Amelia’s POV
“Jackson, home,” Tristan instructed his chauffeur as he opened the door and we climbed into a white BMW. Tristan looked livid with anger as he sat down beside me and took out his phone to avoid looking at me. I sat back and closed my eyes. I didn’t wish to create a scene in front of his chauffeur. I might have dozed off, as I felt hands beneath my legs as I was carried bridal style all the way up the elevator to his apartment.
“I’m awake. Please put me down,” I said to him. He put me down slowly and held me by the waist as he punched the security code in. The door opened, and he walked in, pulling me along as if I would escape any minute. Jackson followed us, depositing our luggage in the foyer.
“Thank you, Jackson. You don’t need to come for the next two days. I’ll call
