Tristan’s P.O.V

I paced the office for what must have been the hundredth time, my shoes dragging slightly against the marble floor with every turn. My thoughts were a storm, a tangled mess of frustration and worry that wouldn’t leave me be. I kept glancing at my phone, hoping—no, praying—that somehow Gabriella would call back. But nothing. No message. No missed call. Just silence.

"Dammit, Gabriella," I muttered under my breath, running a hand through my hair and stopping ...