A chilling silence stretched between them as Tristan stared at Emry, his expression unreadable. The ocean breeze whipped strands of her hair across her face, but she didn’t move to brush them away. She simply stood there, unwavering, as if daring him to be the first to break.
Three years. Three years of unanswered questions. Three years of chasing shadows, believing she had abandoned him, only for her to appear now as if nothing had changed.
His grip on the balcony railing tightened. “You’re alive.” The words came out sharper than he intended, each syllable laced with restrained fury.
Emry exhaled slowly, tilting her chin up. “I never died.”
“No,” he said coldly. “You just vanished. On our wedding night.”
Something flickered in her gaze—pain, regret, but also something else. A secret.
