The living room had long since gone quiet. Sofia was gone—retreated to her room, or maybe further. Adam didn't even trust himself to check.
Tristan sat on the edge of the armrest, nursing a glass of scotch. "So..." he drawled. "That went well."
Adam didn't answer.
"I've seen business negotiations end in less bloodshed," Tristan added. "You gonna tell me what the hell just happened?"
Adam stood by the window, hands in his pockets, jaw clenched. The city lights flickered beyond the glass, but all he saw was her face. The way it crumbled just for a second—before she hid it behind that beautiful, soul-shattering grace.
"She wasn't supposed to be in the living room," Adam said finally.
"She lives here, man," Tristan replied. "You expected her to stay hidden away like some corporate houseplant?"
Adam turned. "It's not about where she was. It's about what it did to me."
Tristan stilled, brows raising slightly.
