Chapter 5
“You’ve been reporting on me.” It’s not a question. My voice sounds dead even to my own ears. “Every conversation, every moment—all of it was what, intelligence gathering?”
Gabriel’s expression stays professionally neutral, and that’s what breaks me. Not an ounce of guilt, no explanation, just that same unreadable mask.
“Everything I did,” I continue, standing because I can’t sit still, can’t be in this room, can’t breathe, “you reported back. You’re the reason he knows everything. You’ve been lying to me from day one.”
“It was for your protection—” Gabriel starts, but I cut him off.
“Don’t. Just… don’t.” The betrayal burns through me like acid.
Every shared laugh, every almost-moment, every time I thought maybe there was something real—all of it was a lie. Professional deception wrapped in attractive packaging.
The silence stretches between us like a loaded gun.
Gabriel clears his throat, all professional distance and composed features.
“Your Highness, I understand you’re upset, but we need to discuss the new security protocols moving forward—”
I spin around so fast I almost give myself whiplash. The look I give him could strip paint—pure, crystallized hatred wrapped in nineteen years of princely training.
“Security protocols?” The laugh that escapes me is sharp enough to draw blood. “That’s what you want to discuss right now? Not the part where you’ve been playing me like a fucking violin for weeks? What’s next, gonna grade my performance? Give me tips on being a better mark?”
Without waiting for his undoubtedly professional response, I storm toward the door.
My footsteps echo through the suite like gunshots, each one a small act of rebellion against everything—my father, the crown, this whole suffocating charade.
Of course he follows. Of course he does.
Because that’s his job, isn’t it? Following me, watching me, reporting every mistake back to daddy dearest.
“Your Highness—” His voice carries down the hotel corridor, still maddeningly calm.
I whirl around, and the venom in my voice surprises even me.
“Careful with the formalities, Gabriel. Wouldn’t want your precious mission report to sound too emotional. What would you even write? ‘Subject displayed appropriate anger upon discovering the operative’s identity.’ Is that professional enough for you?”
His jaw tenses—finally, a crack in that perfect mask. But I’m nowhere near done.
“Tell me, Gabe…” I spit his nickname like it’s poison, closing the distance between us until I can see every micro-expression he’s trying to hide. “Was it easy? All those library sessions, those coffee walks, pretending to give a shit about my life? Or did screwing me over just come naturally with the uniform? Is there a training course for that? ‘Emotional Manipulation 101: How to Fake Friendship with Your Assignment’?”
Gabriel’s mouth opens, probably to deliver some textbook explanation about duty and protection, but I’m already holding up a hand.
“Don’t answer that,” I sneer, backing away like he’s contaminated. “I’d hate for you to accidentally say something honest. Might break your perfect record.”
I turn on my heel and walk away, leaving him standing there like a statue. The satisfaction lasts about thirty seconds before the rage comes flooding back, hotter than before.
Back in my dorm room—and isn’t that a joke, thinking anywhere is actually private now—I pace like a caged animal. The walls feel tainted just knowing he’s been watching me all this time.
How many conversations did he overhear? How many private moments weren’t actually private? Was he taking notes when I was hungover and vulnerable?
Recording my every fuck-up for the royal filing cabinet?
Fuck. This.
I grab my phone, desperate for something, anything that isn’t this crushing weight in my chest. My fingers fly across the screen.
Me: Where are you?
Jake’s contact stares back at me, mockingly silent. No response. Great. Fantastic. Even my best friend is MIA when I need him.
The walls feel like they’re closing in, and suddenly I can’t breathe.
If the palace wants to paint me as reckless, wild, out of control? Fine. I’ll give them a show worth writing home about.
Tonight, I’ll be everything they’re afraid of—every bad decision, every headline-worthy mistake.
I snatch my jacket off the bed, already mapping out the night’s destruction. There’s that underground club downtown Jake mentioned. The one that doesn’t card, doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t give a fuck who you are as long as you pay the cover.
Perfect for disappearing into bass and bodies and whatever pharmaceutical assistance I can find.
I yank the door open with enough force to rattle the frame—and nearly collide with Gabriel’s chest.
He’s standing there, hand raised mid-knock, looking infuriatingly composed for someone who just destroyed my entire world. That professional mask is firmly in place, like the last few hours never happened.
“What the hell are you doing here?” My voice comes out sharp enough to cut glass. “Decided to deliver your surveillance report in person? Want to describe exactly how pathetic I looked when I found out? I’m sure my father would love those details.”
Footsteps echo from down the hall before Gabriel can respond.
Jake rounds the corner, hands shoved in his pockets, his usual easy-going expression shifting to concern when he spots us.
“Leo? You good, man?” Jake calls out, quickening his pace. “I just got your text. Sorry, my phone was dead. What’s going—”
His words trail off as he takes in the scene—me practically vibrating with rage, Gabriel standing there like a particularly well-dressed roadblock.
My jaw clenches so tight I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack. My gaze ping-pongs between Jake’s confused face and Gabriel’s unreadable expression, irritation climbing higher with each second.
“Fantastic,” I drawl, voice dripping sarcasm thick enough to drown in. “Absolutely stellar. Didn’t realize Gabriel here was so invested in my evening plans. Very dedicated study partner. Should I start submitting my social calendar for approval? Maybe get a permission slip?”
I brush past Gabriel with a smile that’s all edges and no warmth—the kind I perfected during state dinners with people I despised.
Our shoulders collide, just hard enough to make a point.
He doesn’t even flinch. Of course he doesn’t.
Jake’s eyebrow climbs toward his hairline, amusement flickering across his features despite the obvious tension.
He’s always been too perceptive for his own good.
I’m already stalking down the corridor, every step a small rebellion. Tonight, I’m going to find the messiest party, the strongest drinks, the worst decisions available in a five-mile radius.
I’m going to kiss strangers and dance until my feet bleed and forget that I ever believed someone could see me as just Leo.
“Go, if that’s what you want,” Gabriel’s voice follows me, quiet but somehow cutting through everything else. “But are you sure you want your face plastered across the headlines again tonight?”
