The desert stretched endless under the dawn—gold and silent, except for the faint hum of engines.
Lin Wei sat in the back of the royal transport, wrists cuffed, sand glittering on her eyelashes. She had been stripped of her phone, her uniform replaced with plain linen. The guards in the front seat spoke in low Arabic, their voices carried away by the wind.
They said she was being transferred.But everything about the silence felt like a funeral.
She stared out the window. The road cut through dunes like a scar. Far behind them, the palace spires shimmered faintly in the heat haze—beautiful, cruel, unreachable.
So that's it, she thought bitterly. Cinderella doesn't get a happy ending. Just sand and exile.
Then, without warning, the driver cursed under his breath.
"What's wrong?" one guard demanded.
The vehicle jolted. Ahead, the road vanished into swirling dust. A dark SUV blocked the way, windows tinted black.
"Is that an escort?" the driver asked.
No one answered.
Then the first gunshot shattered the silence.
The windshield exploded. The vehicle swerved violently as bullets tore through metal. The guards shouted, returning fire, but the attackers moved fast—professional, coordinated.
Lin Wei ducked low, heart hammering. The world dissolved into chaos: smoke, shouts, the smell of oil and sand. A second shot hit the tire. The car spun out of control, slamming into a dune.
The last thing she saw before everything went black was a shadowy figure stepping from the SUV—tall, deliberate, holding something metallic in his hand.
When Lin Wei woke, her wrists were free. The desert sun was high, scorching. She was lying beneath the wrecked vehicle, her head pounding. The guards were gone—either fled or dead. The sand bore the marks of a struggle.
Her throat was dry, her lips cracked. The world swam in waves of heat. She dragged herself upright, using the twisted door for balance. Her palms were bleeding, her body trembling.
A piece of fabric fluttered nearby—a royal insignia torn from a uniform. And next to it, a silver bracelet she recognized instantly.
Omar's.
Her mind spun. No. It can't be.
Had he been following her? Or had the attackers taken him too?
She staggered away from the wreckage, the sun beating down mercilessly. Every instinct screamed to keep moving, to find shade, water—anything. But the desert was endless.
Then, through the haze, she saw it: a tent.
Small, solitary, half-buried in the dunes. She stumbled toward it, collapsing at the entrance.
Inside, the air was cooler. Someone had been living here recently—half-empty water bottles, a folded rug, a lantern still warm. And pinned to the tent pole was a photograph.
Her photograph.
Taken from a newspaper.
The headline read: "THE PRINCE'S MISTRESS VANISHES—PALACE SILENT."
Lin Wei's stomach twisted. Someone had planned this. The attack. The exile. Everything.
Then a voice behind her made her blood freeze.
"I warned him this would happen."
She turned slowly.
Leila stood at the entrance, her silk scarf whipping in the wind, eyes like daggers.
"You—" Lin Wei gasped.
Leila smiled faintly. "Relax. If I wanted you dead, you'd be buried already. I needed to see what kind of woman could make two princes lose their minds."
Lin Wei forced herself to stand. "And? Disappointed?"
Leila's laughter was soft, dangerous. "Not at all. You're stronger than you look. That's why you're useful."
"Useful?" Lin Wei repeated, her voice shaking with anger. "You ruined my life."
"No, dear," Leila said smoothly. "I saved it. You were never supposed to leave that car alive."
The words hit harder than the gunfire.
Lin Wei took a step back. "You planned the attack?"
Leila tilted her head. "Let's just say… some in the council thought removing you would calm the scandal. I disagreed. Chaos, you see, can be more valuable than silence."
She stepped closer, her perfume cutting through the dry air. "If you want to survive, you'll listen carefully. There are secrets buried in this palace—secrets your precious prince doesn't even know. Help me uncover them, and I'll make sure the world sees you as something more than a servant."
Lin Wei's mind raced. Leila's offer was poison wrapped in silk, but death was worse.
"What do you want?" she asked quietly.
Leila's smile sharpened. "Truth. And a throne that's crumbling from within."
Before Lin Wei could respond, an explosion thundered in the distance. The ground trembled beneath their feet. Leila turned sharply toward the sound—her expression flickering for the first time.
"Seems we're not alone," she murmured.
Through the shimmering heat, black smoke rose against the horizon.
Leila grabbed Lin Wei's arm. "Move. Now."
Meanwhile, back at the palace, Hamdan threw the newspaper across the room.
"She's gone," he said, his voice breaking.
Omar stood by the window, the silver bracelet missing from his wrist. His expression was grim. "Her convoy didn't vanish by accident."
Hamdan glared at him. "You think I don't know that?"
"I think you're too emotional to see the truth," Omar shot back. "This wasn't a kidnapping. This was a message."
Hamdan stepped closer. "Then we send one back."
Omar's gaze hardened. "You're talking about war."
"I'm talking about answers," Hamdan snarled. "And I'll burn this palace down to get them."
Night fell over the desert. Lin Wei and Leila were driven back by black smoke as a dark helicopter swept across the sky, casting a blinding searchlight downward.
Through the harsh white beam, she glimpsed a figure standing in the open cabin door—
a face she never expected to see here.
It was Hamdan.