My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 827

Tristan Davis didn’t reply.

Cynthia Rivera waited, staring at her phone until her eyes stung and her nose burned with frustration. Her fingers jabbed at the screen in annoyance, but still—nothing from Tristan.

Cynthia Rivera: [Tristan Davis! I’m serious, I’m starving and broke. It’s so late, and I don’t even know where to go. Can you please just come get me?]

Cynthia Rivera: [Tristan Davis, do you really not care about me anymore?]

Still no reply.

Tears welled up and spilled over as Cynthia’s heart squeezed with humiliation. She sniffled and, desperation mounting, called Tristan. The call went straight to voicemail.

She dialed again. And again. Each time, the call was immediately declined.

Head swimming, she slumped over the restaurant table, sobbing so loudly that even the staff couldn’t ignore her anymore. A young waiter approached, holding out a handful of napkins.

“Ma’am, here—please, take these.”

Cynthia had always been the dramatic type, and people’s concern only seemed to fuel her theatrics. She pushed the waiter’s hand away, hiccuping through her tears.

“I don’t want them—I just want to cry.”

The waiter looked uncomfortable but persisted, holding out the napkins again. “Ma’am, this is a public place. Maybe you should wipe your eyes.”

“I said no!” Cynthia snapped, her voice cracking.

The manager and some nearby diners were already shooting irritated glances her way. The waiter bent down, lowering his voice.

“Miss, your crying is disturbing the other guests. And you haven’t ordered anything... I hope you understand.”

Cynthia froze, her pride stung.

Softly, the waiter added, “If you’re really upset, I can show you to the restroom instead.”

She lifted her head, eyes red and puffy, and looked around. The other customers were glaring, faces tight with annoyance.

Fine. Even the restaurant didn’t want her.

“Don’t bother—I’m leaving!” she snapped, heart pounding with indignation.

Anger and sorrow tangled together as she cried, minutes passing in a blur.

“Excuse me, do you need help?” A man’s voice sounded above her.

Still raw from crying, Cynthia didn’t even look up. She snapped, “No, I’m fine.”

But her words were watery and weak, more like the feeble roar of a paper tiger than anything truly intimidating.

The man didn’t leave. Instead, he produced a crisp handkerchief from inside his suit jacket and offered it to her, speaking gently.

“Here, take this. It’ll help.”

Cynthia shoved his hand away. “I said I don’t need it.”

He didn’t press. Instead, she caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye as he set the handkerchief down beside her on the curb.

His voice was quiet. “You should wipe your tears. And once you’ve finished crying, you should head home. It’s not safe for a young woman to be out alone this late.”