It was hard—really hard—but Anne-Marie forced herself to keep running. Every step felt like her body was shattering into a thousand pieces, but she had no choice. It had been exactly thirty minutes since she'd received Mickey's frantic call. Abel wasn't breathing, he was unresponsive as well. Mickey had rushed him to the hospital immediately, leaving Anne-Marie to push through the pain in her bruised arms and aching body.

Keisha and her friends had done a number on her, leaving her battered and bruised. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the fear twisting in her gut as she neared the hospital.

When she reached the entrance, she stopped, gasping for breath. Her sides burned with every inhale, and her head throbbed. She pressed herself against the wall, making way for the nurses rushing a pregnant woman in on a stretcher. The chaos around her felt like a distant echo compared to the turmoil inside her.

Taking another deep breath, Anne-Marie gathered every ounce of strength she had left and forced herself through the doors. She knew exactly where she needed to go. It was the same place she had gone every time Abel had an emergency like this- the children's ward.

"Mickey!" Her voice was shaky, barely holding it together as she spotted Mickey standing anxiously in front of a white door, biting her nails and looking like she was on the verge of collapsing. Mickey's head snapped up at the sound of her name, and relief washed over her face when she saw Anne-Marie. She rushed forward, meeting Anne-Marie halfway.

"Anne-Marie," Mickey gasped, her voice trembling with fear and exhaustion. "Thank God you're here."

Anne-Marie could see the terror in Mickey's eyes, the helplessness, it mirrored her own. But she had to stay strong, had to hold it together, even if she felt like she was falling apart inside. She'd been through this too many times before, but the fear never dulled, never became any easier to bear.

"Mickey, what happened?" Anne-Marie's voice was tight, strained. She'd already heard it over the phone, but she needed to hear it again, needed to understand what she was walking into.

"I don't know, Marie," Mickey choked out, tears welling up in her eyes. It was clear she'd been crying before. "He was fine one moment, just reading, and then he... he collapsed and stopped breathing."

Anne-Marie's heart sank, a heavy, suffocating weight settling in her chest. She let out a shaky breath, her hand clutching her chest as if that could stop the panic rising inside her.

"I got him here as fast as I could," Mickey continued, her voice trembling. "He's stable for now, but the doctor said he needs to start chemotherapy immediately, or he could get worse."

A tiny bit of relief trickled through Anne-Marie's fear. He was stable, at least for now. She took a moment, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, trying to ground herself, to hold on to the small shred of hope that he was still with them.

"There's a problem Marie." Mickey's voice wavered, and Anne-Marie felt the cold grip of dread tighten around her heart. There was always a but. Why did there always have to be a but?

"The hospital won't let him stay or start treatment without insurance or an upfront payment," Mickey whispered, her words heavy with the weight of the situation.

Anne-Marie felt her legs go weak, nearly buckling under the pressure of it all. The cold hospital air seemed to slice right through her, making her shiver.

"Marie, he has to get treatment now," Mickey pleaded, her voice urgent. "You should give the hospital the money you have for now—"

She stopped mid-sentence, finally noticing the way Anne-Marie was standing, the way she looked like she was barely holding herself together, something wasn't right. Anne-Marie was in pain, and it wasn't just because of Abel. Mickey's eyes traveled to the bruises on Anne-Marie's face, her swollen lip, and the way she was trembling. It wasn't just heartache—Anne-Marie was physically hurting.

"Are you okay?" Mickey asked, her voice filled with concern.

Anne-Marie exhaled deeply, trying to shake off the overwhelming exhaustion that weighed her down, both mentally and physically.

"Mickey," she began, her voice barely above a whisper as she raised a hand to rub her forehead, "I need you to stay here and look after Abel for a while, please."

"Why? Where are you going?" Mickey's confusion was evident, her gaze locking onto Anne-Marie's battered face. "What happened to you?" she asked, her concern deepening as she noticed the bruises more clearly now. She reached out, gently touching Anne-Marie's arm.
"Marie, what happened?"

"It's nothing, Mickey," Anne-Marie replied, forcing herself to stay calm as she pulled Mickey's hand away. "There's something I need to do, I have to get my money back."

"Get your money back? From who?" Mickey's confusion turned into worry as she tried to piece together what Anne-Marie was saying.

"I'll explain everything once I find her," Anne-Marie said, urgency creeping into her voice. "Once I come back."

Pain shot through her body, but she pushed it aside. She didn't have time to dwell on it—Abel's life depended on her getting that money back.

"Anne-Marie—" Mickey started, her voice tinged with panic.

"Please, Mickey," Anne-Marie pleaded, stepping backward. "I'll be back before you know it. I promise."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and started running down the hall. Every step hurt, but she forced herself to keep going. She had to find Keisha. She had to get that money back. Abel's life depended on it.

She stormed out of the hospital, desperation driving her forward.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Aiden had been right. The wind outside was indeed refreshing, and the sunset painted the sky in beautiful hues of orange and pink. Everything around them was perfect—the meticulously tended flowers, the serene lake, the grand greenhouse in the distance. But despite the beauty, Aiden couldn't shake the frustration gnawing at him.

Paris, on the other hand, was trying her best to make the most of their walk. She bent over to admire a cluster of daisies, her fingers brushing over the delicate petals. For someone who didn't truly care about flowers, she was certainly trying hard to appear interested. Aiden stopped beside her, watching her with a mix of irritation and indifference.

"Oh my," Paris exclaimed, her voice filled with forced enthusiasm. "I love daisies, they're my favorite."

She straightened up, tucking her hair behind her ears in a way that seemed almost rehearsed. She turned to Aiden, her eyes searching his face for some sign of approval.

"What are your favorite flowers, Your Highness?"

Aiden sighed, his patience wearing thin. He raised a hand to scratch his brow, feeling the tension building in his temples. Paris noticed the change in his demeanor and frowned slightly, but she quickly masked it with another bright smile.

"Is something wrong, Your Highness?"

Aiden exhaled deeply, finally meeting her gaze with a look of weary resignation.

"What do you want, Paris?" he asked, his voice low and steady, each word deliberate. This was why he had suggested the walk in the first place, to have a conversation away from prying eyes. He needed to be blunt, to make her understand.

Paris felt a flicker of annoyance, but she kept her smile, trying to keep up the pretense.

"I'm afraid I don't understand—"

"What would it take for me to get you and your father to give up this obsession with being Queen?" Aiden interrupted, his tone sharp. He wasn't in the mood for games or pretense.

"I know what this is. We're alone now, you don't have to pretend. I know you and your father don't care about me or my family. You're after the throne, it has always been about the throne. To your family this is just a game, and the royal family is willingly walking right into it, being used to satisfy your family's insatiable hunger for power, royal power. I can not let that happen-"

"Why not?" Paris snapped, the mask finally slipping. She was tired of pretending, tired of playing nice.

"My family has been loyal to the throne for centuries. My father has served your father loyally for as long as I can remember. I've spent my whole life learning every detail of this palace, knowing what the Queen loves, what the king hates, and what makes you happy—all for this moment. So why can I not be Queen? I'm smart, more beautiful than any other lady in the country, and I know you better than anyone else. I've dedicated my life to you, doing everything you love, liking everything you like, following in your footsteps. If anyone deserves to be your Queen, it's me."

Aiden scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him, not quite shocked that she was finally responding to him the way she did.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he asked, his voice laced with disappointment. Paris held her breath, sensing the gravity of what was coming next.

"This isn't about me or you. It's about your family. It's about this country—my country—that I have to protect from people like your father, like your family. The Vurtons crave power above all else. You take it, no matter the cost, stepping on others and destroying lives along the way. Love, marriage—those things don't matter to people like you. You're selfish, just like your father. That's why you can't be Queen, let alone mine. I can't hand over the safety and well-being of my people to the Vutrons, wherever you all go, people die, suffer, and get hurt. You have no idea what it means to truly rule, to be a selfless leader that understands her people. You can't help me build the kind of country I want for Breton."

Paris's eyes narrowed, her pulse quickening.

"And what kind of country is that, Your Highness?" she asked, her voice tinged with defiance.

"A country where my people don't have to live in fear of the powerful, where they come first—before the elites, before even the royal family. A country ruled by love and fairness, not by greed and power-hungry people like your father. You wouldn't even be able to recognise humility and patience if it was staring at you in the face. You are controlled by your father just like the king is, you could never help me build a kingdom that's free of your father's authority, of the authority of the elites and members of court, a country where every citizen's life matters. To do that, it would mean that you'd have to give up all your family's power, and completely turn your back on your identity as a Vutron, do you think that's a sacrifice you're willing to make?"

Paris blinked, the weight of his words hitting her like a physical blow. She hesitated, her mind racing. Could she do that? Could she sacrifice everything her family had worked for just to align herself with Aiden's vision? The answer was painfully clear, even if she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Your Highness—" she began, her voice faltering.

"I thought as much," Aiden cut her off, his tone final. He didn't need her to say anything more—he already knew her answer. The silence between them was heavy, charged with unspoken truths. Paris felt a surge of shame and anger, but also a deep, gnawing helplessness. She had fought so hard, but it wasn't enough. She wasn't enough.

"You will never be Queen to me," Aiden continued, his voice softer now, but no less firm. "You will never be my Queen."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Paris standing alone among the flowers she had pretended to admire. The perfect sunset, the fragrant garden—all of it now felt like a cruel mockery. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched him disappear into the distance. She had always known that Aiden was difficult to reach, but now she realized just how far away he truly was.

Her entire world, the carefully crafted future she had envisioned, seemed to crumble around her. Aiden's rejection wasn't just personal—it was a rejection of everything she had believed in, everything she had worked for. And yet, deep down, she knew he was right. She just wasn't ready to admit it. Not to him, and certainly not to herself.

Paris stood there for a long time, trying to collect herself, trying to push down the tears that threatened to spill. She wasn't used to feeling this vulnerable, this exposed. And she hated it. She hated that Aiden could do this to her, strip away her defenses so easily.

But there was nothing she could do now, he was long gone.