Stand Me Up? I'll Marry His Billionaire Uncle novel Chapter 18

Father Benedict's expression grew stern. "Get your marriage license as soon as possible! The wedding is right around the corner—how can you not have the paperwork sorted?"

Luna's fingers tightened around her fork, her knuckles turning white. Tristan noticed out of the corner of his eye, and his heart clenched.

But Father Benedict was right. It was time to get the license.

"I understand, Grandpa," Tristan replied. "At the latest, we'll do it by Friday. Sunny should be back by then."

Stellan cast a cool, assessing glance at him. "Sunny's on a business trip? Funny, I saw her at the tearoom earlier today."

The words landed like a slap across Tristan's face, leaving him embarrassed and at a loss.

Father Benedict slammed his fork onto the table. "Tristan, care to explain what's going on here?"

Tristan's face darkened, storm clouds gathering in his eyes. "Grandpa, I'll call Sunny right after dinner."

Father Benedict snorted. "Sunny's the granddaughter-in-law I've chosen. If you dare mess this up, just wait and see what I'll do to you!"

—

Tristan barely tasted a thing for the rest of the meal. Even when his sister tried to chat with him, he was miles away, lost in thought.

He couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him. Lately, Sunny's behavior had become unsettling.

He'd always thought of himself as the one in control in their relationship, but suddenly, the girlfriend he'd thought he had wrapped around his finger was slipping away.

"Tristan, will you give me a ride home later?" his sister asked.

He snapped out of his thoughts, but before he could respond, Stellan's low voice cut in.

"Luna, where are you staying now? I can drive you."

Luna pressed her lips together. Uncle Stellan had never shown her any warmth before.

"Thank you, Uncle Stellan, but that's all right. I'll just have the driver take me."

Stellan's lips quirked, almost imperceptibly. "Suit yourself."

Tristan didn't care who drove Luna home. All he could think about was racing back to the house to confront Sunny.

—

He returned to the villa, anger simmering. "Where's my wife?" he demanded.

Daisy, the housekeeper, startled and shook her head. "Mrs. Carter's away on a business trip, sir."

Tristan frowned. "She told you she was on a business trip?"

"No, sir. She just… left with her suitcase…"

A suitcase didn't necessarily mean a business trip.

Wait—no. That day, she'd said she was moving out.

Tristan's face drained of color. He rushed upstairs.

He sucked in a breath.

"Don't change the subject!"

"Sunny, this is ridiculous. I said I'd do the paperwork—why are you making such a scene?"

"I told you already, Tristan. We're over."

He refused to let the conversation end there. "So where did you hide our wedding portrait? Don't talk about breaking up and then sneak off with the picture."

Sunny was in a real estate office, browsing listings. "Oh, I didn't take it."

He paused. "Then where is it?"

She sounded almost bored. "Check your nightstand drawer."

A sinking feeling consumed him. He lunged for the master bedroom, yanked open the drawer, and stared.

The drawer was filled with fragments of torn photographs—shredded memories.

Tristan's eyes burned, his hands shaking. "Sunny, you—!"

"Angry? What's there to be angry about?" Her voice was cold, distant. "You should've expected this the first time you stood me up at the city hall."

Standing in the real estate office, Sunny caught her own reflection in the glass—her smile brittle, devoid of warmth.

"Tristan, there's no going back for us. Not anymore."