My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 481

The red mark on his cheek grew darker and more pronounced.

Tristan Davis was breathing hard, his chest heaving with a storm of tangled emotions—regret, helplessness, irritation, jealousy—all crashing together inside him, making every inch of his body ache.

It was Emily Blair’s slap that jolted him back to his senses.

The moment he realized how he’d treated her—what he’d said and how he’d said it—he was consumed by an overwhelming wave of remorse.

Right now, Tristan wished he could march straight back into the office and let Emily slap him a few more times, just to let her vent her anger.

How could he have said those things to her?

How could he?

Now that his reason had returned, all he could do was loathe himself for losing control in front of the girl he loved, for forgetting his manners, for blurting out words that only drove a wider, more hopeless distance between them.

For the first time, Tristan saw himself as nothing more than a brute, undeserving of forgiveness.

He bowed his head, pressing both palms hard against his forehead, and exhaled shakily.

Emily must have been truly furious.

He had never seen her so sharp, so cold—not even when she had confronted employees who betrayed the company’s secrets. She hadn’t been this angry then.

He had really let her down this time.

Just thinking about it made every bone in his body ache, as if the guilt had seeped right into his marrow.

Emily listened to Tristan’s endless chatter without so much as a glance in his direction, as if he were completely invisible.

He talked so much his throat went dry, but she gave him nothing—no reaction at all.

Frustrated but stubborn, Tristan refused to give up.

Emily was sorely tempted to kick the babbling Tristan out of her office, but he knew her too well. He always sensed the exact moment she was about to snap, would fall silent just in time, and promise to keep quiet so she could focus on her work.

When Emily shot him a glare, she’d find Tristan sitting there, lips pressed together, eyes wide and bright with feigned innocence. Sometimes, he’d even mime zipping his mouth shut, looking so earnest and contrite—especially with that suspicious handprint still stamped across his cheek—that she couldn’t bring herself to lose her temper and throw him out. All she could do was look away with an icy expression.

That was usually when Tristan would break into a cheeky grin, drag a chair over, and settle quietly by her side.