Chapter 3

Was that Tristan? What was he doing here? This was the courthouse, and people came here to get married or divorced. He must have had someone special in his heart, then. Genevieve swore last night would remain a secret, buried deep within her forever. He was tall, and his black trench coat only accentuated his cold and stern demeanor. His slightly narrowed eyes carried a latent sharpness that made him seem dangerous. Genevieve instinctively feared him. When he approached her, she quietly stepped aside, pulling her neck into her coat collar as if trying to disappear. But as she shrank away, it dawned on her—she didn't need to hide. The room had been pitch black last night, so there was no way he had seen her face. He passed her without sparing a glance, and Genevieve let out a silent breath of relief. He didn't know she was the woman from last night. Tristan walked several feet past her before suddenly asking Ethan, "Do I look that scary?" Ethan scratched the back of his head. "Of course not, Mr. Burtman. You're the epitome of handsome and suave—'scary' doesn't even come close." "Why did that woman look at me like a ghost?" Ethan remained silent. Genevieve continued waiting, but the family she was supposed to meet never showed up. Just as she was about to call Miriam, a cool voice sounded above her. "Are you walking in yourself, or must I carry you?" Genevieve stiffened her spine, and she turned to find Tristan standing before her. "You…" Tristan frowned, his gaze filled with disdain. "Take her inside. Don't waste my time," he ordered. "Yes, Mr. Burtman!" "No, wait—you've got the wrong person!” Genevieve hurried after him, summoning her courage. "You've mistaken me for someone else. I'm supposed to marry—" "There's no mistake. It's you, Genevieve Gadot." Hearing him say her name sent a strange ripple through her heart, but the coldness in his tone quickly doused it. He wasn't just cold in demeanor—his voice carried a frost that chilled her to the bone. But wasn't she supposed to marry a vegetative man? How had it turned into him? Did he know she was the woman from last night? Was this his way of holding her to her promise? After suppressing her fears and wild guesses, Genevieve mustered the courage to ask, "Are you sure you want to marry me? You don't have someone else you love?" Ethan widened his eyes, startled by her words. She was clearly misunderstanding the situation. How awkward. Tristan let out a cold laugh. His tall frame and frosty expression made his amusement all the more intimidating. Genevieve clenched her coat nervously. "What are you laughing at?" "I'm laughing at how naive you are. Why would I ever marry you, the daughter of my enemy? My uncle is the one you're marrying. You will spend the rest of your life by his side, atoning for your sins." "Your uncle?" Wait—atoning for her sins? Was his uncle the vegetative man she was supposed to marry? That wouldn't do. She had already shared such an intimate encounter with him. How could she marry his uncle? She could marry anyone in the world, but not his uncle. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't marry your uncle." Her voice was resolute despite the fear in her heart. Tristan narrowed his eyes, and his entire demeanor turned menacing. He lit a cigarette, his expression mocking as he asked, "Why?" There was no way Genevieve could tell him the truth. If he found out, he would undoubtedly kill her. She blurted out the first excuse that came to mind, "There's no reason. I just don't want to marry him." With that, she turned to leave. But before she could take a step, he grabbed her by the collar and effortlessly lifted her off the ground. "You don't want to marry him? You just can't stand the thought of wasting your life on a comatose man, can you? Let me tell you something. My uncle will never recover. And you—your life will be just as hopeless!" He tossed her to the ground, then turned to Ethan. "My time is precious. Drag her inside." Genevieve stared at his imposing figure in shock. Just now, she saw a trace of killing intent in his eyes.