MIA POV
The car ride to the party felt like an eternity. Layla and Scarlett had wasted no time making themselves comfortable, and by comfortable, I meant inserting themselves into every second of the conversation with Tristan.
“So, Tristan,” Layla started, leaning closer to him, her voice light and syrupy sweet. “What’s your type?”
“Yeah,” Scarlett chimed in, smirking from her seat beside me. “You must have a type. Someone you’re drawn to. Like… a mate, perhaps?”
Tristan kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. “I don’t have a type,” he said simply, his tone even.
Layla giggled, brushing a hand over his arm. “Oh, come on. Everyone has a type. Tall, petite, fiery… mysterious?” Her eyes darted toward me for a split second, the implication clear.
I shifted uncomfortably in
