Page 284 of Bad Prince

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“I was an athlete before I built empires.”

“Soccer?”

A faint smile.

“It was my sport.”

For a moment—it’s easy.

Then—we move again.

Toward the trainers’ wing and everything tightens.

They’re there.

Tristan.

Kane.

Isa—just behind.

The second they look up?—

I feel it.

The shift.

The clash.

I step forward anyway.

Silence looks say more than words.

Then—Tristan steps closer.

His eyes flick over my father once.

Sharp.

Measuring.

And I feel it.

The collision.

“Who’s this?” he asks.

But he already knows.

“I’m her father,” Emmanuel says.

Calm.

Controlled.

And when he speaks—the accent lands heavier now.

More pronounced.

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