BONDS UNBROKEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

Chapter Twenty

After Marcellus had greeted them, silence hung in the air. Mrs. Tristan’s eyes widened in shock as recognition struck.

“Marcellus??” she breathed, clutching her husband’s arm. “When did you come back?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but before a single word could escape, Briella cut through the moment like a blade.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice sharp, low, dangerous.

Kendrick smirked, adjusting the cuffs of his designer jacket. “What do you mean, what are we doing here? Isn’t it obvious?”

Her jaw tightened. “Get out.”

The sharpness of her tone startled even Marcellus.

“Excuse me?” Kendrick raised a brow, his voice dipped in arrogance.

“I said get out!” Briella snapped, her fury now unrestrained. “You have no right to be here. Not now. Not ever.”

“Watch your tone, Briella,” Mr. Tristan said sternly.

But Briella wasn’t listening. The years of swallowed pain, of pretending, of forcing calm—all of it boiled over. “I swear if you don’t leave this place, you won’t like the next thing that happens.”

Kendrick stepped forward, puffing his chest, glaring down at her. “And what exactly can you do?”

Her lips curled in disgust. “Have you forgotten how Genevieve died?”

The words sliced through the air. For the first time that night, her parents visibly flinched, their eyes darting nervously around.

“Briella, enough,” Mrs. Tristan hissed quickly, forcing a smile. “We’ll leave as soon as we drop our flowers.”

Briella’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “Flowers? Genevieve doesn’t need your flowers. Save them for when your precious son finally dies. Or whichever of you dies first.”

Kendrick’s eyes darkened. He lunged forward, his hand raised to strike her.

“Do it,” Briella dared, her eyes locked on his. “If you want to lose that hand, Kendrick, try me.”

Her tone, her stance, her sheer rage froze him mid-motion. His hand trembled, but he didn’t move further.

“You’re not needed here,” Briella spat. “Genevieve doesn’t need you, and neither do I. Don’t ever come back to her grave again.”

She stood tall, unwavering, until she saw the three of them retreat, their backs stiff, their faces etched in shame. Only when they were out of sight did she turn away, her hands still trembling, her chest heaving.

Marcellus had been silent the whole time. His mind spun with questions, confusion, and the raw weight of what he had just witnessed. But he could see how much rage still crackled inside her, how fragile her calm was. Asking now would be cruel.

So he said nothing.

They reached his car. The silence was thick, almost suffocating. Briella stared out of the window, her hands locked in her lap, her breathing uneven.

Then, unexpectedly, Marcellus spoke. His voice was low, almost playful.

“Ice cream.”

Her head turned sharply toward him. “What?”

“Ice cream,” he repeated, this time with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You look like you need it.”

Before she could argue, he started the car, pulling smoothly out of the cemetery. She wanted to be annoyed, to resist, but somehow she couldn’t. Something about his casual tone cut through the heaviness pressing down on her chest.

Minutes later, they sat side by side in a quiet little ice cream parlor. The soft hum of the freezer filled the silence as Briella absentmindedly swirled her spoon in her cup.

Marcellus leaned back in his chair, watching her. “Still chocolate?” he asked.

Her lips twitched before she could stop herself. “Still vanilla for you?”

He chuckled. “Some things don’t change.”

For the first time in years, Briella let herself relax, just a little. They didn’t talk about the cemetery. They didn’t talk about the Tristan family. They didn’t even talk about the years they’d lost. Instead, they shared quiet spoonfuls of sweetness, exchanged small smiles, and allowed the silence to be… comfortable.

When they finally stepped outside, the night air was cool, brushing softly against their skin. Briella hugged her arms around herself, and without thinking, Marcellus shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“Marci—” she began, then caught herself.

He looked at her, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Say it. I’ve missed that name.”

Her throat tightened. She looked away, but her heart betrayed her by beating just a little faster.

And for the first time since his return, it didn’t feel like she was standing across from a stranger.

It felt like she had her Marci back.

....

✨ End of Chapter Twenty ✨