The Wife He Tried To Erase (by Gavin) novel Chapter 2

To be honest, my daughter Lucia was an accident.

Four years ago, I was reeling from a bad breakup and drowned my sorrows at a bar.

That was where I met him.

He was the perfect mix of raw sensuality and restrained intensity, every inch of him hitting all my weak spots.

Emboldened by too many drinks, I did something wildly out of character–I took him home.

What followed was electric, a night so in sync it felt like fate.

I still remember the heat of his calloused hands, the rough brush of his skin against mine, and the way his breath hitched when I gasped his name.

For a fleeting moment, I thought maybe this could be something real.

But the next morning, his phone rang. When he answered, his face hardened instantly.

“Understood. I’m on my way,” he had said into the receiver.

He hung up, got dressed, and scribbled a number on a scrap of paper.

“I’ve got an urgent assignment. Call this if you need to reach me.”

And just like that, he was gone. I didn’t even know his name.

I figured that was the end of it. But a month later, I found out I was pregnant.

Thinking that he had the right to know, I tried calling that number several times.

However, no one ever answered.

I felt like a fool.

He probably wasn’t interested and just fed me a line to slip away without drama.

That number? Likely fake, a way to dodge me if I got clingy.

Despite it all, I decided to keep the baby. My health was in a poor state, and that might be my

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only chance to have a baby.

It’s a cliché, messy story, but I’ve never regretted it.

Lucia’s bright, sweet, and sharp as a tack. She’s been my anchor, my joy.

The next morning, Lona called, her voice hoarse from the night before.

“Trist was so damn rough! He dragged me home like a caveman–I’ve got bruises on my arm! I’m telling you, stay away from guys like him. He’s got a violent streak.”

Then I heard a low rumble in the background. “Lona.”

Lona switched gears instantly, her tone turning syrupy. “Trist, you free this afternoon? Can you help my friend move some stuff?”

“No.”

“Perfect!” Lona chirped, ignoring him entirely. “I got you a free laborer. He’s coming by this afternoon to help.”

“Lona, really, I can handle it,” I protested.

“Oh, come on! He’s just sitting around, unemployed, twiddling his thumbs. Let him help.”

I thought she was joking. Tristan hadn’t agreed, after all.

But that afternoon, she showed up at my shop, and there he was, towering behind her.

I run a women’s lingerie store in the city, a small business I’ve kept afloat for years.

I didn’t hire staff, so I mostly handle everything myself.

When I was swamped, Lona would pitch in.

That day, I was in the middle of inventory when I heard raised voices outside.

“This is what you want me to move? Lingerie?” Tristan’s voice dripped with exasperation.

“What’s wrong

with lingerie? Don’t you wear underwear, Tristan? Or are you too macho for that? Keep this up, and I’m telling Dad you’re a sexist pig!”

“Do

you want me to remind you who’s older here?”

Tristan sounded exasperated.

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“Oh, you’re gonna hit a woman now? I’ll make sure the whole world knows what a gentleman you

aren’t!”

Worried they’d come to blows, I rushed out.

“Hey, it’s fine, really! There’s not much to move today; no need for extra hands.

“I am so terribly sorry; Lona probably didn’t explain what kind of shop this is. I…”

I turned to apologize to Tristan, but when I saw his face, the words died in my throat.

He was striking–his features sharp and unyielding, like they’d been carved from stone, yet impossibly handsome.

The deep brown jacket he wore clung to his broad frame, exuding a rugged charisma.

My mind went blank, everything I’d meant to say swept away by a flood of memories from four years ago.

I could still feel it–the way his calloused hands had grazed my hair, the taut veins in his arms pulsing under my touch, his deep, ragged breaths filling the air between us. Every detail was as vivid as if it had happened last night.

I hadn’t expected those moments to stay so sharp, etched into me like they were part of my skin.

“Forget it,” Lona huffed, rolling her eyes dramatically and looping her arm through mine.

“If he’s too good to help, let him go. He’s been gone for years and comes back acting like chivalry’s a foreign language.”

“Wait.”

Tristan stepped closer, his presence towering, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse race.

I fought to keep my composure, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

He cleared his throat, his voice low but steady. “The stuff. Where is it?”

“What stuff?” I blinked, still reeling.

“You said you needed help moving things. Where are they?”

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