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👑 👑 🍓 Chapter 1The grand ballroom of The Prescott Hotel was a symphony of old money and carefully curated opulence. At its center stood Elara Vance, heiress to a pharmaceutical empire, her spine straight as the stem of her champagne flute. The diamond on her finger, a cold, perfect stone, felt heavier than lead. It was her engagement ring. Across from her, kneeling with practiced grace, was Alistair Thorne. His family owned half the city's media. His proposal speech was flawless, his smile a masterpiece of public relations. "Elara," he declared, his voice echoing in the suddenly hushed room, "you are my destiny." The words were still hanging in the air when the doors burst open. A man stumbled in, his face ashen. "It's Isabella!" he gasped, addressing the room like a tragic herald. "She's been in an accident! The hospital just called." The effect was instantaneous. A bomb couldn't have shattered the atmosphere more completely. Alistair was on his feet in a second, the bespoke suit and perfect composure forgotten. "What? How bad is it?" The panic in his voice was raw, real—a stark contrast to the polished performance of moments before. Isabella Rossi. The fragile, etocial Italian exchange student everyone felt compelled to protect. The living, breathing damsel in perpetual distress. Alistair turned to Elara, his eyes wide with a conflict he didn't even try to hide. "Elara, I have to go. You understand, don't you? She has no one else here." The room held its breath. Elara didn't move. Her calm was a glacier in the midst of their chaos. "You don't want to hear my answer?" Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the murmur like a scalpel. Alistair ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Not now, Elara. This isn't the time for one of your scenes." He said it like she was a petulant child, her feelings an inconvenient tantrum. "My answer," she repeated, her gaze steady, "is something you only get to hear once." He sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. "Go home
