June 2019.
The night had just draped its velvet over the city of Pari, and while the streets buzzed with life, music from clubs echoing down cobbled paths, couples laughing under dim streetlights, Dorothy Basiliou sat in silence.
Inside the dorm of Saint Mirabelle's Boarding School, an 18th birthday was unfolding with nothing more than a single cupcake and the soft flicker of one lonely candle. The cake sat on a textbook she'd shoved aside, the pink icing slightly smudged, as if even it hadn't tried too hard.
Dorothy stared at the candle, the tiny flame dancing as if mocking her.
She exhaled slowly, unsure whether to cry or laugh. If I were home right now, she thought, Uncle Josh would have thrown something grand… balloons, chefs, guests I barely knew. And Dorinda...
Her twin sister's name left a bitter taste in her mouth. She's probably at some grand party right now, sipping champagne with the family.
"Come on, Dorothy, it's your 18th birthday. We're going to the club. I swear it'll be fun!" said Nancy, barging into the room with the energy of five people. Her heels clicked against the floor, her silk top shimmered under the dim dorm light, and her red lipstick was already perfect. Nancy was an heiress from Marseille, bold, fearless, and allergic to boredom.
Dorothy blinked. "You know I don't like going to those kinds of places."
"But it's your birthday." Nancy sat beside her, lowering her voice. "Let's do something you'll remember for once. Your family's not here. You deserve one night to forget them."
Dorothy hesitated, her eyes dropping to the tiny cake, now half melted. The room suddenly felt too small.
Nancy gave her that mischievous grin, the one that made her impossible to refuse.
"I'll go," Dorothy said quietly.
And just like that, the girl who had never worn eyeliner found herself in a black dress and heels, standing under neon lights, watching the city blur around her.
The club was pulsing with sound. Bodies swayed. Lights flashed. Laughter ricocheted off the walls. Dorothy stood near the bar, watching it all like someone who didn't belong in the frame. Drinks came and went, colorful, dizzying, but she politely refused each one.
Nancy was already twirling on the dance floor, the center of attention as always. She looked back every so often, checking if Dorothy was still there.
She was but barely.
"Nancy!" Dorothy called over the music. "I think I need to head back. It's too loud and my head's killing me."
Nancy's face fell. "Wait, Dorothy, let me grab my bag and I'll—"
But when she turned back, Dorothy was already gone.
Back out in the cold night air, with the city still celebrating something she didn't feel a part of, Dorothy walked alone. Her heels clicked faintly on the pavement, a soft echo against the distant hum of nightlife.
The wind bit against Dorothy's skin as she stepped out of the club into the night. The city had quieted slightly, but the glow of Pari never truly slept. She pulled her coat tighter around her and raised her hand to hail a cab, her breath visible in the cold air.
A black car sped past. Another turned the corner but didn't stop. Her phone had died hours ago. She was stranded.
Then a voice behind her, deep, calm, and far too close.
"You alright, mademoiselle?"
Dorothy turned sharply. A man, tall, sharp-suited, and wearing a silk scarf, was standing just a few feet away. His smile looked friendly, but his eyes held something else entirely.
"I'm fine," she said quickly, stepping away.
He took a step forward. "No need to be afraid. I can help you. Where are you going? I'll give you a ride."
"I said I'm fine," she repeated, sharper now.
The man chuckled. "You're too pretty to be alone out here. Let me—"
Dorothy's heart began to pound. She looked around, an empty street, no cab in sight, no Nancy, just another man wearing a cap across the street, and the sound of tires on wet pavement and her own fear crawling up her spine.
"Back off," she said, her voice trembling.
But he didn't. His hand brushed her arm.
That was it.
Dorothy's eyes darted toward a nearby trash bin, and without thinking, she reached in and grabbed the neck of a broken bottle. The jagged glass glittered in the streetlight. She raised it between them, handshaking.
"Touch me again, and I swear I'll cut you," she said, her voice cracking with rage and terror.
The man froze, more surprised than scared.
Then flashing lights filled the street.
A police car.
Thank God.
Dorothy dropped the bottle and backed away, relief flooding her chest. But what happened next would haunt her far more than the man's touch.
Two officers got out. One went to the man immediately.
"Are you alright, sir?" he asked.
"I'm the one who was harassed," Dorothy blurted. "He followed me, he wouldn't stop, I had to defend myself!"
The second officer turned to a man standing across the street, a gentleman with a trench coat and a cigarette still smoldering between his fingers.
"Did you see what happened?"
The man looked up. His eyes flicked from Dorothy to the other man. His mouth opened.
Then closed.
"I didn't see anything," he said, exhaling smoke.
Dorothy's chest tightened.
"You saw everything!" she cried, stepping forward. "You stood there and watched—say something!"
The officer facing her shook his head, his expression unreadable. "Do you know who you're accusing?"
Dorothy blinked. "What?"
"That man," he said, gesturing calmly, "is Prince Marco of Pari. The wealthiest man in this city. Maybe in this country."
Dorothy's jaw dropped. "So what? So he gets to harass people in the street, and no one says a thing?"
"I understand you're upset," the officer said, lowering his voice, "but sometimes, people don't want to get involved. And people like him... they don't face consequences."
Dorothy turned to the so-called witness, who still said nothing, just looked at her with pity and shame.
"I can't believe this," she whispered.
"You're disturbing public order," the second officer said. "We'll need you to come with us."
"What?" Her voice rose. "You're arresting me?"
They didn't answer. The man, the prince, stood behind them with a smile, untouched, untouchable.
And as Dorothy was led into the back of the police car, the last thing she saw was his cold eyes following her, victorious.
The cold of the holding cell was nothing compared to the cold she felt inside.
It didn't take long.
A day later, Dorothy was told she was "undergoing psychiatric evaluation for attempting murder." That she'd been "mentally unstable at the time of the incident." Then, without a court hearing, without a phone call, she was transferred to a private institution on the outskirts of the city, quiet, gray, and hidden from the world.
The nurses didn't ask questions. They only followed orders.
And Prince Marco's name was never mentioned again.
Days blurred. Needles. Isolation. Cold baths. Screaming at night. And the worst part, no one came looking, not Uncle Josh, no Theo.
To the world, she was simply... gone or enjoying life in Pari.
Two days had passed since Dorothy Basiliou vanished behind the iron gates of the Saint Vallier Mental Institution.
Two days since the world moved on, forgetting the girl who dared to raise her voice against power.
But someone hadn't forgotten.
Nataniel stood hesitantly in the hallway outside her room. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the walls sterile and lifeless. He took a breath, ran a nervous hand through his hair, and stepped in.
She was curled on the edge of a narrow bed, her hair tangled, her eyes hollow but still burning with something raw. Her wrists bore faint marks from restraints. Her dignity stripped, but her spirit, unbroken.
"Hey," he said quietly. "I'm... Nataniel."
No response.
He stepped closer and slowly knelt beside the bed, careful not to spook her. "What's your name?"
She turned her head, and when their eyes met, his heart clenched. Those weren't the eyes of a madwoman; they were the eyes of someone betrayed.
"What do you care," she said, her voice dry, barely above a whisper.
Nataniel sighed. "I understand."
Dorothy sat up slowly, her back stiff, her expression tight with anger, but still couldn't see his face well because of the cap. "So what are you doing here? Come to check if I've been broken yet?"
"No." He looked down, ashamed. "I came because… I'm sorry. I—"
"You lied," she said, voice sharper now. "You stood there. You saw him touch me, and you said nothing."
"I thought it was best not to drag it," he admitted. "Besides, it's Marco. No one goes against him. Not the press, not the police. Not anyone who wants to keep breathing freely."
Dorothy laughed bitterly, a laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "And so, to protect yourself, you let him ruin me."
"I didn't mean for this to happen. I never thought they'd send you here."
"But they did. Why are you here?" Silence fell between them.
Then, softer, he said, "You didn't deserve this."
Her jaw clenched.
She turned her face away from him, staring at the wall as though already planning something far beyond this room.
"I swear to you," Nataniel began, "if there's a way I can help—"
"Help?" She looked at him again, eyes colder than before. "You want to help? Then stay out of my way."
He blinked. "Leave!" She will make him pay. Both of you.
There was something final in her voice. Something fierce. Nataniel had come hoping to ease his guilt, but he left with a chill crawling down his spine.
5 Years later
Basiliou Mansion
"I love you, baby," Dan panted, his breath ragged as he moved faster, deeper. Her head fell back against the pillow, lips parted in pleasure, her fingers curling into the sheets. She didn't glance at him—not once.
"Let's get married," he blurted, voice trembling with desperation. "Marry me, baby."
"Stop." Her voice snapped like a whip.
Dan froze mid-thrust, stunned.
"Come on, baby," he pleaded. "We've been together for two years. I know I can't give you the life you're used to, but I swear, I'll try. I'll treat you like a queen."
She pushed him off without a second thought, adjusting her satin nightgown as if nothing had happened. Her tone was sharp, cold.
"I'm Basiliou, Dan. Do you really think you're fit to marry me?" she scoffed, standing tall in the moonlit room. "Not unless you have a name, wealth, status—something."
Dan sat on the edge of the bed, stunned. "I love you."
She turned slowly. "Love without money is nothing. I won't sacrifice my life of luxury for it."
Reaching for her bedside drawer, she pulled out a pendant, a delicate piece with a small "D" engraved in its center, and dropped it into his open palm.
"Get rich, Dan. Become someone worthy. Then come back… maybe." She walked away, her voice flat. "Now leave. I'm no longer in the mood."
Dan stood there for a second, the weight of the pendant in his hand heavier than any diamond. He dressed silently, jaw clenched, refusing to break in front of her. If she wanted wealth, he would get it. And when he returned, he wouldn't come back begging.
As he stepped into the hallway, he nearly collided with Dee standing at the top of the staircase. She looked like a ghost, her eyes vacant, expression blank.
"Dee?" he whispered. "Are you okay?"
She didn't respond, just stared past him, unmoving.
"Dee." He reached for her, gently shaking her shoulders.
She blinked, snapping out of her trance. "Sorry… nothing. I—I was sleepwalking again."
Dan let out a breath. "You scared me."
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her brows drawing together. Her voice was groggy, soft with concern.
"I came to resign," Dan said quietly.
"In the middle of the night?" she frowned. "What do you mean by 'resign'? Where are you going?"
"La Montana." His smile was faint but resolute. "I can't explain everything now. Just… please tell Mr. Josh for me."
She stared at him, heart tightening. "I'll miss you."
Dan wrapped his arms around her—one last embrace. One woman had been his love; the other, his truest friend.
"You better keep in touch, okay?" Dee whispered, trying not to cry.
Dan pulled away slowly and turned toward the door. As he walked away, Dee stood frozen, blinking sleep from her eyes.
She paused.
Why was Dan coming from my sister's room? The thought struck her like lightning, but she brushed it away. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe she was imagining things.
She sighed and padded back to her room.