Nolan leaned back on the sofa, lifting a glass of wine to his lips with the effortless grace of a refined nobleman.
His sharp, dark eyes took in Kiara's turmoil, yet his own gaze remained unsettlingly calm.
"I don't know what 'coldness' you're referring to, Kiara," he said, his voice measured.
"I've made myself clear—I'm simply tired."
Tired of the endless games—with her, and with the entire royal family.
Kiara remained silent, biting her lip as she gazed at Nolan.
The man's strikingly handsome face was expressionless, giving away nothing of his true feelings.
Kiara's hands, hanging at her sides, clenched briefly before relaxing again.
She simply couldn't believe—no, she *refused* to believe—that the man she had loved for so many years could fall for another woman in such a short time.
And a married woman, no less.
"Nolan, I trust you," she said softly, smoothing her skirt as she took a seat beside him.
