Youth [MikhAiah] [Book #1]

26

—🐶🐼🐱🐰—

AIAH

A

s the evening edges closer, Colet, Jhoanna, and Gwen prepare to leave, the princes having fulfilled their duty of keeping an eye on us. The three of them stand by the door, exchanging quiet goodbyes with Maloi, Stacey, Sheena, and me.

"We'll check in again after the gala," Colet promises, her calm gaze sweeping over the room.

"Message niyo lang kami ah," Jhoanna adds, giving me a reassuring look. Gwen offers a quick nod before they all head out, disappearing into the night.

The apartment falls quiet once again, but it doesn't feel any safer. The tension that's been building in me all day hasn't dissipated—it's only grown stronger.

I start the next day with the usual with the girls, coffee, breakfast and everything, but I just couldn't shake the thought of what has been happening lately.

I sit on the couch, clutching the burner phone in my hand like it's a lifeline. Mikha had already reassured me about the plan, telling me over and over again that this charade with Denise is just temporary, just a way to keep their parents at bay. But as I watch the news on the TV, my heart clenches painfully.

The camera pans over the grand entrance of the charity gala, and my breath catches when I see the familiar royal limousine pull up. The King and Queen step out first, dressed in their elegant attire, radiating power and grace. The crowd erupts in applause, photographers flashing their cameras furiously. Then, right behind them, Mikha steps out—looking regal in a tailored suit—followed by Denise, her arm looped through his.

I know it's all fake. I know the plan. But it doesn't stop the tightness in my chest as I watch them together, posing for photos on the red carpet. They look perfect, every move carefully orchestrated to show the world that they're a match made in royal heaven.

But it's a lie.

The screen flashes images of the monarchs arriving one by one—each family more dazzling than the last—all gathered to celebrate not just the gala but the supposed union of Prince Mikha and Denise. Monarchs from all regions of the Philippines are here, though Mikha's family reigns over the entire country. This is the pinnacle of high society, and Mikha's in the spotlight.

And I'm watching from the sidelines. Hidden. Like a secret that can't ever be revealed.

I clear my throat, trying to push down the lump forming there. But it's useless. Watching the interaction, seeing the smiles, the affection they pretend to share—it brings up old wounds I thought had healed.

What if this is all just another lie? The fear creeps in, the familiar dread that maybe... maybe I'm being manipulated again. Just like before.

—🐶—

Flashback

Marc's voice echoes in my mind, sharp and insistent. "You're overreacting, Aiah. It's not what it looks like."

I remember the way he used to twist every situation, making me doubt my own feelings, my own reality. He'd convince me that I was the one being unreasonable, that I was the problem. Every time I tried to stand up for myself, he'd pull me back in with sweet words and empty promises. "I'm only doing this because I care about you. You know that, right?"

But I knew. Deep down, I always knew something wasn't right. Yet I let him control me, let him pull the strings until I couldn't tell what was real anymore.

"Trust me, Aiah. I'll make it right."

Those words haunt me now, echoing in my ears as I watch Mikha and Denise on TV. Is this happening all over again? I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they cling to me like shadows, wrapping around my heart and squeezing tight.

—🐶—

I pull my knees to my chest, staring blankly at the screen, the images of the gala blurring before me. This isn't the same. Mikha's not Marc. But the fear is still there, lurking just beneath the surface, threatening to pull me under.

I trust Mikha. I remind myself. But it's hard. So hard.

—🦊—

MIKHA

The ballroom gleams under the glow of crystal chandeliers, the air filled with murmured conversations and the clinking of champagne glasses. Monarchs from all over the country have gathered here for the charity gala, but it feels more like a stage set for a different kind of play. One where Denise and I are the leading actors.

I keep my arm loosely around Denise's waist, guiding her through the crowd with a practiced smile plastered on my face. We make small talk with diplomats and dignitaries, our every movement followed by the watchful eyes of the press. Denise, as always, plays her role perfectly, laughing at the right moments, nodding politely when necessary.

But deep down, I feel bitter. Hollow.

This isn't who I am. This isn't the life I want.

As we make our way through the event, I spot Juno at a distance, stationed near one of the exits. He's dressed as the commander of the royal guards tonight, blending into the background as he watches everything unfold. He's close, but far enough not to be seen on television. His job tonight is clear the area and maintain security, though I know he's also here to keep an eye on me—to make sure I'm okay.

But I'm not. Not really.

Denise leans in, her voice low but playful. "You okay there, Your Highness? You're looking a little stiff."

I manage a tight smile, glancing down at her. "Just playing my part."

She chuckles softly. "You're doing great. A real prince charming." But there's no real warmth in her words. We're both just going through the motions.

We mingle for a while longer, nodding and smiling at the other royal families, all of whom are here to witness what they believe is the blossoming love between Prince Mikha and Denise. If only they knew the truth.

—🦊—

JUNO

The evening is quiet, too quiet for my liking. As I patrol the halls of the castle, ensuring everything is in order, a strange feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Something's off. I can't shake the unease that's been building all night.

I make my way back toward Mikha's quarters, slipping through the shadows to avoid attention. My steps are slow, careful. When I reach Mikha's room, I stop. The door is slightly ajar.

That's odd.

I pull out my taser gun, stepping inside cautiously, my senses on high alert. The room is empty. No sign of forced entry. But then my eyes land on the desk—there's a letter sitting there, placed carefully in the center of the table.

My heart rate quickens as I approach, the air around me thick with tension. I open the letter, my eyes scanning the neat handwriting.

Marc knows about the Prince and Aiah.