Tristan Davis stiffened, his neck tense as he turned to Emily Blair. “What is it?”

Emily raised her chin, her eyes steady. "Didn't you say I should pretend to be your girlfriend? This is how it's done."

Tristan pressed his lips together, lowering his voice as he fixed his deep gaze on her profile. "Alright."

When the waiter opened the private dining room door, Emily slipped her arm through Tristan's, her posture graceful and composed as they walked in together.

Tristan gently disentangled her arm from his and took her hand in his own. “Grandpa, this is my girlfriend, Emily Blair. I wanted you to meet her today."

Inside, a single elderly man sat at the head of the table. The moment he caught sight of Tristan, his face darkened and he let out a cold snort. "So you still remember to come see me? Useless boy. Raising you was a waste of my time!"

Tristan's expression soured at once. "Grandpa, my girlfriend's right here. Could you at least give me some respect?"

The old man slammed his palm on the table. "Respect? You want respect? What about me? People out there laugh at me, say I can't control my own grandson, and you-always running wild, making trouble!"

Tristan looked ready to argue, but Emily squeezed his fingers, giving him a subtle look. He swallowed his words.

Unfazed, Emily smiled politely at the stern old man seated in the center.

"Mr. Davis, hello. I'm Tristan's girlfriend, Emily Blair." She set a gift box on the table and nudged it toward him. "Tristan mentioned you enjoy a good whiskey, so I brought this bottle all the way from Scotland. I hope you'll like it.”

As she spoke, Emily calmly took in the man across from her. He was sharply dressed and looked every bit the tough old patriarch—rigid posture, alert eyes, lips set in a firm line. Though age had marked his face, he still radiated a stubborn, no- nonsense energy.

Steven Davis glanced at Emily, then at the box, then at Tristan. He snorted again, his tone cool and distant. “Ms. Blair, you didn't need to trouble yourself. Tristan's behavior these years is my fault for not raising him better. Don't take it to heart. Please, both of you, have a seat.”

Emily arched an eyebrow.

Well, aren't you a tough old nut to crack, she thought. Every word made it clear he saw her as an outsider, not Tristan's real girlfriend.

Tristan frowned, insisting, "Grandpa, what are you talking about? She is my girlfriend."

Steven's voice was cold. "I've kept track of everyone you've been involved with over the years. Ms. Blair is impressive—I'll give her that. But that's beside the point. I've already arranged a suitable fiancée for you, Tristan, someone truly fitting. You two need to part ways, no use wasting each other's time."

Tristan nearly laughed. “Did I ever say I agreed to your arrangement?"

Steven's voice dropped. "And what would you have me do? She's Lance's granddaughter. Lance and I were comrades. He saved my life. I promised him before he died that I'd look after his family. I won't let his granddaughter suffer. By bringing your girlfriend here, you're letting that girl down."

"You grew up with her, Tristan. You two have known each other forever; both families are well-matched. Her parents think the world of you, your parents adore her. I watched her grow up-she's smart, polite, and she even learned computer science just to have something in common with you. She's been waiting for you all these years. For her sake alone, you have to marry her!"

"You're coming home with me right now. We'll talk to her family and plan the wedding. It's time to get your act together the family business needs you. Enough of this nonsense."

Tristan let out a cold laugh. “I've only ever seen Pamela as a little sister, nothing more. I will never marry her. So stop trying, Grandpa. I'm not going back."