The hum of the private jet's engines filled the cabin. They were thirty thousand feet in the air, leaving the glittering chaos of Los Angeles—and the "Blair Guzman" alias she’d used to hide her identity there—far behind.
Blair leaned back in the cream leather seat, her eyes closed. The makeup was wiped off, the diamond necklace was gone, and the sheer exhaustion of the night was etched into the hollows of her cheeks.
Tristan sat across from her. He reached into the galley and poured a glass of warm water, not champagne. He placed it on the small table beside her hand.
"Stop pushing yourself," he said quietly. "I know you didn't sleep at all last night."
Blair opened her eyes. The hazel irises were dull, guarded. She picked up the water, her fingers wrapping around the warmth. "Just had some loose ends to tie up."
Tristan sighed, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "Is it about Alexis Ashley, or is it about Butler McIntyre?"
At the mention of the second name, Blair's fingers tightened around the glass. The knuckles turned white for a fraction of a second before she forced them to relax. "Both."
Tristan watched her, a deep frown pulling at his brow. "Blair, you don't have to live like this. You don't have to carry everything alone."
She turned her head, looking out the small oval window at the endless black sky and the clouds below. "It's the choice I made."
A heavy silence fell between them. Tristan rubbed his jaw, the stubble rasping under his palm. "I just can't believe them," he said, his voice laced with years of frustration. "After everything... after dumping you on my mother's doorstep because some crackpot psychic said you were 'cursed.' And now they want to drag you back for a family dinner? The hypocrisy is staggering."
Blair let out a soft, hollow laugh. "A trap?"
"More or less," Tristan said, his eyes dark. "Hughie and Georgiana are back. They've been talking to Aunt Joella. The main item on the agenda is your marriage."
The words landed without surprise. Blair had been raised by Joella, Tristan's mother and her aunt, learning to view the world through a lens of profit and loss. Her biological parents, Hughie and Georgiana, had showered their other daughter, Kiana, with love, while treating Blair like a leper they were forced to acknowledge on holidays. Love was a liability. Family was a balance sheet. And she was their most valuable, untapped asset.
"You knew?" Tristan asked, searching her face.
"Glover Group needs a European conglomerate alliance to expand," Blair said, her voice monotone, like she was reading a financial report. "I'm the most valuable asset they have to trade. It's simple math."
Tristan looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He looked utterly defeated.
"Do you really plan to just accept whatever they decide?" Tristan asked, his voice tight.
Blair placed her glass down on the table with a soft click. "Do I have a choice?"
She didn't voice the thought that echoed in her mind: They want to trade me, but they don't know I've already sold myself to a much more dangerous master.
She had kept the secret of her marriage to Butler locked away, even from Tristan.
The plane banked, beginning its descent. Through the window, the dark outline of the Long Island coastline appeared, dotted with the lights of sprawling estates.
Tristan reached across the aisle and covered her hand with his. His palm was warm and solid. "Whatever happens, I'm on your side."
A flicker of warmth touched Blair's chest, but it was quickly smothered by the freezing reality of her life. "Thank you, Tristan," she whispered.
She looked out the window as the Glover family estate came into view. Her eyes hardened into chips of green ice. The war was just beginning.
