“My name is Tristan,” the man says calmly. “I am your father’s friend.”
Dawson shakes his head. “I do not remember you,” he says suspiciously.
The man chuckles again. “You were very young when we last met,” he explains. “But your father talked about you all the time.”
Dawson thinks about it. “Wait,” he says slowly. “You are the one that disappeared years ago, right?”
The man nods. “Yes.”
Dawson eyes him suspiciously. “Where were you?” he asks. “Why did you disappear?”
Tristan sighs. “I had a lot of problems,” he explains sadly. “I couldn’t stay here.”
Dawson frowns, not sure if he believes him. But he knows that his father trusted this man. And he always trusted his father’s judgment.
He nods slowly. “Okay, I believe you,” he says. “So why are you here now?”
Tristan smiles sadly. “I heard that your father died and I had to come and pay my respects,” he says softly.
Dawson feels bad for him. “I am so sorry for your loss,” he says gently.
“He was a good man.”
Tristan nods. “Yes, he was. And I miss him very much.”
Dawson swallows down the lump in his throat. He feels bad for bringing up a painful subject. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad,” he says weakly.
Tristan waves away his concern. “It’s okay, I’m fine,” he assures. “But there is something I need to tell you.”
Dawson lifts his eyes to meet Tristan’s. “What?”
Tristan takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. “Your mother was not your father’s true mate,” he blurts out.
Dawson gasps, stunned. “What?” he gasps. “How can that be?”
Tristan shrugs. “I don’t know but it is true,” he assures.
Dawson doesn’t know what to do. He feels like everything he believed in his entire life has been turned upside down. “What can I do?” he whispers brokenly.
“Nothing,” Tristan says sadly. “There is nothing you can do.”
Dawson shakes his head angrily. “No, there has to be something I can do,” he protests loudly.
“I don’t know what it is,” Tristan admits sadly.
Dawson shakes his fist in frustration. “There has to be a way,” he insists angrily.
Tristan shakes his head sadly. “I don’t think so.”
He sighs. “Well, that’s all I have to say. I’ll leave now.”
Dawson shakes his hand. “Thank you.”
Tristan nods and then leaves the room.
Iris walks back to the kitchen, still feeling upset. She doesn’t want to be around anyone right now but she knows she has a job to do. She wipes the tears from her face and pulls open the kitchen door.
She walks inside and sees the cook looking at her worriedly. “Are you okay?” he asks anxiously.
Iris takes a deep shaky breath and nods. “Yes,” she assures. “I just need to sit down for a few minutes,” she says weakly.
The cook nods sympathetically. “Okay,” he agrees. He gestures at a chair and then walks over to the refrigerator. “Do you want some water?” he offers.
“Yes, please,” she says gratefully.
He brings her the water and she drinks it down. She feels better but still upset.
He pats her hand. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he says kindly.
She smiles weakly at him. “Thank you, James,” she says gratefully. She takes another deep breath. “I feel better now. Thank you.”
He nods and smiles back at her. “Good, I’m glad,” he says warmly. He stands up. “Are you ready to start cleaning now?”
She nods. “Yes, let’s get started.”
Dawson sits in his office, trying to process what Tristan told him. He knows he needs to figure something out and fast but he doesn’t know where to start.
He looks around the room, desperate for some clue that will tell him what he needs to do.
He looks at the wall where there are several pictures hanging. He stares at one of them, a picture of him and Iris when they were kids. He frowns. What is this picture doing here? He didn’t know it existed until now.
He stands up and pulls the picture off the wall. He looks at it more closely and feels his heart break. Iris is smiling at the camera and she looks so happy.
He feels a pang of sadness. She is so unhappy here. He has to figure out a way to get her away from this house.
He puts the picture back on the wall and sits back down. He doesn’t know what to do but he is determined to figure it out.
“Dawson,” his mother calls from the doorway.
He turns around and looks at her. “Mother,” he greets.
She eyes him suspiciously. She comes further into the room and stops in front of his desk. “I have been talking to Tristan,” she tells him coolly. “He told me about you.”
Dawson shrugs. “That’s why he came here,” he says calmly.
“Yes, well, he also told me that you wanted him to take you away from here,” she accuses.
Dawson stands up. “What? No, that’s not what he said at all,” he protests angrily.
His mother raises an eyebrow. “Really?” she asks skeptically.
He nods and moves around his desk. He stands in front of her. “Why would I do that?” he demands.
She shrugs. “Because you are unhappy here,” she suggests.
“I am not,” he assures her firmly.
She narrows her eyes at him. “Are you telling me the truth?” she demands. She lifts her hand, ready to slap him if he doesn’t answer correctly.