The world below was already awake, the hum of New York City ever-present, a constant reminder of the life waiting beyond the walls of the Kingston Mansion. I sipped my coffee, trying to find solace in the routine.
Footsteps echoed from behind me, heavy and deliberate. I turned to see my father, his face a mask of stern determination, storming over with a newspaper clenched in his fist. He tossed it onto the table, the pages fluttering open to a glaring headline.
𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆?
The headline screamed, accompanied by a photo of me running, holding Violet close to my chest. Her face was obscured by her hair and my body, but the image was enough to spark outrage.
"Who is she?" my father demanded, stabbing his finger at the picture.
I kept my expression neutral, glancing at the image. "Just a girl from school," I replied, my voice steady.
"And why are you with her?" His tone was accusatory, cutting.
"Bella invited her to the Ivy Week mixer. We left at the same time. The reporters must have caught it," I lied smoothly. "I was getting her into the limo, away from the reporters."
He studied me, his eyes narrowing. "You can have a fling, Sebastian, but remember your duty. You are the future king. There are expectations."
"I know, papà," I said tightly, the word carrying the weight of both respect and resentment.
"Good. I trust we won't have to have this conversation again," he said, turning on his heel and striding back into the mansion.
I waited until the glass doors closed behind him before lifting the newspaper again. My eyes were drawn to Violet. Something about her, even half-hidden in the photo, tugged at me. I frowned, annoyed at how my body reacted to just a picture of her.
My mind drifted back to that night in the limo, the way her skirt had inched up, revealing smooth brown skin that glowed under the dim light. It had taken everything in me to control myself that day. But I saw how she reacted, too. There was something between us, something that neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
