Sophia’s P.O.V

I slowly turned at the sound of the voice, already knowing in my bones what I’d see before my eyes even confirmed it. That drawl, that sharpness laced with feigned surprise and all too familiar venom—it could only be one person. And of course, standing just across the marble-tiled floor of the gallery, partially bathed in the soft golden glow of the chandelier, was Tristan... and right next to him, clinging to his arm like a leech that just refused to let go, ...