Tristan POV
I hated these things. Having to play dress up.
The suit felt too tight across my shoulders even though it was custom. The ballroom was packed with people who smiled with their teeth but watched like they were waiting for someone to bleed. Crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, the low hum of classical music fighting against the sound of clinking glasses and fake laughter. Sponsor galas were always the same—mandatory performances where everyone pretended they gave a s**t about the team while really just trying to figure out how much they could squeeze out of us.
Juniper stood beside me in a black dress that made my jaw tighten every time I looked at her. It wasn’t flashy. Simple, off-the-shoulder, the kind of cut that showed just enough skin to make my hand itch to touch it.
