convinced I knew the truth. But the more time passed, the more I realized that maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have listened."
I felt a lump forming in my throat, but I didn't say anything. I just stood there, trying to keep my emotions in check.
Vanessa took a step closer, her eyes searching mine. "I'm sorry, Tristan. I shouldn't have pushed you away like that. I know now that I was too quick to judge. And... I want to give us another chance. If you're willing."
The air between us felt heavy with the weight of her words. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. For weeks, I'd been killing myself trying to move on, trying to accept that Vanessa was gone from my life for good. And now, here she was, standing in front of me, asking for another chance.
I took a deep breath, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. "You... you're serious?"
She nodded, her expression earnest. "Yes, I'm serious. I've missed you, Tristan. More than I realized. And if you're willing to forgive me... I'd like to start over."
For a long moment, I didn't know what to say. The shock of her sudden appearance, the weight of her apology—it was all too much to process. But as I stood there, staring into her eyes, I felt something inside me soften. Maybe it was the months of guilt, the longing for closure, or maybe it was just the simple truth that, despite everything, I still cared about her.
More than anything, I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that we could move past this, that we could start over. And maybe... maybe we could.
I let out a long breath, nodding slowly. "I... I never wanted to lose you, Vanessa. I just... didn't know how to fix it."
She took another step closer, her voice gentle now. "You don't need to fix it. We both made mistakes. But we can move forward. If you want to."
I hesitated, my mind racing through everything that had happened, the arguments, the heartbreak, the silence. But then I looked at her, really looked at her, and I saw something real in her eyes—something that made me believe her.
"I want to," I said finally, my voice steady. "I want to give this another shot."
Vanessa's face softened with relief, and she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around me. The moment her body pressed against mine, it was like the weight of the last few months lifted off my shoulders. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, feeling her warmth, her presence.
She whispered into my ear, her voice soothing. "Thank you, Tristan. I won't take this for granted."
I pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. "Neither will I."
For a long moment, we just stood there, holding each other, the tension from the past melting away. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't going to be easy. But it was a second chance, and that was more than I could have asked for.
As we stood there in front of my parents' house, under the afternoon sun, I realized that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.
***
Back in Vanessa's Beverly Hills mansion, things were quieter than usual. The massive estate, with its pristine marble floors and grand chandeliers, felt like it should be filled with life and energy, but the atmosphere was thick with something else—something heavy, like a truth that had been buried for too long.
We were sitting in her living room, a space that looked like it belonged in a museum, with its flawless décor and expensive art on every wall. But Vanessa wasn't herself. She'd been quieter since we'd arrived, her usual confidence muted, and her eyes seemed distant, troubled.
After a long stretch of silence, she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You know," she began, staring down at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap, "men have taken advantage of me before."
I frowned, shifting in my seat. "What do you mean?"
She sighed, her fingers tightening around each other as if she was trying to hold herself together. "Men... they see my wealth, my lifestyle, and they use it. They walk into my life, make me feel like I'm something special, and then... they walk out, leaving me worse off than before. Some of them even use my wealth to cheat on me, using the things I gave them to impress other women." Her voice broke slightly, but she swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure.
I could feel the weight of her words settling between us, and it hit me just how deep her scars ran. This wasn't just about that night at the club. It wasn't even about me. This was about years of betrayal, of being used by people she trusted.
"That's why," she continued, her voice trembling, "when I saw that photo of you with that girl... I panicked. I didn't want to take any chances. I didn't want to go through that again, so I kicked you out. I thought... I thought I was protecting myself."
She looked up at me then, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, and for the first time since I'd known her, Vanessa looked vulnerable—truly vulnerable. She wasn't the composed, confident woman who always had control of every situation. She was someone who had been hurt, deeply, and she was scared of being hurt again.
"I'm sorry, Tristan," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. I should have believed you. But I just... I couldn't. I've been burned too many times before."
I felt my chest tighten as I watched her struggle with her emotions. It all made sense now—why she'd been so quick to shut me out, why she'd blocked me without a second thought. She wasn't just reacting to the photo; she was reacting to all the pain she'd been carrying for years.
I scooted closer to her on the couch, reaching out to take her hands in mine. "Vanessa," I said softly, trying to catch her gaze. "I'm not like them."
She shook her head, biting her lip as a tear finally escaped, rolling down her cheek. "You say that now... but how do I know? How do I know you won't leave? How do I know you won't hurt me like they did?"
Her words broke something inside me. I couldn't stand to see her like this—to see someone as strong as Vanessa so broken down by fear and doubt. I gently wiped the tear from her cheek with my thumb, holding her hands a little tighter.
"Because I'm not them," I said, my voice steady and firm. "I know you've been through shit with men who used you, who took advantage of your kindness and your trust. But I'm not going to do that. I'm not here for your money, or your status, or any of that. I'm here because I love you. I'm not like those other men, Vanessa. I would never do that to you."
She looked at me, her eyes searching mine, as if trying to find some reassurance, some proof that I was telling the truth. Another tear slipped down her cheek, and then another, until she couldn't hold them back anymore. She started crying—really crying—and it was like watching someone finally break free of something they'd been holding in for too long.
I pulled her into my arms, holding her close as she cried against my chest. Her body shook with each sob, and all I could do was hold her, letting her release all the pain she'd been carrying. I rested my chin on top of her head, rubbing her back gently, trying to soothe her.
"It's okay," I whispered. "It's going to be okay. I've got you."
She clung to me, her fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt as if she was afraid I'd slip away if she let go. But I wasn't going anywhere. I held her tighter, letting her know that I was here, that I wasn't going to leave her like the others had.
After a while, her sobs started to quiet, and she pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her makeup was smudged, her face red from crying, but there was something softer in her expression now, something that hadn't been there before.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to... fall apart like that."
I shook my head, giving her a small smile. "You don't have to apologize. You've been through a lot. You don't always have to be strong, Vanessa. It's okay to break down sometimes."
She looked at me, her eyes still filled with tears, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "You're really not like them, are you?"
I smiled back, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "No. I'm really not."
For the first time in a long time, I saw hope in her eyes. The walls she'd built around herself were still there, but they were starting to crack, to let me in. She leaned her head against my chest again, and I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close.
We sat there in silence for a while, just holding each other. No more words were needed. The message was clear. I wasn't going to walk out on her. I wasn't going to use her, betray her, or leave her broken.
I was here. And I wasn't going anywhere.
Q: Would you have gone back like Tristan did?