As Jane sneaked out through the back exit, she spotted Tristan grinning widely as he stepped out of the car. He only had one bodyguard with him, his trusted one, Alfred. Before she could take a step further, someone from her university yelled Tristan’s name. “It’s the Prince!” Another one joined. And just like that, they were instantly swarmed with the paparazzi and students, trying to take exclusive pictures of them.  She felt suffocated with all the people approaching them, a wide grin on their faces as they tried to slid in beside the Prince and took selfies. That was new. Well, he was extraordinarily successful and handsome, so there’s that.  Tristan was a pro. He didn’t shy away from the pictures, posing with the peace sign and a fake smile. The bartender knew that it was fake because he always had crinkles around his eyes whenever he smiled. 

Tristan picked up the call on the first ring which made her brows shot up. Why was he up so late? She thought that it would be a few more rings before he woke up. Then she realised that he did have a habit of staying up late.     "The only reason I'm up is that I recognised your ringtone. So this better be good" He rumbled, his voice deep and sending a shiver down her spine.      A smile tugged at her lips. "You have a ringtone for me?"    "You don't have a ringtone for me?" Tristan mock offended asked. She could quickly identify the teasing tone in his voice. It's easy now because the bartender has spent a lot of time with him to know precisely his humour. To think she thought of him as some rich snob with massive dick in the beginning. The second part of it was correct, though. He

"Hey. Princeling?" In the mirror, she caught Tristan’s eyes and held them.   It was one of those days where she had to train under Bella. Frankly, Jane didn’t understand why she still had to do it. She thought the Que

/Tristans POV/   They were picked up at the airport by Jean, their tour guide, a tanned,  loud man whose love of fashion was evident by the way he colour coded everything. Even

/Tristans POV/  Tristan had fallen asleep on his back, in the middle of his own mattress. That should have kept him away from wandering, right? Apparently not. When he woke up, he’s lying on his side, with a mouthful of hair, and his dick pressing uncomfortably against the front of his boxers. It's too hot. He could feel heat thrumming through him; his hair damp on the back of