Gwen stood near the grand piano, sipping champagne and laughing at something Elise said—until her eyes drifted to the hallway... where Tristan had just walked in, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled from a game of charades gone too far.
Their eyes met.
He paused.
Gwen raised a brow.
Tristan blinked and awkwardly adjusted his cuff like it needed immediate attention. Gwen's lips quirked into the faintest smirk.
"I'll get you another drink?" he offered—too fast, too casual.
She set her glass down. "I'm not a teenager anymore, Tristan."
"I noticed," he muttered, barely audible.
From across the room, Beatrice leaned against the wall in a glittering navy gown, her expression unreadable, her champagne untouched. She watched the interactions unfold with sharp eyes—and the kind of smile that never reached her eyes.
But Adam didn't see her.
He only saw Sofia.
