Andrew’s POV
I sat in a dark corner of a rundown bar, the kind of place where nobody asks your name. The air smelled like old beer and cigarette smoke. My glass of whiskey sat half-empty on the sticky table, but it wasn’t helping.
Emilie’s words from last night kept playing in my head, over and over, like a song I couldn’t stop: “It’s too late, Andrew. I’m his wife now.” Every time I heard them, my chest tightened, like someone was squeezing my heart. I’d told her I still loved her, spilled my guts on that balcony, and she’d pushed me away.
Her eyes had been full of guilt, but there was something else too, something for him. My father, milo Petrov. The man who’d taken her from me.
Last night’s party was a blur of fancy suits and fake smiles, everyone watching Emilie like she was a pr
