When Queen Isabelle offers me a deal to fake an engagement with the Crown Prince, my first instinct is to laugh. I must be hallucinating-blame it on the tea. But as her words sink in, I realize the potential boost this could bring to my tech company...
Jane Goodall: "What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make."
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The flight back to England was suffocating, the silence pressing down on me like a heavy weight. The only sound was the relentless hum of the jet engines, punctuated by the occasional rustle of fabric as someone shifted uncomfortably in their seat. My family had stayed behind in Italy, their holiday a fragile bubble of peace that I refused to shatter by dragging them into the storm that awaited me in England.
Alex sat beside me, rigid and distant, his gaze fixed ahead as if staring into the void. I couldn't bring myself to look at him. The distance between us was more than physical; it was an unspoken chasm filled with everything we weren't saying. I was invisible, a ghost in the seat next to him, haunted by memories I had spent years trying to bury.
The past clawed its way back into my mind, merging with the present. Cold nights on the streets, whispered insults, cruel glares-they all collided with the fear of what lay ahead in England. The fear that had always lurked in the shadows of my life: that I was unwanted, unloved, disposable.
My thoughts spiraled, the images of those vile magazine headlines flashing like a strobe light in my mind. Gold digger. Manipulator. Using a baby as a tactic. Each word was a fresh wound, deeper and more painful than the last. I wasn't even pregnant, but the way they twisted reality into something grotesque made my stomach churn. My entire life, everything I had built, felt as fragile as a house of cards, ready to collapse with a single breath of scandal. And what I had seen was only the beginning-God knows what else the tabloids were spewing out now.
I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms, the pain grounding me. I couldn't afford to break. Not here. Not in front of Alex. He didn't need to see how close I was to unraveling, how the past was dragging me down like quicksand.
When we finally touched down in England, the reality of what was coming slammed into me. The jet taxied to a stop, and through the window, I saw the dark silhouette of the palace looming in the distance against a sky as gray and unforgiving as my thoughts. My heart pounded, a drumbeat of anxiety that drowned out everything else.
As we descended the steps of the plane, Alex's voice cut through the fog in my mind. "We'll go straight to the palace," he said, his tone clipped, professional. The prince, not the man. "My mother is expecting us."
I nodded, too numb to speak. The icy wind cut through my coat, but it was nothing compared to the cold knot of dread that had settled deep in my chest. We climbed into the waiting car, the journey to the palace a blur of stone walls and iron gates, until we arrived at the entrance.
The queen was waiting for us in one of the smaller, more private sitting rooms. She rose as we entered, her movements graceful, her expression a mask of calm. But beneath that calm, I sensed the storm brewing.
"Mother," Alex greeted her, his tone as neutral as hers, a subtle battle of wills playing out in their voices.
"Alexander. Nia." Her gaze flicked over me, sharp and assessing, like a surgeon's scalpel. "Sit."
