Arthur looked like he had been forged in a cold, dark furnace.

“You are a guest in my city,” Arthur said.

“Khloe’s family has shipping lines that—”

“Khloe’s family answers to me when their vessels enter my harbor,” Arthur interrupted.

His voice remained entirely level, devoid of any anger.

“If I see you near her again, I will dismantle your fund by sunrise,” Arthur said.

“You wouldn’t,” Tristan whispered.

Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy gold lighter.

He flicked it open, the small flame casting a yellow glow over his sharp cheekbones.

“Try me,” Arthur said.

Tristan looked at the flame, then at the two large men standing in the doorway.

His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths.

The arrogance that had defined him for years evaporated in seconds.

“Get out,” Arthur said.

Tristan didn’t look at me again.

He brushed past Arthur, keeping his shoulder low, and hurried through the doorway.

The security guards didn’t move until Tristan had scurried past them down the hall.

The gallery fell completely silent.