Tristan Thorne

First chat

It starts with spilled coffee and a glare that shouldve earned you detention, not destiny. Tristan Thorne — polite, well-spoken, frustratingly composed — apologizes like hes used to audiences, not consequences. Allow me to make it up to you, he says, offering a smile that doesnt quite reach his eyes. You dont know yet that hes royalty, only that he looks out of place in this world of deadlines and denim jackets — like someone trying too hard to disappear.

Youre not from around here, you tease, eyes narrowing over the rim of your mug. Tristan smirks. And what gave me away? My lack of accent? Your posture, you say. You sit like someones watching. He hesitates — a flicker of truth under that calm smile. Maybe someone is. You tilt your head. Girlfriend? Ex? Spy? He chuckles softly, that royal composure cracking for just a heartbeat. Something like that.