Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Princess

Between Noise and Silence

The lights of the club are like a kaleidoscope, spinning and mixing in a chaos of colours that distracts me from everything. This is my safe zone: deafening noise, moving bodies, expensive drinks in crystal glasses. Here it doesn't matter who I am or what they expect of me. I'm just Alexandra, the one who takes three shots of whiskey without blinking and makes the whole damn place dance.

The DJ changes the song, and the laughter mixes with the bass that rumbles in my chest. I move through the people as if it were all a dream; a hand here, a provocative smile there. I feel alive only when I'm on the edge, on the edge of scandal, on the edge of what everyone expects a princess not to do.

But of course, there's always a shadow following me. Security. Sometimes I wonder if they're really here to protect me from others or to protect others from me.

"Your Highness, do you need anything else?" the voice of one of the bodyguards rings in my ear. I raise my hand without deigning to look at him.

"Don't ruin my night, Tommy. I'm fine," I growl, as I walk over to the bar and order another whiskey. Tommy knows when to back off, knows that pushing me never ends well for anyone.

The bartender gives me a smile that could be flirtatious if I gave a damn. But I don't care. I never do. I don't trust anyone here. Everyone is here for something, be it my name, my money, or whatever they can gain from getting close to me. It's better this way. If you don't let yourself be known, no one can hurt you.

Except him. My father.

I think of his last call. That deep, calm voice that always manages to get through my defences, even when I try to put up the highest walls.

"Lexie, you should stop by the castle this weekend. Your mother wants to talk to you," he said softly. His tone almost makes me feel guilty, but I know what that means: another lecture about "expectations" and "appropriate behaviours." More crap I'm not interested in hearing.

"We'll see, Dad. I have plans," I tell him bluntly, knowing there was no way he could change my mind. My father understands how I am. He respects me even when he doesn't agree. The only good thing I have in this life is my relationship with him. I don't have to hide so much from him.

But my mother... she's another matter. Every time we talk, I feel like I'm standing before a court of law. Everything I do is wrong, every action a stain on the family name. I'll never be perfect enough for her.

Tommy steps closer again, this time closer. "Your Highness... there are paparazzi outside."

"So what?" I laugh, knowing the pictures will come out tomorrow. Princess Alexandra on another wild night—same damn headline as always. I don't give a damn.

Or so I tell myself.

As I think about how to escape my own life, a memory from last week's gala appears out of nowhere, like a blow I didn't see coming. Taylor.

Taylor Swift. I'm not a fan, not really, but she's impossible to ignore. The woman has presence. She moved through the crowd with that mix of elegance and friendliness that makes her seem genuine, even when she's not. Or at least, that's what I thought until our eyes met.

For a second, I saw something in her gaze that made me uncomfortable. It wasn't just curiosity or admiration, it was something deeper, something that made me feel... exposed.

"Princess Alexandra" she said to me when we finally left the large room. Her voice was soft, but confident. Too confident.

"Taylor Swift," I answered, trying to put on the same coldness I always use to keep people at a distance. But she didn't back down.

"I've heard a lot about you," she said, smiling as if she knew something I didn't.

"I hope it's not all true," I replied, taking a sip of my champagne, my eyes fixed on hers. I was used to people admiring me, being dazzled by the title or the fame. But Taylor didn't seem impressed by any of that.

"What matters is what I see, not what others say," she replied with an enigmatic smile, and there I felt it again, that feeling that she saw beyond my facade, the "wild party girl" I showed to the world.

I didn't like it. I didn't like being dismantled so quickly.

The conversation was short, interrupted by another of the endless obligations of the night, but that moment remained stuck in my mind. No one had ever been so bold with me.

Back at the club, the noise around me feels like an attempt to drown out that memory, but it doesn't work. I can't get it out of my head. That look, that damn smile.

I raise my whiskey, but my mind is somewhere else. It irritates me and intrigues me. No one is usually interested in what's behind my facade. And yet, when she talks to me, I feel something different.

Why do I care? I shouldn't. I can't trust anyone, much less someone like her, famous for being the romantic soul of half the world. Surely she's another fool who thinks I'm anything more than this broken girl who doesn't know how to be vulnerable. Or worse, one who thinks she can fix me.

But I can't get her out of my head. Her eyes, the way her laugh seemed to rip something out of me, something I thought I'd buried long ago.

I lean back in my chair, the cold glass in my hand, and close my eyes, letting the noise of the club envelop me completely. The problem is, the noise never lasts long enough. The silence always comes back, and that's when doubts catch up with me.

"Come on, Lexie. Another round," one of my friends from the night, whose name I barely remember, grabs my arm excitedly.

"Don't call me Lexie," I say coldly, pulling my arm away and giving a warning look. Only my father calls me that.

She laughs nervously and steps back. People always step back.

I stand up and head for the exit. I need air. The cameras are there, of course, ready to capture every step, every move. But I don't stop. Not today.

The cold night air hits me as I step outside, and suddenly, London feels bigger than it is. I look out at the city lights and for a second, just a second, I wish I was someone else. Someone who didn't have to keep this shell on all the time.

But the truth is, I don't know how to be anyone else. And that's the most fucked up thing of all.