A Rival's Kiss, A Mate's Revenge

Tristan's arms steadied me as we finished our dance, his eyes never leaving mine. My heart raced, partly from the exertion, partly from his intense gaze. The music faded, but the energy between us remained, crackling like electricity in the night air.

"That was nice," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"More than nice," he replied. "Would you walk with me? There's something I'd like to discuss."

I nodded, curious yet cautious. We moved away from the crowd, following a small path lined with tiny blue lights that led to a more secluded area of the garden. The sounds of the gallery faded behind us, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of water from a fountain.

"Hannah," Tristan began, stopping under the canopy of a weeping willow draped in delicate fairy lights. "I owe you an apology."

I tilted my head, confused. "For what?"

He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely troubled. "I haven't been entirely honest with you."