Until Destiny Interfered

Chapter 1: The Birthday Nightmare

I woke up this morning to a loud, rhythmic banging in my ears, my heart, my headache, or maybe just the universe reminding me that today I turn twenty-five.

Twenty-five. A quarter of a century. In my parents' world, that's the equivalent of an expiration date.

I sat up, the silk sheets of my bed feeling like a cold reminder of the gilded cage I lived in. I could practically smell the desperation coming from my parents' wing of the mansion. They think I don't see the panic in their eyes as each birthday passes without a husband in sight. They think I'm oblivious to the "crisis meetings" they have behind closed doors.

Honestly? It's hilarious.

Every year, they trot out a new line of "successful" men like they're trying to sell me a used car. And every year, I chew them up and spit them out. They blame the rumors, the legend of the "Spoiled Heiress" who breaks men for fun. I call it high standards. If a guy can't handle me at my worst, he definitely doesn't deserve me when I'm wearing four carats on each ear. I don't give a damn about explaining myself. If the rumors scare them off, it just saves me a boring dinner date.

"Happy Birthday, Ivanna," I whispered to my reflection, blowing a kiss at the mirror. "Let the games begin."

I dragged myself out of bed and spent four hours getting prepared for the "Big Day." My parents had spent a small fortune on this ceremony, imported roses, Italian chandeliers, fireworks that probably cost more than a suburban house. We're the Seans, after all. One of the richest dynasties in the city. If we're going to be desperate, we're going to do it in style.

By the time I walked down the grand staircase, the room was a sea of gold and fake smiles. I could hear the whispers starting before my heels even hit the marble.

"There she is. The demon in the Dior."

"Twenty suitors... and she still looks that smug."

Another added.

"Beauty without grace. Such a waste"

"Twenty suitors... even a demon would have accidentally married one by now."

I swept through the crowd, my chin high, wearing a white silk gown that cost more than a suburban house. I was bored within ten minutes. I was looking for a drink, or an exit, whichever came first.

I didn't realize that in a dark corner of the hall, someone was looking for me.

Tucked away in a dark corner of the hall, a young man sat completely still.

He didn't belong to the glittering chaos around him. And somehow, that made him more noticeable than anyone else in the room.

A young man appeared at his shoulder and bowed.

"Everything is in order, according to plan, my Prince." Nicholas said with a bow.

The man in the shadows didn't look up. He watched the deep, rust-colored wine move in his glass, slow, unhurried circles. He was Eugene York, a phantom prince of the York Clan, a bloodline so old and dangerous that governments whispered their name in fear. He hadn't come here for a party. He had come for a massacre.

"Nicolás. Put the plan on hold."

"My Prince?"

"The strategy has changed." Eugene looked up, the candlelight catching his sharp jaw and eyes that held absolutely nothing warm. "Approach the Sean family tonight. Propose a marriage alliance."

A beat of horrified silence. "What? Marriage? I thought we came here for revenge? Don't be carried away by her beauty and forget the plan my prince. Marriage is not a strategic tool to be deployed on a whim. Besides... her reputation is catastrophic! She is beneath your station."

"You misunderstand me." Eugene set his glass down with a soft, precise click. He smiled, a slow, deliberate, wicked curve of the lips. "I'm not abandoning my revenge, Nicolás. I'm simply choosing a more... intimate strategy. I'll marry her. I'll let her watch while her precious family crumbles from the inside. And when I'm done?"

He lifted the glass again. "I'll divorce her. Quietly. Without looking back."

The Deal is Struck.

By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, the atmosphere had shifted. The air felt heavy, like the moments before a lightning strike.

My father was suddenly glowing. My mother was pressing a hand to her heart, tears of relief streaming down her face. They weren't looking at the corporate moguls anymore. They were looking at him.

He stepped out of the shadows, moving with the unhurried grace of a predator who already knew the kill was his. He called himself "Eugene Y."

A man with no history, a billionaire phantom who had appeared out of nowhere to offer my parents exactly what they were starving for: an antidote to my reputation.

"I believe," he said, his voice silk wrapped around cold steel, "I am interested in your daughter."

My parents didn't ask questions.

Desperation doesn't have a voice. They just smiled and handed me over like a trophy. Within seventy-two hours, the headlines were screaming: SEAN HEIRESS TO WED MYSTERIOUS TYCOON.

But as I stood in the center of our grand estate, watching a convoy of luxury cars deliver "gifts" that felt more like a down payment on my soul.

The Faceless Groom

The wedding wasn't a fairy tale. It was a business transaction conducted in a graveyard of white lilies.

The speed with which my parents acted was frankly insulting. Only days after my birthday, the deal was already sealed. They told me his name was Eugene, an angel in human clothing, with enough power and money to eradicate my well-deserved title as the Legendary Spoiled Brat and cover it up with endless layers of gold.

I didn't care. I didn't even ask for a photo. Deep down, I didn't give a damn. Why torture myself? He was probably another boring suit with a receding hairline and all the charm of wet cardboard.

So I spent my engagement week wrapped in silk robes, bored to tears, blissfully ignoring all the frantic wedding preparations swirling around me.

"Ivanna, don't you want to meet him?" my mother had pleaded, her hands trembling as she held a lace veil.

"Does he have a pulse and a checkbook?" I asked, not looking up from my manicure. "If yes, we're good. Just tell me where to stand so I can get back to my life." I scoffed, "Eugene huh? I guess he is just another one of the lucky twenty-one."

The ceremony was held in a private chapel on the outskirts of the city, no press, no guests, just the cold smell of old stone and desperation. I walked down the aisle with my veil pulled low, a heavy, lace curtain that turned the world into a blur of white.

I didn't look at him. I refused to give him the satisfaction. I caught the scent of him, cedar and something sharp, like cold steel, and the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark suit. But that was it.

He didn't look at me, either. He stood there like a statue, his presence radiating a chill that made the flowers wilt. When he spoke his vows, his voice was a low, melodic baritone that didn't hold a single ounce of emotion. He sounded like he was reading a grocery list, not a lifelong commitment.

"I do," he said. The words were short. Final. Like a door slamming shut.

I slid the ring onto his finger without even glancing at his hand. I felt the brief touch of his skin, cold, firm, and steady. My own hand didn't shake. I was Ivanna Sean; I didn't do nerves.

The "kiss" was a formality that didn't even happen. He simply turned away the second the officiant pronounced us man and wife, heading for the exit without a word.

"Well," I whispered to the empty chapel as my parents wept with relief in the background. "At least he's not a talker."

Eugene didn't look back as he stepped into the black SUV waiting outside the chapel. He didn't know what color his wife's eyes were. He didn't care about the shape of her smile. To him, Ivanna Sean was just a name on a contract, the daughter of the man who had tried to ruin his lineage.

"It is done, my Prince," Nicolás whispered from the front seat.

Eugene twisted the platinum band on his finger. It felt like a shackle, but a necessary one. "She didn't even lift her veil."

"She is as arrogant as the rumors say," Nicolás replied. "She likely thinks you are beneath her notice."

Eugene watched the gray city blur past the window. A slow, lethal smile touched his lips. "Good. Let her stay in her ivory tower a little longer. It will make the fall that much more spectacular."

He hadn't seen her face. He hadn't felt a single spark. He had invited a "demon" into his life, and he was already planning how to exorcise her once the Sean empire was in ashes.





The Gilded Cage

My parents think they've struck gold. To the Seans, Eugene York is the son-in-law dreams are made of: billionaire, courteous, and impossibly patient with my "excesses."

They were so dazzled they didn't just walk me down the aisle; they practically sprinted to secure my future before I could scare him off.

The wedding was a grand, elegant blur. And then, it was over.

I'm currently thirty thousand feet in the air, sipping a drink that costs more than a car, realizing that nobody told me we were going to the wrong place.

I leaned toward the window of the private jet, watching the landscape shift. This isn't California. The rolling hills below are rugged, vast, and unmistakably Texas. I turned to the stewardess with a smile so sweet it could draw blood.

"We're landing in Texas."

The woman gave me a guarded look and returned a stiffened smile, her eyes empty. She said nothing.

"Eugene said California," my voice dropped an octave, I enunciated each word sharply. "Someone in this cabin is going to explain this to me. Right now!"

Silence. The servants suddenly found the floor very interesting. The stewardess studied the wall as if it held the solution to world problem.

I smiled in disbelief but remained seated anyways, although a cold, instinctive knot was already forming in my stomach. Something was wrong. I'd walked down an aisle in a gown that cost more than a mansion, said vows to a man whose face I'd barely seen through my veil, and now I was being shipped off like high-end merchandise to God knows who.

Nobody had asked me, Ivanna Sean what I really wanted. They never did.

The car turned through the gates, and for a moment, I forgot to be angry.

The villa didn't just appear; it revealed itself. Wrought heavy metal gates, crafted as lace, opened to a driveway of pale cobblestone. And then, the castle rose from the earth, a world built entirely from fantasies. Pale granite walls, tall turrets climbing toward a bleeding orange sky, and carvings so fine they looked like they were breathing.

I slowed down, my breath catching. It was magnificent. Overwhelming.

But what stole my breath wasn't the grandeur. It was the recognition.

This ancient castle, with its arched windows and winding stairs, was the exact image of a drawing I'd tucked away in my room years ago. A childish sketch of a house for royalty. I had drawn it from my imagination, never believing it existed.

Yet here it stood.

For a brief, confusing moment, I loved it. I stepped inside, my heels clicking against marble floors that shone like mirrors. The silk drapes, the hand-carved jade sculptures, everything was exactly to my taste.

But a gilded cage is still a cage.

I built walls for a reason. I spent years chasing away twenty suitors and crafting my reputation as "The Legendary Spoiled Brat" because I knew marriage wasn't a fairy tale. It was a contract. A way to make a woman weep in silk dresses while the world called her lucky.

My mom was a living testimony to that.

I promised myself I would never belong to anyone. I would never be like my mother.

And yet, here I was, delivered to a stranger's home, forced into the very fate I'd fought to avoid. I sat on the massive bed, staring up at the silk canopy. The food was perfect, the wardrobe was immaculate, and the service was silent.

Someone had studied me. Someone knew exactly what I liked.

I should have felt pampered, spoiled rotten in this luxurious cage. Instead, I felt like a bird being stuffed and fattened up for slaughter.

I took a slow walk through the endless halls. Guards in military uniforms stood frozen like statues, their eyes tracking me without a single word. Their silence said everything: these were not men you messed with.

On the surface, everything was flawless.

Everything was perfect. Almost too perfect. It was like living inside someone else's dream.

Except it wasn't my dream. And the man I'd married was missing from it entirely.

I hadn't seen Eugene since the day we stood in front of the judge. He hadn't appeared once in his own home. He was a ghost, someone who had bought me and then disappeared, leaving me alone in this beautiful prison built from memories I could no longer touch. How bitterly poetic.

I looked at the ring on my finger, the platinum heavy and cold thing. It felt less like jewelry and more like a shackle.

Boredom crept in like water under a door, slow, inevitable, and impossible to stop.

Finally, I decided I'd had enough. I would call my parents, unleash a theatrical rant, and demand they fix this. They always did.

I dialed.

"This number is no longer in service."

The flat, mechanical voice hit me like a door slamming in my face. I tried again. Ten times. Twenty. The same indifferent recording. My parents' number, the one that had been active my entire life, was dead.

I lunged for my laptop, my fingers flying as I typed a frantic email. The second I hit send, the screen flickered once and went completely black.

Dead.

The silence that followed was absolute.

I stood up, and for once, I didn't throw a tantrum. A cold, steady calm settled over me, the kind of quiet that expensive things make right before they shatter.

I walked into the hallway. The maids stood in their usual neat line, eyes lowered, the picture of perfect servitude.

"Where is Eugene?" My voice was quiet. Controlled. "I want to speak to him. Right now."

Nothing. Not a breath. Not a flicker of acknowledgment.

It hit me then, like a freight train in a terrifying way: Since the moment I'd stepped into this castle, not a single person had spoken to me. I'd been too busy being served to notice the silence was deliberate. I mean why would I want to chat a maid in the first place. It's beneath me. I thought initially, with the flipping of my hair.

But then, on a closer look, if I felt weird about this whole arrangement earlier, now the weirdness certainly did a triple time.

"Answer me!" I snapped.

Still nothing. The rage that had been hiding beneath the surface finally broke free. I stepped forward and hit the nearest maid from the side view, with the full force of my open hand and frustration.

CRACK.

My palm hurt, but I didn't care. Instead, I waited for the tears, the groveling, the apology I'd received from the Sean's servants since I was a child. But the woman didn't move. She didn't even blink..

She just kept staring at the wall as if I were a sound she'd learned to unhear..

I felt a chill right in my spine, vertebra by vertebra.

"What is wrong with every single one of you? Are you all zombies? Why are you all playing mute? Gracious God! Can't you talk? I'm f**ken talking to you." My voice cracked. I grabbed an antique vase from its stand and threw it in annoyance. Except , it connected with the God-knows-who, temple with a sickening crack. Red liquid oozing down one of the maid's face, and settled in her white collar, but she didn't even move an inch. Neither did she flinch.

I stumbled backward, my heart pulsing like a conga beat loudly against my ribs. This wasn't just wrong. It was preposterous.

I stumbled absentmindedly back into my room and tore through it like a storm. Pillows flew. Perfume bottles shattered, filling the air with a dozen conflicting scents. Books, vases, silk curtains, I reduced my "perfect" world to ruins in minutes.

When I finally stopped, my chest heaving and hair wild, I looked at the wreckage at my feet. The room looked exactly how my soul felt.

In the ringing silence, I understood the truth I could no longer talk myself out of. I wasn't lonely. I wasn't bored.

I was Trapped.



Prince's Introduction



On the other side of the world, a private jet sliced through the dawn sky before gliding onto the runway with the quiet authority of royalty.

The cabin door opened, and he appeared,

The Prince.

Dressed in a bespoke, charcoal suit that fit him like a second skin, he descended the jet's steps with the calm, lethal elegance of a man born to rule.

Behind him, a wall of elite guards followed in seamless formation, their movements silent and disciplined.

A convoy waited. Within minutes, the prince was seated in his ultramodern office, floor-to-ceiling glass, black marble, and a view that made cities look like chessboards beneath him.

He reclined in his leather swivel chair, fingers gliding across the keyboard with practiced ease.

Across the desk stood Nicolas, his most trusted aide, holding a stack of documents.

Nicolas cleared his throat.

"Sir, the deal concerning the wine refinery in the Republic of China has been finalized. The acquisition is complete."

The prince didn't look up; he simply continued typing.

Nicolas continued, flipping a page.

"The First Lady of Johannesburg has requested a private meeting, likely regarding our new mechanized gold-mining machinery. Also, you've been invited to the Guinness Annual Honors Event for the Most Successful Youngest Billionaire."

He hesitated.

"And the customized car you ordered has arrived. You may inspect it at your convenience."

Still, the prince typed.

"And concerning the Sean family..."

His hands stopped.

He finally raised his head, dark eyes sharp and alert.

"What about the Seans?"

Nicolas straightened immediately.

"Our planted allies have begun to move. Progress is steady. We've secured spies in every major sector under Sean control, and we've successfully persuaded several of their most trusted men to switch sides. Additionally, we've begun purchasing their shares... discreetly."

The prince leaned back, twirling a pen between his fingers. For a moment, he looked almost thoughtful, almost bored.

Then he spoke casually, almost as an afterthought.

"Oh. That reminds me."

A faint smirk touched his lips.

"I have a wife, don't I? How is she?"

Nicolas blinked, caught off guard.

"Yes, sir. About that... she has been well-behaved until yesterday."

The prince arched a brow.

"Go on."

"She demanded to see you and nearly turned the house upside down. When she learned her calls to her family were being monitored and blocked, she lost control. One maid suffered a blow to the ear, still bleeding as of yesterday. Another was hit with a vase and is currently unconscious."

The prince chuckled softly, low and dangerous.

"Quite a temper."

He tapped the pen against the desk.

"So she's not happy about being married to me... and it took her this long to notice my absence? Hm."

His eyes glinted.

"Not bad."

Nicolas hesitated.

"So... what should be done, sir?"

"Well," the prince said, rising from his chair, "since she doesn't seem to want her maids anymore, then let's not impose them on her."

Nicolas's head snapped up.

"...Sir? Withdraw them? All of them?"

"Yes. Exactly."

Nicolas swallowed.

"With respect, my Prince, she will starve. She doesn't know how to cook, and it takes ten maids hours to clean the entire estate. Removing all of them may not be... wise."

"Oh?"

The prince gave a slow, amused smile.

"In that case..."

He turned his back to Nicolas, looking out the massive window at the city he ruled like a kingdom.

"Send Lady Margaret to her."

Nicolas's eyes widened as though the prince had just ordered an execution.

"What? Lady Margaret?" he stammered. "S–sir, she could kill her! Madam Margaret is known across three continents for her ruthlessness. Sending her to handle a spoiled girl like Ivanna... it doesn't sound wise. I'm afraid she may torture the girl to death, my Prince."

The prince didn't even blink.

"And how," he asked calmly, "is that supposed to be my problem, Nicolas?"

Nicolas swallowed.

The prince set his pen down, folded his hands, and leaned back with unhurried grace.

"If her own parents watched her rot into the thing she is now, then she clearly needs re-education. You've seen how Vanessa was raised." His tone softened only slightly at the mention of his sister.

"Despite being our youngest, despite being a girl, she endured every form of military training Lady Margaret put her through. And she flourished."

His gaze sharpened dangerously.

"If Vanessa could survive that, then Ivanna has no excuse."

He picked up the pen again, twirling it slowly, thoughtfully.

"Do you know the number of things I've heard Ivanna did? The scandals? The filth?"

His jaw tightened.

"I will not tolerate that level of rottenness anywhere near my name. If she survives, good. If not..." He shrugged lightly.

"That is hardly my fault."

Nicolas bowed his head in reluctant acceptance.

"...Very well, sir. If that is your decision."

The prince paused, eyes narrowing in thought.

"Wait."

He tapped the pen against his desk.

"You said she has been demanding to see me, correct?"

"Yes, my prince."

A cold, calculating smile curved at his lips.

"Then perhaps I should grant her that one request."

He rose from his chair with the quiet power of a man who commands nations.

"Let's pay her a visit before her... rejuvenation begins."

He adjusted his cufflinks.

"Who knows? She may truly not survive Margaret's training. In that case..."

His smile deepened.

"I should see my bride once more, while she is still whole."

He waved a hand dismissively.

"Prepare my car."

"Yes, my prince."

Nicolas bowed low and retreated from the office, leaving the prince tapping away remorselessly on his keyboard, unfazed and unhurried.

MEETING HER

Ivanna sat curled on her bed, seething.

Sulking.

Furious.

Her eyes were red from a night of yelling, and a fragile vase lay shattered on the floor, another casualty of her temper.

When the doorknob clicked, she didn't even bother looking.

"YOU LOWLY MAIDS!" she screamed, snatching a pillow and hurling it with all her strength.

"How dare you enter without my permission?! Get out before I strangle every one of..."

The words died.

Her breath caught.

The figure stepping into the room was not a maid.

He was tall, impossibly so, filling the doorway with a presence that made the air shift. His suit molded perfectly to a sculpted frame, the kind only discipline and power could create. His features... too perfect, too sharp, ethereal, almost unreal.

He looked like an angel carved from marble.

Or a demon disguised as one.

Ivanna's heart stuttered in her chest.

His aura, cold, commanding, untouchable, pressed against her like an invisible weight.

This man was not ordinary.

And this man was her...?

Her eyes narrowed suddenly, anger flaring back to life.

Her husband?

The reminder reignited her fury.

She sat up straighter on the bed, chin raised, attempting to hide the tremor that had shot down her spine moments ago.

The prince had barely taken one step into her room before a pillow flew at his face with the velocity of a missile. He caught it reflexively, years of combat training saving him from a humiliating smack, but the shock of it still stung his pride.

He lowered the pillow slowly, eyes sweeping the disaster around him.

The entire room looked like a war zone.

Shattered glass, overturned furniture, broken vases, torn curtains, nothing had survived her fury.

His jaw tightened.

"Wow," he murmured, voice low and edged with disbelief. "You did all this?"

He nodded once, disappointed.

"Hmm. Interesting."

Without another word, he turned and walked out.

Ivanna blinked, startled for a moment, before anger shot through her veins again. She stomped after him, following him into a much larger suite, his.

He entered with calm, controlled steps and slid off his tie, his back to her. Ivanna hovered behind him like a storm cloud, breathing hard, glaring at him with all the rage in her tiny, furious body.

He closed his eyes briefly, breathed out... steadying himself.

Then he turned.

And he froze.

For the first time, he truly saw her.

He had missed her appearance at the birthday party. At the wedding, she had avoided his gaze completely, half-hidden behind a veil, and he had been too consumed by vengeance to care. He assumed the worst, plain features, perhaps, or average beauty at best, reinforced by the city's unflattering rumors.

But the woman standing before him now...

She wasn't just beautiful.

She was devastating.

Her hazel eyes were bright and stormy, her lashes thick, her nose elegantly pointed, her lips full and plush with a natural crimson tint. And her body, God.

Curves sculpted in outrageous perfection. Rounded, full breasts. A flat waist. Hips that looked like they had been carved to tempt a saint. Skin smooth and glowing.

The prince's fingers twitched at his side.

He, a man who prided himself on self-control, felt his pulse stumble.

She looked like something out of a painting, too perfect to exist in reality. An untamed goddess wrapped in chaos.

He circled her slowly, expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed him with subtle flickers, stealing forbidden glances, tracing every line of her body.

He had seen many beautiful women.

Women who graced magazine covers.

Women who ruled red carpets.

But none of them, not a single one, compared to Ivanna.

For a dangerous moment, he felt himself slipping.

Then he reminded himself of why she was in his life at all, revenge, strategy, political leverage.

He exhaled sharply, locking his emotions back into place.

"So," he said coolly, "I heard my bride demanded to see me. Here I am."

Ivanna scoffed, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

"So you finally remember how to show up? Bride? Please, keep dreaming."

He chuckled softly, tilting his head.

"Really? Last time I checked, your family handed you over to me. I didn't ask for a wedding, yet they insisted. I was forced to register our marriage, remember?"

He tapped his chest mockingly.

"That automatically makes you my wife, Ivanna."

"Don't you dare call my name, you dimwit!" she snapped.

Before he could respond, she snatched something from the table and hurled it at him with vicious precision.

He caught it instantly.

His expression darkened.

She had thrown his limited-edition wristwatch, a custom piece worth more than the average apartment in the city.

"You call yourself a husband?" she shouted. "You left me here alone for almost ONE GOOD MONTHS! And you dare stand in front of me like you did nothing?! I could've gone with a dog instead of you!"

The prince exhaled slowly, as though he finally understood the root of her rage.

"I see where this is going," he murmured, placing the wristwatch on the bed with controlled precision. He lifted his gaze, eyes glinting.

"Not only do you enjoy throwing objects at your newly wedded husband... you also seem to have another problem."

He paused, lips curving.

"You miss me. You miss me so much you're practically growing fur."

Ivanna stared at him, then barked out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Really? Eugene, or whatever ridiculous name you go by..." she waved a hand dismissively "...I don't give a damn about you. If someone had asked me one months ago, I wouldn't even know you existed."

The prince raised a brow.

"How strange. Because my sources reported that you've been crying nonstop to see me. Yet here you are, suddenly indifferent."

"Indifferent?" she scoffed. "If I didn't need to speak to my parents, I wouldn't care if you dropped dead at the door."

He blinked once.

"Such a foul tongue."

"I want to speak with my parents," she snapped. "Or better yet, I want to go see them. And I want out of this rat hole. Everything about you and this place is creepy, I can practically feel the walls crawling."

"You don't like it?" he asked, voice calm, almost amused.

"Are you deaf?" She spread her arms dramatically. "What is there to like? This house looks like a haunted castle. I just want to talk to my parents, and then we're done with this conversation."

"So because you couldn't reach them, that's why you beat a maid unconscious?"

Ivanna rolled her eyes with royal arrogance.

"What is my business with an ordinary maid? Why should I care about low-born people? If they can't answer simple questions, I'll beat them to death if I want. Those useless creatures, tell them not to show their faces again unless they want worse."

The prince's smile thinned into something dangerous.

"Oh, your wish, sweetheart. Not mine."

He tilted his head. "Just... be careful what you wish for. You never know when it might come true."

He smirked, cold and knowing, as he picked up his jacket and his wristwatch. Then he turned, clearly intending to leave.

The realization hit Ivanna instantly.

She rushed ahead, blocking the doorway, glaring up at him defiantly.

"What kind of uncultured behavior is this?" he asked, tone calm but laced with ice. "It speaks poorly of the Sean family if their daughter behaves this disgracefully."

The slap came fast.

A loud crack echoed through the room.

The prince's head barely tilted, but his eyes widened, shock flashing across them.

No one.

No one in his entire life had ever dared lay a hand on him.

Not his father.

Not his mother.

Not his enemies.

And this girl, this spoiled, reckless girl had just slapped him.

"You must be insane to question my parents' training!" Ivanna shouted, trembling with anger. "And don't pretend you haven't heard of me. I hate lowly and stupid people. And I hate men even more. So watch yourself."

The prince slowly touched his cheek, then looked at her with unsettling calm.

"...Did you just slap me?"

"I did." She folded her arms, chin raised. "So what now? Hit me back. Then we'll see what kind of upbringing your parents gave you."

For a long moment, he simply stared at her.

Then he laughed softly, empty, humorless.

"I can see you have the personality to anger someone to death."

He stepped closer, his presence towering over her.

"But it's your lucky day... because... I don't hit women."

He leaned in, voice dropping to a soft, lethal whisper.

"But don't mistake that for mercy."

Ivanna swallowed, suddenly feeling something cold crawl down her spine.

He straightened his jacket, eyes hardened into steel.

"In fact," he said, stepping past her, "I have something far better in store for you. To put it plainly, Ivanna..."

He glanced back at her, expression dark, unreadable, and terrifyingly calm.

"Getting entangled with me was the worst luck of your life."

The hatred that flashed across his face was so raw, so sharp, that Ivanna's breath caught.

Goosebumps rose on her skin.

For the first time since she met him, she felt... FEAR.

She stood frozen, staring at the doorway, and only then realized he was already gone.