Tristan’s fingers curled around the delicate perfume bottle as if it held all the answers he had been denied. His pulse pounded in his ears, a war raging between fury and the raw pull Emry still had on him.
“You’re saying Orchid’s formula came from you?” His voice was dangerously low, testing the weight of her accusation.
Emry’s eyes burned with conviction. “Not just the formula, Tristan. The entire line. Orchid was my creation.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “That’s impossible. I built this empire from the ground up.”
“No,” she countered, stepping closer, her scent—one he had once memorized—stirring the air between them. “You built it off a lie.”
The words sliced through him.
His entire business, his legacy, was built on the Orchid perfume line. If what she was saying was true… if the
