I’m Not Sorry But The Prince Will Marry Me Anyway

At one time, Tristan had considered men who obsessed over their fiancée’s past love life to be nothing more than fools opening Pandora’s box.

What was the point of getting swept up in fleeting, youthful affections that could waver after just a single dance invitation?

"As long as she stays by my side after marriage, isn’t that enough?"

But damn it.

Now, he was the one wavering.

His mind, consumed by intrusive thoughts, had started swinging like a broken pendulum, crashing into everything in its path.

Sometimes, it made his lungs itch, leaving him gasping for air while standing still. Other times, it slammed into his heart so hard that even remaining on his feet felt like a struggle.

Still, he had managed to endure it up until now.@@novelbin@@

He had planned to wait, to not ask any questions, and to simply hold out until the wedding.

But just moments ago, that resolve had crumbled.

"Your Highness did well."

The way her green eyes—burning with fury only minutes before—looked at him now, filled with unwavering trust.

Doris had the power to string him up on the execution rack of hell one second, then seat him at the banquet table of heaven the next.

Of course, that was just a metaphor.

But for Tristan, the line between metaphor and reality had long since blurred.