Chapter Four:
By the fourth week of university, I had learned one thing: routine could be dangerous. It made life feel safe, yes—but it also made patterns impossible to hide.
At home, Nova noticed everything. Every late night, every lingering text, every glance I tried to hide. Breakfasts were quieter; dinners lasted longer, filled with seemingly harmless questions that always felt sharpened.
"You've been coming home later," she said one evening, stirring her tea with that calm precision she always had. "Not late enough to worry. Just late enough to notice."
"I've been studying," I lied, my voice flat.
She smiled faintly. "Of course you have."
Her eyes lingered on me a moment too long, and I felt that familiar unease settle into my chest. Nova didn't accuse without proof. She gathered information like currency, spending it only when the payoff was guaranteed.
At school, things were shifting too. I wasn't invisible anymore.
It started with whispers—soft, curious, harmless at first. A few lingering looks. Someone asking my name twice, like they couldn't believe it belonged to me. Then came the questions.
"Who's the guy you keep talking to?"
I turned and found Amara standing beside my desk. She was perfect—impossibly poised, always polished, every hair in place, every outfit a statement. She was everything I wasn't. I hated her immediately and instantly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, forcing my voice casual.
Her smile was knowing. "Sure you don't."
My stomach tightened. "What guy?"
"The tall one," she said lightly. "The one who looks like he stepped out of a luxury campaign. He doesn't talk to anyone else."
I looked down, fidgeting. "We just greet each other."
"That's worse," she replied. "Means it's intentional."
From that day on, I felt her eyes on me constantly—during lectures, in the library, even when I thought I was alone. Competition, curiosity, and maybe something else.
Then came the moment I almost didn't recognize him.
It was a private university event, a gala on campus held in the new glass-and-steel conference center. I had spent hours with Nova picking a gown that she insisted made me look "visible but not threatening." I hated the thought, but her hand on my shoulder was warm and commanding, and I obeyed without question.
And there he was.
No uniform this time. Dark tailored suit, subtle watch, posture perfect. Every inch of him screamed elegance, control, and danger. His eyes scanned the room, calm and precise, until they paused on me.
My heart nearly stopped.
"Your Highness—" someone murmured behind him.
Everything froze. My breath caught. His gaze snapped toward mine, storm-gray eyes locking with mine across the crowd.
For one terrifying second, the room disappeared. Music, chatter, cameras—all irrelevant.
Then someone coughed loudly, the voice faded, and he stepped back, masking whatever emotions had been in his eyes.
I realized then that he wasn't pretending to be anyone. He wasn't a guard at all. He was a prince. The heir to the throne of Valoria, one of the most prominent kingdoms in the world. And for the first time, I understood why all the secrecy.
Later, he found me outside the conference center, near the terrace, away from the cameras and the crowds.
"You heard," he said quietly.
"I didn't want to," I replied.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "This wasn't how I planned for you to find out."
"So it's true," I said. "You're—"
"Yes," he interrupted gently. "But not here. Not like this."
"Why pretend?" I asked. "Why hide?"
"Because I don't get to be normal," he said, voice low. "Not ever. And when I'm seen as who I am, people stop seeing me. They see my title, my family, my obligations. Not me."
I swallowed. "I see you."
For a moment, his expression softened. "That's what scares me."
He stepped closer, then froze, glancing around as though the world itself were listening. "There are eyes everywhere. Including ones that would hurt you if they knew."
Back home, Nova's curiosity was growing. She had already received an invitation to a formal royal fundraiser, her eyes narrowing as she read the details.
"Interesting," she murmured, lips curving.
Dread coiled in my stomach. I knew she was piecing things together, even if I didn't have all the pieces myself. That night, she stood in my doorway, arms crossed lightly.
"You've been lying to me," she said.
My breath caught. "About what?"
"About being boring," she said. "And about why you've suddenly stopped shrinking."
I said nothing.
Her eyes studied me—really studied me—and I felt exposed, like my life was being unfolded beneath her gaze.
"Who is he?" she asked softly.
"I don't know," I said. "Not completely."
Her smile wasn't warm. "You will."
Meanwhile, the prince's life in Valoria was not simple. I had overheard snippets of conversation when he muttered on his phone, phone calls that were quickly ended when he spotted me nearby. He had two younger brothers, a sister, and a mother—the Queen—who demanded perfection and obedience at all times. Decisions he made, movements he made, even his choice of whom to speak to were scrutinized by the palace and the public. Any slip, any hint of scandal, could dominate headlines and overshadow even the largest state affairs.
He carried that weight with quiet precision, hiding it behind calm eyes and impeccable posture. Yet, in the rare moments alone with me, I glimpsed the tension. The flicker of doubt. The longing for a normal life.
At school, Amara had not relented.
"You think you're special," she whispered as we passed on campus one morning. "But men like him don't look at girls like us unless there's a reason."
"There is a reason," I said quietly, meeting her gaze.
She laughed, sharp and cutting. "Be careful. Women like your mother don't lose."
I felt that like a warning. Amara wasn't just a rival in beauty or charm—she wanted to control the story, to be part of the intrigue that hovered around him.
That night, dressed in the gown Nova insisted on, I stood beside her at the royal fundraiser. Cameras flashed, whispers followed, and I felt like a shadow beneath her brilliance.
Across the room, he stood rigid, controlled, watching me with something unreadable. A flicker of recognition. A quiet, deliberate protection.
Nova's hand tightened on my arm. "Oh," she murmured. "So that's it."
And I realized that the game had changed.
It wasn't just about being seen anymore. It was about who controlled the story, who would bend the rules, and who would survive the pressures of family, status, and desire.
And none of us were ready for what would happen next.