Chapter Three
Life did not slow down after the gala. If anything, it sped up, as though the world expected me to keep pace with secrets I had never asked for.
At home, mornings followed a familiar rhythm—predictable, polished, and quiet in the way only wealth and control could make silence feel heavy. Nova woke before dawn every day, long before the city fully stirred. By the time I shuffled into the kitchen, half-awake and still wrapped in uncertainty, she was already flawless. Her hair styled effortlessly, her robe pressed, her phone balanced between her shoulder and ear as she discussed numbers, meetings, and people who sounded important enough to shape futures.
I watched her from the doorway more often than I realized.
She moved through the apartment like it belonged to her completely, like nothing in the world could ever surprise or unsettle her. Sometimes I wondered what it would feel like to be that sure of yourself. To walk through life knowing exactly who you were and what you wanted.
"Leah," she said one morning without looking at me, "eat your breakfast."
I slid into a chair. "I am."
"You're picking at it," she replied calmly. "You can't survive on air and thoughts."
"I'm fine," I said, though my appetite had been gone for days.
She finally looked up, studying my face the way she studied business proposals—quietly, thoroughly. "You've been distracted."
"I just started university," I said. "That's normal."
She hummed softly. "University doesn't usually make people stare into nothing."
My fingers tightened around my fork. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" she asked lightly, already returning her attention to her phone.
That was Nova's way. She never pushed directly. She observed, waited, and struck only when she was sure.
I left for school with my thoughts tangled.
University was supposed to be my fresh start. A place where I wasn't just Nova's daughter. Where no one compared me to her beauty, her confidence, her presence. I liked the anonymity of campus life—the wide walkways filled with students from every background, the lecture halls buzzing with ideas, the freedom to sit quietly and exist without expectation.
Still, even there, I felt something shift.
I noticed him again one afternoon near the library.
He wasn't wearing the security uniform this time, but I recognized him instantly. There was something unmistakable about him—the way he stood, alert yet relaxed, like someone trained to notice everything while revealing nothing. He wore simple clothes, blending in, but his presence pulled my attention like gravity.
Our eyes met across the courtyard.
He didn't look away.
My heart stuttered, and I hated that I felt so exposed under his gaze. It wasn't bold or intrusive—just aware. Like he saw more than I showed.
We passed each other moments later, close enough for me to catch the faint scent of his cologne—clean, understated, expensive. He nodded once, a small greeting disguised as coincidence.
I spent the rest of the day unable to focus.
That evening, Nova hosted another small dinner at home. She called it "networking." I called it exhausting.
The guests were polished, charming, and loud in the way people got when they wanted to be noticed. I sat quietly at the edge of the dining table, answering politely when spoken to, watching the way men leaned toward my mother instinctively.
One man laughed too loudly at something she said. Another refilled her glass without being asked. Their eyes followed her every movement.
I felt invisible again.
After dinner, I escaped to my room, closing the door gently behind me. I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every interaction from the past few days.
The word prince echoed in my mind, still surreal.
I saw him again two days later—this time deliberately.
I was sitting alone on a bench near the science building, scrolling through my phone and pretending not to care about anything, when a shadow fell across the screen.
"Mind if I sit?" he asked.
My breath caught. "You already are."
He smiled faintly and took the seat beside me. Up close, he was even more unsettling—tall, composed, devastatingly handsome in a way that felt unfair. His eyes held a calm intensity, like he was constantly weighing consequences.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said.
"You didn't," I lied.
Silence settled between us—not awkward, but charged.
"You go here," he said.
"Yes."
"You like it?"
"I like not being noticed," I admitted before I could stop myself.
He let out a quiet laugh. "That's ironic."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Because you're very noticeable."
Heat crept up my neck. "You don't know me."
"I know enough," he replied carefully. "Enough to know you don't see yourself clearly."
I turned to him then. "Why were you called that night?"
His expression shifted, guarded. "I almost revealed something I wasn't supposed to."
"For you?" I asked.
"For both of us."
Before I could press further, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, jaw tightening.
"I have to go," he said, standing. "But I'm glad I found you."
"Found me?" I echoed.
He paused, his eyes holding mine longer than necessary. "Be careful, Leah."
Then he was gone.
That night at home, Nova watched me closely again.
"You've been smiling at your phone," she said casually, pouring herself a drink. "That's new."
"It's nothing," I said too quickly.
She tilted her head. "Nothing rarely looks like that."
I avoided her gaze.
Later, alone in my room, I finally allowed myself to feel everything—confusion, curiosity, fear, and something dangerously close to hope.
For the first time in my life, someone wasn't looking past me.
And whatever truth waited beneath the surface—whatever secrets he carried—I knew one thing with terrifying certainty.
I was already standing close to walk away…..