Bitch Face

**Elysia**

The moment Tristan and I crossed the threshold of the massive double doors, a suffocating wave of nostalgia crashed into my chest. The sprawling mansion stretched out before us. A beige marble staircase sat center stage, splitting into a pristine 'Y' shape with sleek iron railings sweeping upward toward the shadowed second floor. High above, suspended from the vaulted ceiling, hung a massive crystal chandelier. It caught the recessed spotlights, casting fractured rainbows across the polished marble floor beneath our feet.

Despite the modern renovations—the sharper edges, the slate-toned color palettes replacing the warmer hues of the past—the bone structure of the house radiated a deep, comforting familiarity. I hadn't lived within these walls for long, just a brief chapter of my childhood, but those years were solid gold simply because Talia was by my side. Every grand archway and quiet corner held a ghost of our shared laughter.

The rhythmic pulse of heavy bass and the low hum of elite chatter drifted from the rear of the estate. We navigated past the staircase, heading toward the winding stone path wrapping around the exterior right side of the property. Exotic flora and lush greenery lined the manicured walkway, bursting in rich hues of midnight purple, crimson, and stark white. The cool night air carried the sweet scent of blooming jasmine, mixing with the sharp tang of expensive cigars.

But as we neared the final stone corner, my feet turned to solid lead.

I halted on the path. The building nerves I had fought off all evening rushed back, paralyzing my legs. My chest tightened, breath catching in my throat as reality pinned me in place.

Noticing my distress, Tristan stopped a step ahead. He turned back, his sharp gaze softening. He stepped close, closing the physical gap between us, and reached out. His large hand enveloped mine, offering a firm, grounding squeeze. The searing warmth of his palm seeped into my icy fingers, acting as an anchor in the storm of my anxiety.

"Take a deep breath, Lyra," he murmured, his voice a steady rumble against the ambient noise of the approaching party. "You will be fine, I promise."

I focused on the steady pressure of his hand, letting his physical presence steady my racing pulse. I managed a fragile smile, glancing up at his towering frame. "I know. It's just... the nerves are getting to me. It’s been a long time since I walked these grounds, and the memories are overwhelming me."

Without another word, Tristan shifted his grip. He released my hand and slid his palm to the small of my back, applying steady pressure. He pulled me closer to his solid side. The proximity worked. The heavy knot of anxiety in my stomach loosened just enough for me to force my feet to move forward in rhythm with his strides.

We rounded the final stone corner, and I gasped.

The backyard was transformed, rendering the space unrecognizable. Ancient oak trees framed the manicured lawn, their thick trunks and sprawling branches wrapped tight in glowing chains of light. The sheer volume of fairy lights strung from tree to tree formed a breathtaking canopy over the entire space, turning the dark sky into a faux galaxy. Beneath the illuminated ceiling sat dozens of oversized round tables draped in heavy, off-white linens. Crystal vases with intricate gold engravings acted as centerpieces, overflowing with pristine white and soft pink Camellias.

It was a display of absurd, unapologetic wealth. I stared in awe. If this sprawling wonderland was merely the engagement party, the actual wedding was going to be obscene. I scanned the scale of the setup, the towering floral arrangements, the impeccable lighting, and the massive sea of people mingling under the trees.

Tristan let out a low whistle beside me. "Yeah, I agree," he said, reading my stunned silence perfectly. He glanced down at the small gift box clutched in his left hand. "I’m going to go drop this at the gift table before I lose it. Let me grab you something to drink. What do you want?" He nodded toward a sleek bar set up on the far right of the lawn, manned by an army of bartenders moving in synchronized efficiency.

"Anything non-alcoholic would be great, thank you," I replied, my eyes still darting around the venue. "I want to stay as sober as possible." Given my frayed nerves and racing heartbeat, I knew if I touched a single drop of liquor tonight, I’d be downing champagne flutes one after another just to cope with the stress. That was a risk I could not take.

"Sure thing. I’ll be right back."

Tristan offered a quick nod, turned on his heel, and vanished into the dense crowd of guests.

Instantly, his protective bubble shattered, leaving me exposed to the elements. I was alone.

Panic spiked sharp and hot in my chest. I swallowed hard, my hands dropping uselessly to my sides, hyper-aware of my own posture. I had no idea where to stand, where to look, or what to do with myself. Did I just walk up to random mafia elites and introduce myself? The thought made my skin crawl with dread.

Desperate for a familiar face, I began scanning the sea of guests, praying to catch a glimpse of Talia's dark hair. But as I swept my gaze over the gathering, a cold, prickly sensation washed over the back of my neck.

People were staring.

Not just glancing in passing. Open staring. It felt as though half the backyard had zeroed in on me, tracking my presence with cold precision. I shifted my weight awkward on my heels, heat creeping up the back of my neck. The more I looked at the crowd, the more out of place I felt.

This wasn't just a rich family gathering. This was the high-society mafia elite. It looked as though Italian Vogue had hand-selected its top models and dropped them onto the lawn. Women drifted past in sweeping couture gowns dragging across the grass, their necks dripping in heavy diamonds. The men stood tall in sharp, tailored suits screaming lethal power, old money, and hidden weapons. They were intimidating, gorgeous, and polished.

Next to them, I felt like an intruder. I felt underdressed, as though my carefully chosen outfit was nothing more than cheap rags compared to their designer armor.

Where the hell is Tristan? How long does it take to get a simple mocktail?

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I continued my anxious scan of the crowd, begging my cousin to materialize and save me from the burning scrutiny.

Instead, my eyes snagged on a figure standing near the edge of the illuminated patio.

The breath hitched in my throat. My gaze locked onto the sexiest man I had ever laid eyes on in my life.

He stood apart from the central cluster of guests, exuding a dark gravitational pull demanding immediate attention. He wore a dark dress shirt, the top few buttons undone, hinting at the hard muscle beneath the fabric. The sleeves were rolled up past his forearms, exposing thick, tattooed, muscular arms looking capable of snapping solid bone with ease. His dark hair was styled with precision—faded sharp on the sides, thicker and tousled on top—framing a jawline carved from unforgiving granite.

He was the walking definition of perfection. A lethal masterpiece.

My eyes trailed up his towering frame, tracing the broad line of his shoulders, the confident posture of his hands resting deep in the pockets of his dark trousers, until I reached his face.

And met his gaze.

Direct eye contact.

A heavy jolt of raw electricity shot straight down my spine, rooting my feet to the earth. Normally, if caught openly staring at a stranger, I would drop my head, flush crimson, and look anywhere else. But his presence was magnetic. It defied logic and reason.

The man tilted his head to the side. His face was an unreadable, blank mask—devoid of a single flicker of emotion. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He simply looked at me. Boldly, he inspected me from head to toe in return, taking his time to process every inch of my frame.

His intense, golden-brown eyes locked onto mine, possessing a heavy, predatory weight making my pulse roar in my ears. The ambient noise of the lavish party—the clinking crystal glasses, the soft music, the low chatter—faded away into a dull, distant hum. I was pulled into a heavy trance, standing frozen on the grass, finding it impossible to break the intense stare-down. The air stretching between us crackled with unspoken danger.

"Don't look at him like that."

A solid wall of broad chest stepped directly into my line of sight, blocking the tattooed man from view.

I jumped, letting out a startled gasp as Tristan materialized from thin air, shoving a chilled glass drink directly into my trembling hand. The jarring break in eye contact left my head spinning, the hypnotic spell shattering into pieces in an instant.

Tristan leaned in close, his expression dead serious, a hard tick working in his jaw. "He has killed people for staring at him the wrong way."

My mouth dropped open in shock. Bewildered, my brain scrambled to process the lethal warning. I clutched the cold, sweating glass, breathing out a frantic, confused defense.

"Huh?" I sputtered, my voice pitching up an octave. "I was just looking around! How am I supposed to find my cousin if I’m not allowed to use my eyes?"

I offered a nervous chuckle, raising an eyebrow at Tristan, fully expecting him to crack a smirk and tell me he was joking.

He didn't. His ocean-blue eyes remained hard, icy, and devoid of any humor.

"The way you looked at him could get your ass shot," Tristan warned, his voice a low blade, leaving zero room for argument. He pointed a firm finger at my face. "I don't know if you realize this, Elysia, but you possess a severe resting bitch face. You didn't look like you were admiring him. You looked like you were preparing to physically fight the mobster."

The absurdity of the statement collided with the residual, pounding adrenaline crashing through my veins. A deadly mobster shooting me over my aggressive facial expression.

I took a desperate sip of my drink just as a massive bubble of nervous laughter burst from my chest. The cold liquid hit the back of my throat at the exact wrong angle.

I choked.

A massive, undignified coughing fit ripped through me. I doubled over, hacking and sputtering loudly, clutching the glass as I laughed and coughed simultaneously. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I gasped for air, putting on a foolish show right in the middle of the elite crowd.