He rushed over and grabbed her wrist, spinning her around to face him.
“Emily Blair.”
Emily blinked in surprise. “Tristan Davis? What are you doing here?”
She couldn’t help but smile, as if amused. “It’s fine, you really don’t need to come with me. Go back and—”
Tristan’s eyes were tense, fixed on hers. “Emily, you’ve got it all wrong.”
She took a moment to process that. “What do you mean?”
Tristan’s throat tightened. “Cynthia Rivera—the girl you mentioned—it’s not what you think. We’re not together. She’s not my girlfriend. Please don’t get the wrong idea.”
He watched her face intently, desperate for any flicker of relief or happiness in her expression.
But there was nothing. Not even the slightest hint of joy or ease.
Something heavy settled in Tristan’s chest, so thick he could barely speak. “Emily, could you at least react? Say something.”
Emily’s expression was innocent as she asked, “So you’re not dating her?”
A glimmer of hope flashed in Tristan’s eyes. “No, I’m not. We’re just friends, I swear. I don’t have feelings for her.”
Emily blinked, smiling with a playful edge. “Tristan, that’s not fair. If you don’t like her, then why were you hugging her? I mean, you two were holding each other for ages. Isn’t that a bit much if you’re not giving her any sort of commitment?”
Tristan’s grip on her wrist tightened suddenly, disbelief written all over his face. “What are you talking about?”
He leaned in, his voice growing urgent, staring at her impassive expression as the ache in his chest deepened. “Emily, are you saying you want me to be with her?”


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