"When the hell did she arrive?" Tristan asked in a low voice, his tone threaded with suspicion as he stood beside Adam, both of them watching Beatrice across the ballroom.
She was talking to her father now—Raymond, the very man who had orchestrated half of Astrelle City's corporate web. Beatrice's posture was effortless and polished, her smile too poised to be sincere.
Adam didn't answer right away.
His gaze flicked from Beatrice to the head table—where Sofia sat, laughing softly at something Elise whispered, while Anne poured her a fresh glass of sparkling water. Her friends had finally arrived, and he was damn glad they did.
Because Sofia needed them.
She needed people who reminded her of who she was before the marriage, the contracts, the press, and the ever-growing storm of attention that followed the name "Ravenstrong."
But even without them—even before they walked in—Sofia hadn't flinched. Not once.
Adam had seen it. Had felt it.
