The silence at the table stretched, the weight of Tristan’s words lingering.
Andrew’s smile didn’t falter. He returned to the couch and sat beside Carrie, leaning back casually, one arm draped along the velvet sofa, her hand still tucked in his. “I’d invite you to join us,” he said smoothly, “but I believe you already have your own suite.”
The words landed like velvet-covered steel. A courtesy on the surface, a dismissal underneath.
Tristan’s eyes held Andrew’s for a beat longer, unreadable, then flicked back to Sofia briefly before he straightened. “Enjoy your evening.”
And just like that, he turned away.
Her roommates craned their necks to watch as he strode back down the landing, this time not to his suite but toward the dance floor below. Within moments, he was surrounded — women
