Excellent Art Collection

06/01/2026

She walked down the aisle expecting forever…
But forever ended when she caught her fiancé with her best friend — on her wedding day.
Clara’s reflection smiled back at her in the mirror — elegant, glowing, full of dreams.
Today was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.
Until she opened the door…
Ethan wasn’t alone.
He was kissing her best friend.

💔 Betrayal.
🔥 Revenge.
❤️‍🔥 Dark Romance.

👉 Read Episode 1 NOW on Wattpad:
https://www.wattpad.com/story/403592236

She walked down the aisle expecting forever... but forever ended when she caught her fiancé with her best friend - on h...

02/01/2026

Elara Grey was not supposed to be there.

The garden behind the mansion was too clean, too wide, too impossibly rich for a girl whose slippers were already worn thin. The grass shimmered like polished emeralds, the fountains danced in perfect arcs, and the flowers smelled faintly of something rare, almost unreal. Still, she stood at the edge, clutching the hem of her faded dress, watching the water sparkle as if it belonged to another world.

“Hey.”

She turned sharply, heart thudding.

A boy stood behind her—well-dressed, neat, bright-eyed. Everything about him spoke of wealth: the crispness of his clothes, the shine of his shoes, the quiet confidence in the way he stood. Yet his smile was soft, curious… almost shy, and it felt like an invitation.

“You’re new,” he said.

She shook her head quickly. “No. My parents work here.”

“Oh.” His face lit up, a mix of surprise and delight. “Then you can stay.”

“I can’t play with you,” she said nervously, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Why?”

“Your parents won’t like it.”

He tilted his head, considering her words, then shrugged. “Then we won’t tell them.”

That was how it began.

Two children from different worlds, sitting beneath the same tree, sharing stolen moments meant for no one else.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Elara Grey,” she replied softly. “And you?”

“Sebastian Vale.” He smiled proudly, the kind of smile that carried both innocence and authority. “This is my house.”

Her eyes widened. “You own the mansion?”

“My family does,” he said. “Do you want to see inside?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. My mother told me never to go in.”

So instead, they stayed under the tree—talking about yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

She told him about her small dreams, careful dreams, the ones that would never cause trouble but filled her heart with hope. He told her about planes, about London, about becoming someone important one day, about seeing the world beyond the walls that confined her.

“You’ll forget me when you grow up,” she said quietly once, her voice laced with a fear she didn’t fully understand.

“I won’t,” he answered without hesitation. “I promise.”

Promises were easy when you were young.

But he meant it.

One afternoon, emboldened by their secret world, he took her hand and led her through the back door of the mansion. They laughed as they tiptoed through halls that smelled of polished wood and candle wax, explored rooms where chandeliers sparkled like frozen stars, and felt for a brief, magical moment that the world belonged to them alone.

Years passed.

Their friendship grew into something deeper… something dangerous. Something that made the heart ache before even knowing why.

On her birthday, Sebastian pressed something cold and metallic into her palm—a thin silver chain.

“So you don’t forget me,” he said.

Her hands trembled as she pulled out a matching one. “So you don’t forget me either.”

They clasped the chains around their necks, laughing softly, the sound fragile like glass. Yet something tightened in Elara’s chest, a premonition she didn’t understand, as if her heart already knew the world would not be kind.

Then one day, everything changed.

“You’re leaving the country,” Sebastian’s mother told him, voice sharp and final.

Little Sebastian begged, argued, pleaded—but he had no choice. The planes, the passports, the schedules—they offered no room for rebellion.

He searched for Elara everywhere, his small fists clutching the chain around his neck like a lifeline. He waited under their tree, scanning every shadow, every passing figure—but she never came.

The night he left, the mansion was painfully quiet.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered to himself, pressing his lips to the silver chain, imagining her there. “No matter what happens.”

That same night, far away, Elara overheard her parents talking.

“Sebastian is going abroad,” her mother said, her voice light, careless. “Such a lucky boy.”

Elara’s hand froze mid-bite. Her food slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She ran, frantic and desperate, down streets and alleys she knew by heart, until she reached the mansion—but could not enter. The gates loomed high, the walls insurmountable. All she could do was watch from afar, heart pounding, tears blurring her vision. Was he already gone? Why hadn’t he told her?

She ran to the tree—their tree—the one that had witnessed every secret, every laugh, every dream they had shared.

There, tucked beneath its roots, was a note.

I’m sorry. I have to go. It was sudden. But I promise—I will come back. No matter what.

Elara clutched the chain around her neck and cried into the paper, letting her sorrow pour out.

“I will wait,” she whispered to the night. “No matter what.”

They didn’t know then that love alone was not enough.

They didn’t know the price waiting ahead.

But beneath the silver glow of the moonlight, two children believed in forever.

And that belief would one day cost them everything.

Elara Grey was born into poverty. Sabastian Vale was born into power. As children, they promised to love each other no...

31/12/2025

Hurray! 🎉 A brand new year is here.
Wishing everyone a fulfilling, joyful, and graceful year ahead.
May this year bring success, happiness, and answered prayers to us all.

23/12/2025

Adriana Steele is the definition of perfection - brilliant, beautiful, and utterly ruthless.
As the youngest CEO in the city, she built her empire from scratch, and she doesn't tolerate mistakes.
Her rules are simple:
❌ Don't question her.
❌ Don't challenge her.
❌ And never, ever try to protect her heart.

Then comes Liam Hart - ex-military, quiet, and impossible to intimidate.
He's hired as her new bodyguard, but he's not like the others.
He doesn't bow. He doesn't break.
And he's not afraid to tell her exactly what no one else dares to say-

> "Mrs. Steele, your arrogance sucks."

From heated boardrooms to late-night rescues, from arguments to accidental sparks,
Adriana and Liam's worlds collide in chaos, laughter, and undeniable chemistry.
But when she fires him to escape the feelings she swore she'd never have,
she learns too late that the man she pushed away...
was the only one strong enough to love her through the fire.

Steel and heart. Pride and passion.
Can love survive when power gets personal?

Read now👇👇

Adriana Steele is the definition of perfection - brilliant, beautiful, and utterly ruthless. As the youngest CEO in the...

20/12/2025

The bass from the party downstairs throbbed through the marble and steel of the luxury hotel, a living pulse that rattled the floorboards. But on the dimly lit third floor, time seemed to stretch and warp, every second dragging like a held breath.

Zephros staggered against the velvet-lined wall, fingers digging into the fabric as if it could anchor him. His breaths came sharp and uneven. Fire crawled beneath his skin—wrong, violent, unbearable.

Drugged.

He knew the scent immediately.

Aconite, laced with synthetic silver nitrate.

Silas.

His uncle had finally made his move—trying to force a transformation in a building full of humans, where one slip would mean exposure, blood, chaos. Zephros’s vision flickered, the world bleeding from obsidian black into predatory crimson. His fangs throbbed behind his gums, aching to descend.

He needed to hide.

Now.

Around the corner, Seraphina Snow hurried down the corridor, balancing a silver tray with a bottle of vintage champagne. Her uniform hung slightly loose on her slim frame, the hem brushing her knees as she walked. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin.

Just finish the shift.

That was all she told herself. One more hour. One more paycheck.

Her sister Serah’s medication was due tomorrow.

Her bank account was empty.

She never saw him until it was too late.

A hand—cold as winter steel—closed around her wrist.

“Don’t… move....”

Read now 👇👇

Bound By Faith. Tempted By Hunger. Saved By Love He kills every woman he bites. He wants the one woman he cannot kill. ...

31/10/2025

The small plane sliced through the clouds, rattling as it descended toward a dirt airstrip swallowed by green.
From above, the jungle looked endless — a restless ocean of leaves, mist, and shadows.

When the wheels hit the ground, a cheer erupted inside the plane.
“Welcome to nowhere!” Blake yelled, throwing his arms up.
Laughter filled the cabin. Cameras clicked. Someone shouted, “Let’s make history!”

Ten thrill-seekers — filmmakers, vloggers, adrenaline junkies — stepping into the wild to record Project Fame: The Ultimate Survival Challenge.

The door opened.
A wall of humid air hit them like breath from a furnace. The smell was heavy — wet earth, rotting fruit, something else beneath it. Something animal.

“Smells like a thousand armpits,” Zara coughed, fanning her face.
“That’s the scent of adventure,” Blake said with a grin, already filming himself.
Behind them, Eliora — the show’s host — adjusted her camera strap and smiled for the lens. “Day one,” she began, her voice crisp and professional. “Team Project Fame has arrived in an uncharted region of the Congo Basin. The locals call it the Silent Forest. No roads, no maps, no Wi-Fi. Just us — and nature.”

They didn’t notice the locals watching from the shade of the trees.
The villagers greeted them politely, but no one smiled for long. Eyes darted toward the jungle and back again.

Katarina, their translator, tried speaking to a woman selling fruit near the edge of the path. The woman looked terrified. She grabbed Katarina’s wrist and shook her head violently, muttering in a language no one recognized.

“What’s she saying?” Naya asked.
“I… I don’t know,” Katarina replied. “It’s not French. Not Lingala either.”

An old man stepped forward, pointing a shaking finger toward the treeline.
He spoke slowly, voice trembling.
“No one goes beyond the red boundary,” he said — the only English words they understood.
“That place,” he added, eyes dark as the soil beneath them, “doesn’t belong to humans.”

Omar, their guide, shifted uncomfortably. “They’re just superstitious,” he muttered.
But his voice didn’t sound convinced.

“Come on, people,” Blake said. “We didn’t fly halfway across Africa to chicken out now.”

Eliora forced a laugh, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. The jungle loomed beyond the village — dense, green, ancient. Somehow, it seemed to be waiting.

---

They started walking as the sun dipped low. The path wound through thick vines and roots like veins. The deeper they went, the quieter it became — no birds, no insects, just their voices and the sound of mud sucking at their boots.

Zara stopped. “Okay, I’m just gonna say it — this place feels wrong.”
“Yeah,” Blake teased. “Like my mom’s lasagna.”
“Be serious for once,” she shot back.
“Come on,” Naya said. “All forests are creepy at first. Remember that shoot I did in Madagascar? Way worse than this.”
Eliora chuckled nervously. “Still, I don’t think they warned us about this level of… silence.”

Omar kept his machete swinging, carving a path through vines that looked too fresh to have been cut before.
“It’s part of the fun,” he said. But there was no humor in it.

They walked for hours. Sweat drenched their shirts, bugs clung to their hair, and mud rose over their boots.
By the time the sun slipped behind the trees, the air had turned to syrup.

They set up camp in a small clearing beside a stream. Zara lit the fire, the flame crackling weakly as night swallowed the forest.

Cameras rolled again.
Blake pointed his lens toward the fire. “Night one in the Silent Forest! We’re alive, we’re sweaty, and we’re definitely lost.”
Laughter flickered around the circle, thin and forced.

Eliora stared into the darkness beyond the firelight. The trees seemed to press closer when she wasn’t looking.
“Feels like the jungle’s breathing,” she murmured.
Katarina raised her head. “What?”
“Nothing,” Eliora said quickly, glancing at the camera. “Just tired.”

Then it came.

A roar.
Deep. Low. Close.

Every head turned. The laughter died.
“What the hell was that?” Zara whispered.
“Probably a lion,” Omar said, though his hand went straight to his machete.

The sound came again — louder, closer, vibrating through the ground beneath them.
“Tell me that’s not behind us,” Naya muttered.

Eliora grabbed her camera and whispered into it, “First night. Strange noises. Possibly a large predator nearby.”
Her voice trembled halfway through the sentence.

A third roar shattered the night — this time so close they could hear the air shake.
Omar stood, but Zara grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare go out there!”
He hesitated, eyes wide. “It’s fine. It’s just—”

Something moved beyond the firelight. Fast. Heavy.

Omar stepped back. Everyone froze.
The fire crackled once, throwing sparks into the air.

Then silence.
No wind. No insects. No sound at all.

“Okay,” Blake said softly, his voice breaking the quiet. “Let’s all just… stay put.”
No one moved.
No one breathed.

Somewhere in the dark, something exhaled — long and slow, like it was standing just beyond the light. Watching.

The camera light flickered once… twice… and died.

No one spoke again.
The laughter was gone. The jungle listened.

And for the first time, they listened back.



://www.wattpad.com/story/403499824?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=faithtemitope5

18/10/2025

The night burned crimson against the skyline.

The city slept — or at least, thought it did. Far above its blinking lights, a lone figure crouched on the rusted frame of an abandoned factory. Wind cut through the metal skeleton, whipping her black hair against the smooth mask covering half her face.

Ami adjusted the strap on her wrist device. The timer blinked steadily — each pulse perfectly in rhythm with her heartbeat. Calm. Focused. Deadly.

Below her, men shouted, unaware of what was coming. The faint glow of their ci******es made them easy targets, red dots dancing in the dark. She counted them — ten, maybe twelve. Not a problem.

She checked the detonator once more, her gloved fingers tracing over the small engraving near the button: a single letter, A.

Her mark.

Her code.

Three seconds.

Two.

One.

BOOM.

The explosion ripped through the night. Flames erupted like a living beast, swallowing everything — walls, voices, air. The ground shook beneath her boots as glass and steel became shards of light.

Ami didn’t blink.

She stood on the rooftop’s edge, watching the inferno dance. The reflection of fire shimmered in her dark eyes, but there was no thrill in her face — only silence. The mission was clean. The target was gone.

Gunfire broke out behind her. She turned swiftly — twin pistols sliding from her holsters like extensions of her hands.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three clean shots. Three bodies down.

Every move was poetry — precise, effortless. Even her shadow moved with elegance.

When silence finally fell, Ami holstered her weapons and stepped off the ledge. She landed lightly in a rain-soaked alley, the world around her still trembling from the blast.

She glanced at her wrist again. The timer had stopped.

The job was complete.

Ami exhaled, the sound soft against the chaos behind her. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small black chip — the only evidence of her presence — and snapped it in half. Then, she walked into the darkness.

No one saw her leave.

Because no one ever did.

Those who met AMI never lived long enough to tell the tale.

---

By dawn, the assassin had vanished.

The city’s morning news flashed with headlines — Explosion in Dock District; No Survivors.

But Ami was already home.

---

Her apartment on Rosewood Street was quiet, bathed in soft amber light. A kettle whistled. The faint scent of jasmine tea filled the air.

Here, she was not a weapon.

Here, she was Ami Hale — a simple woman, engaged to a kind man who believed she worked late-night shifts as a data analyst.

Bryan stood by the counter, tall and relaxed, his hair messy, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

“You’re up early,” he said, smiling as he handed her a steaming mug. “Long night?”

Ami forced a small, easy smile. “Just paperwork.”

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, hiding the faint bruise at her temple — a mark left by the recoil of her silencer.

Bryan leaned closer, studying her face. “You look exhausted.”

“Maybe I just missed you,” she murmured.

He grinned. “If that’s your excuse, I’ll take it.”

He kissed her cheek — soft, lingering, careful. The warmth of him felt unreal after the night she’d lived through. His touch was steady; hers trembled slightly, though she hid it by reaching for her cup.

---

The day passed slowly. Bryan read on the couch, humming quietly, while Ami sat beside him, pretending to scroll through her tablet. But her mind wasn’t on the screen.

It was on the explosion.

On the faces she’d erased.

On the silence that followed.

Yet here — surrounded by peace — it almost felt like that life belonged to someone else.

Bryan’s voice broke through her thoughts. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes,” he said with a smirk.

Ami laughed softly. “Maybe I’m just admiring you.”

“Oh, really?” He set the book aside, his smile teasing. “Then maybe I should give you something better to look at.”

He leaned closer, his hand tracing the side of her face. His fingers brushed the faint cut near her jaw.

Ami stiffened instinctively — the assassin’s reflex — but then she exhaled and melted into his touch.

“You’re tense,” he said gently. “You need to relax.”

“I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice betrayed her.

Bryan smiled, eyes warm. “You’re terrible at lying.”

And then he kissed her.

---

It started soft — a brush of lips that grew into something deeper, hungrier. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. The world outside disappeared; there was only the warmth of his breath and the beat of his heart beneath her hands.

Ami kissed him back, her control slipping for once. She wanted this — wanted him — the one place where she didn’t have to kill, didn’t have to pretend.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the quiet.

“You taste like smoke,” Bryan murmured, half teasing.

Ami smiled faintly, her gaze soft but sad. “Must be the coffee.”

He didn’t push. He never did. That was one of the things she loved — and feared — most about him.

Because if Bryan ever decided to ask what she really did… she wouldn’t know how to lie convincingly enough.

---

Later that night, Ami stood by the window, wearing one of Bryan’s shirts. The city lights shimmered beyond the glass, and her reflection stared back at her — calm, flawless, empty.

She touched her lips, remembering the kiss.

For a moment, she let herself believe she could have both — love and duty.

But her phone buzzed on the table.

One encrypted message appeared on the dark screen:

FROM: THE HANDLER

> Mission confirmed. Report for debriefing at 0300.

The warmth drained from her face.

She turned to look at Bryan — asleep on the couch, arm hanging loosely over the side, his breathing steady.

He had no idea what she really was.

And he could never know.

Ami leaned down, brushed a kiss against his temple, and whispered, “You’re the only good thing I’ve ever done.”

Then she slipped quietly into the night — her mask, her weapons, her other life waiting for her.

---

The city’s lights flickered as thunder rolled far away.

Ami walked through the rain, her reflection stretching long across the wet pavement.

Two worlds — one drenched in blood, the other built on love.

But she knew, deep down, they could never coexist.

Because the moment Bryan discovered who Ami truly was…

the fire she carried inside would burn everything she loved to ash.



Click the link below to enjoy the full episode 👇👇👇
https://www.wattpad.com/story/402972868?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=FaithTemitope5

18/10/2025

The night burned crimson against the skyline.

The city slept — or at least, thought it did. Far above its blinking lights, a lone figure crouched on the rusted frame of an abandoned factory. Wind cut through the metal skeleton, whipping her black hair against the smooth mask covering half her face.

Ami adjusted the strap on her wrist device. The timer blinked steadily — each pulse perfectly in rhythm with her heartbeat. Calm. Focused. Deadly.

Below her, men shouted, unaware of what was coming. The faint glow of their ci******es made them easy targets, red dots dancing in the dark. She counted them — ten, maybe twelve. Not a problem.

She checked the detonator once more, her gloved fingers tracing over the small engraving near the button: a single letter, A.

Her mark.

Her code.

Three seconds.

Two.

One.

BOOM.

The explosion ripped through the night. Flames erupted like a living beast, swallowing everything — walls, voices, air. The ground shook beneath her boots as glass and steel became shards of light.

Ami didn’t blink.

She stood on the rooftop’s edge, watching the inferno dance. The reflection of fire shimmered in her dark eyes, but there was no thrill in her face — only silence. The mission was clean. The target was gone.

Gunfire broke out behind her. She turned swiftly — twin pistols sliding from her holsters like extensions of her hands.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three clean shots. Three bodies down.

Every move was poetry — precise, effortless. Even her shadow moved with elegance.

When silence finally fell, Ami holstered her weapons and stepped off the ledge. She landed lightly in a rain-soaked alley, the world around her still trembling from the blast.

She glanced at her wrist again. The timer had stopped.

The job was complete.

Ami exhaled, the sound soft against the chaos behind her. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small black chip — the only evidence of her presence — and snapped it in half. Then, she walked into the darkness.

No one saw her leave.

Because no one ever did.

Those who met AMI never lived long enough to tell the tale.

---

By dawn, the assassin had vanished.

The city’s morning news flashed with headlines — Explosion in Dock District; No Survivors.

But Ami was already home.

---

Her apartment on Rosewood Street was quiet, bathed in soft amber light. A kettle whistled. The faint scent of jasmine tea filled the air.

Here, she was not a weapon.

Here, she was Ami Hale — a simple woman, engaged to a kind man who believed she worked late-night shifts as a data analyst.

Bryan stood by the counter, tall and relaxed, his hair messy, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

“You’re up early,” he said, smiling as he handed her a steaming mug. “Long night?”

Ami forced a small, easy smile. “Just paperwork.”

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, hiding the faint bruise at her temple — a mark left by the recoil of her silencer.

Bryan leaned closer, studying her face. “You look exhausted.”

“Maybe I just missed you,” she murmured.

He grinned. “If that’s your excuse, I’ll take it.”

He kissed her cheek — soft, lingering, careful. The warmth of him felt unreal after the night she’d lived through. His touch was steady; hers trembled slightly, though she hid it by reaching for her cup.

---

The day passed slowly. Bryan read on the couch, humming quietly, while Ami sat beside him, pretending to scroll through her tablet. But her mind wasn’t on the screen.

It was on the explosion.

On the faces she’d erased.

On the silence that followed.

Yet here — surrounded by peace — it almost felt like that life belonged to someone else.

Bryan’s voice broke through her thoughts. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes,” he said with a smirk.

Ami laughed softly. “Maybe I’m just admiring you.”

“Oh, really?” He set the book aside, his smile teasing. “Then maybe I should give you something better to look at.”

He leaned closer, his hand tracing the side of her face. His fingers brushed the faint cut near her jaw.

Ami stiffened instinctively — the assassin’s reflex — but then she exhaled and melted into his touch.

“You’re tense,” he said gently. “You need to relax.”

“I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice betrayed her.

Bryan smiled, eyes warm. “You’re terrible at lying.”

And then he kissed her.

---

It started soft — a brush of lips that grew into something deeper, hungrier. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. The world outside disappeared; there was only the warmth of his breath and the beat of his heart beneath her hands.

Ami kissed him back, her control slipping for once. She wanted this — wanted him — the one place where she didn’t have to kill, didn’t have to pretend.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the quiet.

“You taste like smoke,” Bryan murmured, half teasing.

Ami smiled faintly, her gaze soft but sad. “Must be the coffee.”

He didn’t push. He never did. That was one of the things she loved — and feared — most about him.

Because if Bryan ever decided to ask what she really did… she wouldn’t know how to lie convincingly enough.

---

Later that night, Ami stood by the window, wearing one of Bryan’s shirts. The city lights shimmered beyond the glass, and her reflection stared back at her — calm, flawless, empty.

She touched her lips, remembering the kiss.

For a moment, she let herself believe she could have both — love and duty.

But her phone buzzed on the table.

One encrypted message appeared on the dark screen:

FROM: THE HANDLER

> Mission confirmed. Report for debriefing at 0300.

The warmth drained from her face.

She turned to look at Bryan — asleep on the couch, arm hanging loosely over the side, his breathing steady.

He had no idea what she really was.

And he could never know.

Ami leaned down, brushed a kiss against his temple, and whispered, “You’re the only good thing I’ve ever done.”

Then she slipped quietly into the night — her mask, her weapons, her other life waiting for her.

---

The city’s lights flickered as thunder rolled far away.

Ami walked through the rain, her reflection stretching long across the wet pavement.

Two worlds — one drenched in blood, the other built on love.

But she knew, deep down, they could never coexist.

Because the moment Bryan discovered who Ami truly was…

the fire she carried inside would burn everything she loved to ash.



Read the full episode on wattpad 👇👇👇
https://www.wattpad.com/story/402972868?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=FaithTemitope5

24/09/2025

The bass from the nightclub’s speakers rattled the crystal glasses on Prince Carl’s table, each beat a pulse of energy that set the crowded dance floor alight. Neon lights swept over the room, bathing dancers in shifting hues of electric blue and pink. Carl leaned back in the plush corner booth, flanked by three of his oldest friends, their drinks half-finished as they watched bodies sway to the rhythm.

Carl was bored. He was always bored. Parties blurred together: the same music, the same fawning girls who pretended not to know who he was, the same expectations from a life planned out by his family’s crown and fortune.

Then the air shifted. It wasn’t the music—it was the room itself, like a breeze of curiosity had swept through. Heads turned toward the entrance.

She walked in like she owned the night.

Princess Ariel.

She wasn’t in a ball gown, and she wasn’t the prim, perfect image the palace PR team would have approved. She wore tailored black shorts that hugged her hips, a loose silken top that skimmed her curves and ended just low enough to hint rather than show. Her long legs were balanced on sky-high heels that clicked softly against the floor with every step. A faint shimmer of glitter at her collarbone caught the light as she moved.

Three women trailed behind her—Charlotte, Becky, and Vicky—each stunning in her own right, but together they were a force. They laughed at some inside joke, shoulders brushing as they scanned the room. Ariel’s confidence wasn’t loud—it was magnetic, a quiet kind of majesty that made people straighten when she passed.

Carl’s eyes locked onto her instantly.

“Who is that?” he murmured, almost to himself.

His friend Dylan smirked. “That, my prince, is Princess Ariel. Rumor is she’s been abroad for years. Guess she just landed back home.”

“She’s… gorgeous,” Carl admitted, a rare softness slipping past his usual arrogance. He downed the rest of his drink and stood, adjusting the cuffs of his navy suit jacket.

“You’re actually going over there?” Dylan teased.

Carl smirked. “Watch and learn.”

He crossed the dance floor like a predator closing in on its prey, his dark hair perfectly tousled, his jawline set in a confident smile. When he reached her, he inclined his head just slightly, a mix of royal politeness and flirtation.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, voice low and smooth.

Ariel turned, her gaze cool and assessing. For a heartbeat, Carl thought he saw a flicker of interest—but it vanished as quickly as it came. She arched one elegant brow.

“And you are…?”

Her tone wasn’t curious. It was dismissive, almost amused.

Carl blinked, unused to anyone pretending not to know him. “Prince Carl,” he replied, expecting recognition to spark in her eyes.

Instead, she tilted her head. “Oh. Right. The one everyone warns you about.” Her lips curved—not in a smile, but in something that felt like a challenge.

Carl’s grin tightened. “Is that so?”

“Mm.” Ariel’s voice dripped with disdain. “And just to be clear—you don’t get to call me ‘beautiful’ like we’re old friends. Try using my name first.”

Then she turned away, casually, as if he were nothing more than an interruption.

For a moment, Carl stood frozen, humiliation burning through him. No one—no woman, especially—had ever dared to dismiss him so easily. His fingers tightened around his glass until the fragile crystal snapped in his hand with a sharp crack.

“Carl—hey!” Dylan rushed to his side, but Carl had already dropped the shards onto the table, his jaw tight, his pride wounded. Without another word, he left the club.

Ariel watched him go from the corner of her eye and smirked. So much for the infamous prince. Then she turned back to her friends, laughter resuming as though nothing had happened.

---

The Next Morning- Eldoria Palace

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the royal palace, painting Ariel’s room in warm gold. She stretched lazily, still amused by last night’s encounter. The image of Carl’s shocked face made her grin.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. “Come in,” she called.

Her mother, Queen Isabella, swept inside in a tailored dress, her expression serious. Her father followed, hands clasped behind his back.

“Ariel,” the queen began, “there’s something important we need to discuss.”

Ariel sat up straighter. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” her father said carefully, “but you need to prepare yourself. The engagement we arranged for you when you were a child… it’s time.”

Ariel blinked. “The what?”

“You remember,” her mother said gently. “The promise between our family and King Edward’s. Their son—”

“Wait,” Ariel cut in, her stomach tightening. “Prince Carl? The rude one from last night?”

The king sighed. “He didn’t know it was you.”

“That doesn’t excuse him.” Ariel crossed her arms. “He’s insufferable. And you expect me to marry him?”

“It’s more than expectation,” her mother replied, her tone soft but firm. “This alliance secures our kingdom’s future. Carl will inherit the largest company in the East. Together, you could bring stability—and strength—to both families.”

Ariel stared out the window, her thoughts a whirl of defiance and duty. She had always known her royal title came with strings, but she’d hoped love wouldn’t be one of them.

---

Valoria Palace

Across the city, in a sleek palace apartment, Carl was nursing a bruised ego. He hadn’t slept much, replaying the moment Ariel’s words cut through him like ice.

A sharp knock on his door pulled him from his brooding.

“What now?” he muttered, swinging the door open.

His parents stood there—King Edward in a crisp suit, Queen Margaret smiling faintly.

“Carl, are you all right?” his mother asked, noting the tension in his jaw.

“I’m fine,” he said shortly.

“You don’t look fine,” his father observed.

Carl shrugged, unwilling to admit that a single woman had unsettled him so thoroughly.

The queen’s smile widened slightly. “Well, perhaps this news will brighten your mood. It’s time to honor the engagement we arranged years ago.”

Carl blinked. “Engagement?”

His father nodded. “To Princess Ariel. She’s back from abroad.”

Carl’s glass of water slipped from his hand, splashing onto the marble floor. “Her? The girl from last night?”

“You’ve met?” Margaret asked, surprised.

“If you behave yourself,” his father added pointedly, “the largest company in the East will be yours when the union is complete.”

Carl hesitated. The promise of that company was tempting. His family’s approval—something he rarely sought—hovered in the balance.

Finally, he exhaled. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

---

The car ride to Ariel’s palace was quiet, tension humming like static between Carl and his parents. As they pulled up to the grand estate, he adjusted his suit, masking his nerves with a practiced smirk.

Inside, Ariel’s heart pounded as she walked toward the door. She smoothed her hair, reminding herself to stay composed. She’d half-hoped this engagement would remain a dusty old agreement her parents had forgotten. Now it was real.

She swung the door open.

And there he was.

Prince Carl stood on her doorstep, the morning sun catching in his dark hair, his expression a perfect blend of smugness and irritation. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The memory of last night’s humiliation—and Ariel’s scathing words—hung heavy in the air.

“Princess Ariel,” Carl said finally, his voice edged with irony. “Fancy meeting you again.”

Ariel’s lips curved into the faintest of smirks. “Prince Carl. What a… surprise.”

Behind her, her parents stepped forward, beaming with diplomatic warmth. Behind him, his parents mirrored their enthusiasm. But neither Carl nor Ariel noticed. Their locked gazes were a battlefield, and neither intended to be the first to look away.

The silence stretched, electric and dangerous, as if the universe itself were holding its breath.

Somewhere deep inside, Ariel’s heart thumped harder than she wanted to admit. And somewhere behind Carl’s smirk was a spark of curiosity he couldn’t quite smother.

Whatever this engagement was going to be, one thing was certain—neither of them planned to make it easy.

Palace Gossip

From the shadows of the hallway, maids whispered.

“Did you see the way His Highness looked at her?” one murmured.

“Looked at her? He glared like she was his rival in battle!” another giggled.

A third shook her head. “No… it wasn’t just a glare. For a moment, I swear he almost smiled.”

They all gasped. Carl? Smile? Impossible.

“Poor Princess,” one sighed. “To marry a man like that… I wonder what she’ll endure. Prince Carl is not one to deal with easily."

And so began the war between the prince who never smiled… and the princess who refused to bow...

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