Chapter 8

Tristan dragged Genevieve out of Nightfall. Heidi, waiting in the lobby, thought she was in trouble and rushed over. "Let go of her!" she shouted. "Hm?" He shot her a cold glare. She froze, her mind screaming, "Oh crap! It's him!" Quickly bowing, she apologized, "Sorry, I mistook you for someone else." Genevieve looked at Heidi in exasperation and thought, "Seriously, can't you muster a little more courage for the sake of our friendship?" She was shoved unceremoniously into the back seat of the car by Tristan. Sitting upright, she met his cold and domineering gaze head-on, her tone firm. "Mr. Burtman, please show some respect. I don't believe I've done anything wrong. What exactly do you mean by this?" "Show some respect?" He sneered. "Hearing those words from you is ironic." His eyes burned with disdain as he stared at her. "You seem to enjoy hanging around with men. Fine. Once my uncle divorces you, I'll find plenty of men to keep you company. How does that sound?" Genevieve said nothing, merely meeting his gaze. Tristan leaned closer, his voice dangerously low. "But remember this—you're now part of the Burtman family. You're married to my uncle to bring good fortune. Know your place. If I ever catch you fooling around again, I'll deal with you myself." With that, he exited the back seat and moved to the front. "Drive. And replace the backseat cushions later." "Yes, Mr. Burtman." His disgust for her was written all over his face. Genevieve remained unfazed, though a thought crossed her mind—if he knew the person from that night was her, he would probably want to skin her alive. The car ride was silent until it stopped in front of a luxurious villa. She couldn't hold back her questions. "Where is this? Why are you taking me here?" Tristan stubbed out his cigarette and instructed the driver, "Take her in through the back entrance. Don't disturb my grandmother." Genevieve was led to a room on the third floor. The room was dimly lit and heavy, with an oppressive atmosphere. On the bed was a motionless figure hooked up to numerous tubes. "Kneel!" A sudden kick to the back of her knee sent her sprawling to the floor. Tristan approached slowly, towering over her. "That's my uncle—the man your father turned into a vegetable. Your father is dead, but you will repay his sins." She looked up at him, her tone defiant. "I will prove my father's innocence." His gaze turned icy. "I hate people who deny the truth when it's staring them in the face. You'll kneel here until my uncle wakes up. No exceptions." The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the room in silence. Genevieve stood up from the floor. Charlie was innocent, and they had done nothing wrong. She didn't need to kneel. While walking to the bed, she quietly observed the unconscious man. This was Tristan's uncle, a man of similar age to Tristan. Even in his current state, his facial features were strikingly handsome, though his long coma had left him pale and gaunt. She studied orthopedics and had a natural talent for medicine. After graduation, she intended to pursue a medical career, but Charlie's situation led her to switch to architecture halfway through. Sighing, she sat by the bed, massaging Quinton's hands and feet while assessing his muscle condition. While looking at him, she murmured, "You must wake up soon. Once you do, I'll finally be free." The next morning, the Burtmans gathered around the dining table for breakfast. Tristan was casually reading the news when Jennifer glanced at him and spoke to Bernard. "Ms. Gadot is part of our family now. Have someone bring her here and arrange for some daily necessities to be purchased." "Got it, Mrs. Burtman Senior." "That's unnecessary," Tristan interjected lazily before Bernard could act. "I already brought her here last night." Jennifer's eyes lit up, thinking he was finally coming around. "Where is she, then? Bring her down to have breakfast with us." "She's kneeling in Uncle Quinton's room." "What?" She shot up from her chair in fury. "She's a young woman! How could you make her kneel?" Jennifer pointed at him with a face full of disappointment. "Bernard! Go and bring Ms. Gadot down this instant!" she instructed. When Genevieve came downstairs, her eyes accidentally locked with Tristan's cold, piercing gaze. His disdain for her was so intense it was suffocating, like a venomous snake watching its prey. Lowering her eyes, she forced herself to stay calm. "Genevieve, come sit here," Jennifer said warmly, pulling her over to the table. Genevieve immediately recognized the elderly woman—the same woman she had saved on the street a few days ago. "Oh, it's you, ma'am! I didn't expect to see you here." Genevieve felt her tension ease slightly. "Yes, I'm Tristan's grandmother. You can call me 'Grandma' too." "Mom, isn't that the wrong title?" Lillian interjected. "She's married to Quinton. She should be calling you 'Mom.'" "Shut up!" Jennifer snapped, cutting her off. Lillian had assumed that her well-meaning correction would earn her a sliver of goodwill from Jennifer. To her surprise, she was met with a sharp retort instead. Embarrassed, she immediately fell silent, looking visibly awkward. Jennifer enthusiastically turned to Tristan. "Tristan, this is the woman I told you about—the one who saved my life. She's my benefactor." He sneered, unimpressed, still unable to muster any goodwill toward Genevieve. Genevieve said nothing, quietly focusing on her breakfast. Marlee, sitting nearby, smirked mockingly. "Ms. Gadot, is that a bar uniform you're wearing? It really suits you." Genevieve lifted her gaze and flashed an innocent smile. "You’ve got quite the eye to recognize at a glance that this is a bar uniform." The implication was clear—Marlee must have frequented bars often. Marlee's expression turned sour when Genevieve made that remark. Yet, mindful of being in the Burtman residence, she had no choice but to swallow her frustration and hold her tongue. Lillian gave Genevieve a scrutinizing look. Genevieve was not as soft-hearted as she appeared. With a calculating gleam in her eye, she turned to Tristan. "Tristan, your uncle is married now. You're about the same age. Isn't it time to think about your marriage? You know, Marlee—" "My marriage is none of your concern, Aunt Lillian. I already have someone in mind, and we're getting married this month." Lillian jumped to her feet, stunned. "You have someone in mind? Who?" "Harper Taylor of the Taylor family. She's educated, gentle, and exactly the kind of woman I want to marry." Genevieve kept her head down, calmly eating her breakfast. She hadn't eaten since the night before and was starving. Jennifer glanced at her, her brows knitting tightly in concern. After a long silence, she turned to Tristan. "If you don't want to commit bigamy, go ahead and marry Harper."