Discarded Princess, Reclaimed Crown

ith the man I loved, Harrison. I gave up my kingdom,

ly announced his engagement to a pregnant socia

y son a "mistake" and a "stain" that needed to b

s heart shattered

pered, "am I re

ife. I was a princess who had given up her throne. I

told him. "And I'm br

pte

lia

ed to linger on my sheets, but something sharp and artificial. It clung to Harrison like a second skin, a cruel r

Holdings, for Harrison Bruce, a man whose charisma had once blinded me to his fatal flaw: a crushing insecurity masked by a relentless drive for more. He had "saved" me, he' d said, from a minor political s

m, the quiet happiness I' d nurtured, had begun to rot from the inside out. My heart, once so full, felt hollowed out, a cavern

through Harrison' s charm, recognized the brittle ambition beneath the polished facade. He hadn' t said "I told you so" directly, but every strained conv

liberately suppressed. It was time to remember who I was, not who I pretended to be for him. It was time to reclaim my birthright, not just for myself, but for the little boy sleeping soundly in the

y waist. His breath, laced with the same sickening r

is voice thick with sleep and an artifi

, and I' d pretend not to notice the unfamiliar scents, the hollowness of his touch. It was easier

vious to his late nights, to the desperate scramble for funding, to Jeanine Case. But I knew. I knew about

aching for my face, but

of emotion, "you smell like a florist sho

t rustle of fabric. Then, a sigh. "Emilia, I' m sorry. Things are... hec

ys a business deal, a crucial

nch," I countered, my eyes still

conviction. "I' ve been spending a lot of time with... Jean

. It almost

vious to the storm brewing inside me. "The next few days,

unforgiving. He had the nerve to ask for her permission to spend time with his own family. It was a punch to the gut.

t crossing his handsome features.

ntelligent, utterly captivating man who had swept me off my feet seven years ago. He had found me during a vulnerabl

him whispering, his lips trailing down my

met," he' d said, his eyes burning with an int

bition and raw masculinity. I' d believed him. Every word. Every touch. I'

er began. I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of nausea washing over me. He wasn' t the same. He was

ugh the small apartment. It sounded urgent, desperate. Harri

e mumbled, towel wra

face pale. "Mr. Bruce, it' s... it' s a messenger from the

He pulled on a pair of jeans, grabbing a shirt.

rushed, frantic. "Jeanine... she' s

her sharp pang. Fragile. Needing him

ced, a flicker of genuine regret crossing his face. "I' m sorry. I didn' t mean... I just...

He expected me to wait, indefinitely, while he rushed to his new family, t

ad traded true love for a fleeting ambition, a pawn in his own mother' s social climbing game. He was

moment he' d uttered Jeanine' s name with such casual intimacy. M

," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

calm for understanding, my smile for forgiveness. He leaned in, kissed my

y liberation. This time, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I closed my eyes, summoning