The Heart's Bargain

The air in Tristan’s opulent penthouse was thick with unspoken words, a heavy blanket woven from duty and a nascent, terrifying attraction. Cherri traced the rim of her wine glass, the cool glass a stark contrast to the heat that prickled her skin whenever Tristan’s gaze lingered too long. He sat across from her, a predator at ease in his domain, yet there was a new stillness about him, a watchful intensity that mirrored her own. The sterile white of his shirt did little to soften the hard edges of his jaw, the sharp line of his nose. He was a study in controlled power, a force of nature she was inextricably bound to.

“You’re quiet tonight, Cherri,” Tristan’s voice, a low rumble that vibrated in the stillness, finally broke the silence. It wasn’t an accusation, but an observation, laced with that familiar, unnerving curiosity.

Cherri shifted, the silk of the dress he’d procured for her whispering against her skin. It was a deep emerald, a shade that made her feel both elegant and dangerously exposed. “Just… thinking.”