Brief Encounters

Timeline 1 (Part 13)

The coffee had cooled in my hands, untouched as I stared out the window at the bustling street beyond. The world moved on, as it always did, but I felt stuck in place, unable to shake the weight of everything happening around me. It wasn't just the tabloids or the invasive questions. It was the way they managed to reach into my life, rearranging it into a story that felt so far removed from the truth.

I couldn't help but replay the evening in my mind. William, sitting across from me, his face earnest and open in the dim light of the restaurant. His laugh, low and warm, as he recounted a story about Harry's latest misadventure. For a moment, it had felt... normal. Like we weren't two people whose lives were relentlessly scrutinised.

But that illusion had shattered the moment we stepped outside. The paparazzi, hidden in the shadows, were relentless. It wasn't just a dinner; it was a spectacle, and I hadn't even realised I was a part of it until it was too late.

Now, the headlines were everywhere, spinning a narrative I had no control over. A romance. An obsession. They didn't know me—didn't know that my life wasn't about chasing titles or crowns. They didn't know about my sleepless nights, my dreams of stepping back into the theatre, or the aching hole that sometimes opened when I thought of my first family—the one I'd lost.

The door jingled again, startling me out of my thoughts. A young woman walked in, her phone already raised as she tried to capture a sneaky photo of me. My stomach tightened, and I quickly turned away, pulling my coat tighter around me. There was no escaping it. Not here. Not anywhere.

The idea of messaging William tugged at me again, but I hesitated. What would I even say? He'd been kind, thoughtful—even protective—but the truth was, I didn't know where we stood.

The sound of my phone buzzing broke through the haze. I glanced down, and my heart jumped at the name on the screen: William.

Back at my apartment, I was sprawled on the couch, a half-empty pizza box perched on the coffee table in front of me. The smell of melted cheese and oregano was the only comfort I had left, and I didn't feel particularly guilty about devouring the last slice. The world wanted a story? Let them speculate about my breakfast choices.

My phone buzzed again, vibrating its way across the table like it was alive. Another notification. I glanced at the screen and saw William's name flash across it.

Not yet. I wasn't ready to talk to him. But ignoring him wasn't a long-term strategy either.

I typed a quick message, hesitating only for a second before hitting send:
Hey. Are you busy? Do you think we could meet?

Sliding the phone aside, I leaned back, trying to ignore the unease crawling up my spine. I had no idea what I expected from him—or from myself. My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

"Figures," I muttered under my breath, tossing the pizza box to the side as I got up.

Sure enough, my agent was standing there, folder in hand and looking like he was about to stage an intervention.

"Morning," I said, stepping aside to let him in.

"Morning?" he echoed, his tone clipped as he took in the scene—the pizza box, the unwashed coffee mug, and me in my lounge clothes. He didn't sit down. He just stood there, looming like a storm cloud.

I grabbed the last slice of pizza and took a dramatic bite, raising an eyebrow at him. "What's up?"

He folded his arms, his expression sharp. "What's up? Jeanna, you're a walking headline right now. That's what's up."

I shrugged, leaning against the counter. "It's just tabloids. People know better than to take them seriously."

He gave me a look that could've wilted a houseplant. "You know better than that. The world doesn't care about context—they care about drama. And right now, you and Prince William are prime-time drama."

I sighed, tossing the pizza crust back into the box. "Alright, so what's your brilliant plan?"

He handed me an envelope, his tone softening slightly. "You've got a break before your next project, right? This is from Hunter—my new assistant. He's arranged something to shift the narrative. You'll join Roe's East Asian tour.

"Yes, Roe. Small venues, intimate performances. The media loves him, and his fans are fiercely loyal. This will remind everyone why they care about you in the first place: your talent, not your love life."

I stared at the envelope, chewing on the idea. It made sense—a low-key project could shift the focus away from William. But it also felt like running.

My phone buzzed again. William.

My agent didn't miss it. "If you're serious about him, Jeanna, you need to know what you're getting into. His world isn't forgiving. The press will chew you up and spit you out if you let them."

I folded my arms, meeting his gaze. "I'm not some naive girl who doesn't understand what's at stake."

"Good," he said, grabbing his coat. "Then use this tour to get back in control."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I grabbed my phone. William's message lit up the screen: How about dinner?