Sophia’s P.O.V

I turned around slowly, the chilled air inside the ballroom doing nothing to soothe the dread crawling up my spine. And of course, there he was. Tristan. Standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of that perfectly tailored suit, jaw tight, eyes sharp and accusing.

God, he hadn’t changed. Still dramatic as ever. Still managing to ruin a perfectly fine evening just by existing in it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low but loaded, like ...