Dylan’s POVI stretch, reaching out for Tristan, but my hand finds cool sheets instead.My eyes crack open, and I immediately spot him through the open doors leading to the terrace. He’s leaning against the railing, shirtless, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands, his silhouette outlined by the morning sun. Damn, he looks good like that—hair a bit messy, back muscles shifting under his skin as he moves.I get up quietly, wrapping the thin sheet around my waist, and pad out to join him. He doesn’t notice me at first, too lost in thought. I take the opportunity to slip my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my face between his shoulder blades.He hums softly, leaning back into me. “Morning, Prettyboy.”I kiss his bare shoulder, nuzzling the spot where his skin’s still warm from sleep. “Morning. You’re up early.”He shrugs, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”I step around to his side, raising an eyebrow. “Good stuff or bad stuff?”He meets my
Dylan’s POVThe reception’s a is a lot of laughter, clinking glasses, and too many toasts. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and my head’s pleasantly fuzzy from the champagne. Tristan’s hand hasn’t left mine all night, and every time I catch his eye, there’s this fire there—like he can’t believe we actually did it. Hell, I can’t believe it either.Eventually, we escape the crowd, slipping out the back with people still cheering behind us. The wedding car’s waiting—a sleek, classic model with white ribbons on the side. I can’t help but laugh when Tristan practically drags me inside, shutting the door behind us.As soon as it clicks shut, he pulls me onto his lap, and I don’t even think twice. My legs straddle his thighs, and his hands find my waist, squeezing like he’s afraid I’ll slip away. The car jolts into motion, but all I can focus on is Tristan—how his pupils are blown wide, how his chest is still heaving from the excitement.He’s staring at me like he can’t quite believe I’m here, s
Tristan’s POVI can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Marriage. Me. Tristan Wolfe. It sounds fucking surreal. I’ve faced down board meetings, told my old man to go to hell, and built a business from scratch, but somehow this—standing in this quiet room in a damn tux—is making my hands shake like a fucking rookie.Oliver, of course, notices. He’s sitting on the edge of the dresser, nursing a glass of whiskey and looking entirely too pleased with himself. He raises an eyebrow, smirking at me through the mirror. “You look like you’re about to puke.”I glare at him, fumbling with the stupid bow tie that just won’t sit right. “Shut up. I’m fine.”He snorts, setting his glass down. “Sure, you are. You’re sweating like you just ran a marathon.”I growl under my breath, yanking the tie loose and trying again. “I’m not nervous. Just… trying to get this damn thing to behave.”Oliver stands, brushing invisible lint off his suit, and steps up behind me, batting my hands away. “Let me.”I watch h
Tristan’s POVEight months. Feels like a lifetime and a blink all at once. I still can’t believe how much has changed. Hell, I can’t believe how much I’ve changed. Sometimes I catch myself looking in the mirror, half-expecting to see that same guy who used to just nod along to whatever his dad wanted, who did what was expected without a second thought.But that guy’s gone. He’s not coming back.My company’s thriving. More than thriving—it’s making a name for itself, and not just because of my last name, but because of the shit I’ve built from the ground up. Turns out people actually respect me more now that I’m not Richard Wolfe’s puppet. That first month was brutal—learning how to balance books, making deals without my dad’s influence hanging over my head. But I did it. We did it.Dylan’s been with me every step of the way. The guy’s a fucking genius with numbers and logistics, and honestly, I wouldn’t have made it without him. He’s unofficially become my right-hand man. Never let me
Tristan’s POVThe first thing I notice when I wake up is the light filtering through the curtains, warm and soft, painting the room in shades of gold. The second thing I notice is the weight on my chest—Dylan, still half-asleep, his head resting just below my collarbone, one of his hands curled into the fabric of my shirt.I take a deep breath, letting the feeling sink in. It’s been so long since I’ve woken up like this—with someone I actually want to be with, in a place that feels safe. The knot of tension that’s been sitting in my gut for weeks is gone, replaced by something I can’t quite describe—maybe hope. Maybe peace.Dylan shifts, nuzzling into my chest, and I can’t help but smile. His hair’s a mess, sticking up in weird angles, and his lips are slightly parted. It’s fucking adorable, and I’m half tempted to wake him just so I can tease him about it.But then he mumbles something incoherent, buries his face deeper into my shirt, and I realize that waking him up would be an abso
Dylan’s POVAs soon as the words leave his mouth—I love you too—it’s like something snaps inside me. All the tension, the weeks of missing him, the fear that I’d lost him for good—it all just explodes, and I can’t keep my hands off him.I grab his face and pull him into another kiss, harder this time, deeper, like I’m trying to make up for all the moments I thought I’d never get to do this again. Tristan responds instantly, his hands gripping my hips and dragging me closer, like he’s making sure I’m not going anywhere.Our mouths move together hungrily, lips and tongues clashing, and I can feel his hands sliding up under my shirt, hot and firm against my skin. I shiver when his fingertips graze my ribs, and he pulls back just enough to smirk at me.“Someone’s eager,” he mutters, his voice low and rough.I barely manage a breathless laugh. “You’re one to talk.”He just hums in agreement, his lips finding my jaw, then moving down to my neck, sucking and biting just enough to make my kne