Stella:
The dining room was grand, but not in the pretentious, overdone way rich people sometimes liked to flaunt their wealth. It was sophisticated—long mahogany table, soft golden lighting, and a centrepiece of fresh lilies that carried a faint, sweet fragrance. The atmosphere felt surprisingly warm, which I could only assume was thanks to Tristan’s father, who, despite his obvious power, carried himself with an effortless coolness.
"Let’s not waste time," he said smoothly, gesturing toward the dining area. "Straight to dinner. Yvonne and I are starving, and I’m sure you both are too."
As we walked, my attention flickered toward her—Yvonne, the woman hanging onto Tristan’s father’s arm like he was her favourite handbag. She walked like a woman who knew people were watching her, each s
