YELENA

Tristan opened his mouth to protest, his jaw set in that hard line that usually meant he was about to shut the whole conversation down.

But my mother was faster, her hand raised slightly. "Let my daughter do it, Alpha," she said, her voice soft but immovable.

"Please. I have my reasons."

Tristan’s gaze flickered from my mum to me, then back again. He looked like he wanted to argue, to protect me from the humiliation, but he finally let out a sharp exhale through his nose. He didn't ...