Chapter 173
Tristan
I drive through the gates of the Morne estate and leave the car to the servants. The engine ticks as it cools, but I'm already walking, bag slung over my shoulder, feet carrying me toward the entrance.
Inside, the mansion is quiet. Evening light slants through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the marble floors. Servants nod as I pass. I nod back.
Just as I'm about to walk to my room—
"Tristan."
I turn around.
Emmaline Morne is standing in the hallway, her arms crossed, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She's wearing a silk robe and slippers, like she just rolled out of bed.
Which, knowing her, she probably did.
"Hello," I say. Awkward. I'm still awkward around her. She's intimidating in a way that has nothing to do with power or rank.
She just... looks at you, and you feel like she knows everything you're thinking.
She takes my hand. Pulls me along.
"So, how'd it go?" She walks briskly, her slippers whispering against the floor.
