Rosalind’s world tilted.
The man in front of her was supposed to be dead.
Yet, here he was—alive, smirking, as if the past hadn’t been soaked in blood and betrayal.
Tristan’s grip tightened on the man’s collar, his expression unreadable, but the storm in his eyes was unmistakable. “You know him?”
Rosalind’s lips parted, but no words came out. How could she even explain?
The past she had buried, the name she had abandoned—everything she fought to leave behind—had just crashed back into her reality.
“I should,” the man rasped, voice rough from the blade still pressing against his throat. His dark eyes flicked toward Nicholas, amused despite the danger. “But I don’t think your little henchman here likes me much.”
Nicholas smirked but didn’t ease up. “Depends. Should I like you?”
The m
