Prince's Introduction
On the other side of the world, a private jet sliced through the dawn sky before gliding onto the runway with the quiet authority of royalty.
The cabin door opened, and he appeared,
The Prince.
Dressed in a bespoke, charcoal suit that fit him like a second skin, he descended the jet's steps with the calm, lethal elegance of a man born to rule.
Behind him, a wall of elite guards followed in seamless formation, their movements silent and disciplined.
A convoy waited. Within minutes, the prince was seated in his ultramodern office, floor-to-ceiling glass, black marble, and a view that made cities look like chessboards beneath him.
He reclined in his leather swivel chair, fingers gliding across the keyboard with practiced ease.
Across the desk stood Nicolas, his most trusted aide, holding a stack of documents.
Nicolas cleared his throat.
"Sir, the deal concerning the wine refinery in the Republic of China has been finalized. The acquisition is complete."
The prince didn't look up; he simply continued typing.
Nicolas continued, flipping a page.
"The First Lady of Johannesburg has requested a private meeting, likely regarding our new mechanized gold-mining machinery. Also, you've been invited to the Guinness Annual Honors Event for the Most Successful Youngest Billionaire."
He hesitated.
"And the customized car you ordered has arrived. You may inspect it at your convenience."
Still, the prince typed.
"And concerning the Sean family…"
His hands stopped.
He finally raised his head, dark eyes sharp and alert.
"What about the Seans?"
Nicolas straightened immediately.
"Our planted allies have begun to move.
Progress is steady. We've secured spies in every major sector under Sean control, and we've successfully persuaded several of their most trusted men to switch sides. Additionally, we've begun purchasing their shares… discreetly."
The prince leaned back, twirling a pen between his fingers. For a moment, he looked almost thoughtful, almost bored.
Then he spoke casually, almost as an afterthought.
"Oh. That reminds me."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"I have a wife, don't I? How is she?"
Nicolas blinked, caught off guard.
"Yes, sir. About that… she has been well-behaved until yesterday."
The prince arched a brow.
"Go on."
"She demanded to see you and nearly turned the house upside down. When she learned her calls to her family were being monitored and blocked, she lost control.
One maid suffered a blow to the ear, still bleeding as of yesterday. Another was hit with a vase and is currently unconscious."
The prince chuckled softly, low and dangerous.
"Quite a temper."
He tapped the pen against the desk.
"So she's not happy about being married to me… and it took her this long to notice my absence? Hm."
His eyes glinted.
"Not bad."
Nicolas hesitated.
"So… what should be done, sir?"
"Well," the prince said, rising from his chair, "since she doesn't seem to want her maids anymore, then let's not impose them on her."
Nicolas's head snapped up.
"…Sir? Withdraw them? All of them?"
"Yes. Exactly."
Nicolas swallowed.
"With respect, my Prince, she will starve. She doesn't know how to cook, and it takes ten maids hours to clean the entire estate. Removing all of them may not be… wise."
"Oh?"
The prince gave a slow, amused smile.
"In that case…"
He turned his back to Nicolas, looking out the massive window at the city he ruled like a kingdom.
"Send Lady Margaret to her."
Nicolas's eyes widened as though the prince had just ordered an execution.
"What? Lady Margaret?" he stam
mered. "S–sir, she could kill her! Madam Margaret is known across three continents for her ruthlessness. Sending her to handle a spoiled girl like Ivanna… it doesn't sound wise. I'm afraid she may torture the girl to death, my Prince."
The prince didn't even blink.
"And how," he asked calmly, "is that supposed to be my problem, Nicolas?"
Nicolas swallowed.
The prince set his pen down, folded his hands, and leaned back with unhurried grace.
"If her own parents watched her rot into the thing she is now, then she clearly needs re-education. You've seen how Vanessa was raised." His tone softened only slightly at the mention of his sister.
"Despite being our youngest, despite being a girl, she endured every form of military training Lady Margaret put her through. And she flourished."
His gaze sharpened dangerously.
"If Vanessa could survive that, then Ivanna has no excuse."
He picked up the pen again, twirling it slowly, thoughtfully.
"Do you know the number of things I've heard Ivanna did? The scandals? The filth?"
His jaw tightened.
"I will not tolerate that level of rottenness anywhere near my name. If she survives, good. If not…" He shrugged lightly.
"That is hardly my fault."
Nicolas bowed his head in reluctant acceptance.
"…Very well, sir. If that is your decision."
The prince paused, eyes narrowing in thought.
"Wait."
He tapped the pen against his desk.
"You said she has been demanding to see me, correct?"
"Yes, my prince."
A cold, calculating smile curved at his lips.
"Then perhaps I should grant her that one request."
He rose from his chair with the quiet power of a man who commands nations.
"Let's pay her a visit before her…
rejuvenation begins."
He adjusted his cufflinks.
"Who knows? She may truly not survive Margaret's training. In that case…"
His smile deepened.
"I should see my bride once more, while she is still whole."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Prepare my car."
"Yes, my prince."
Nicolas bowed low and retreated from the office, leaving the prince tapping away remorselessly on his keyboard, unfazed and unhurried.
MEETING HER
Ivanna sat curled on her bed, seething.
Sulking.
Furious.
Her eyes were red from a night of yelling, and a fragile vase lay shattered on the floor, another casualty of her temper.
When the doorknob clicked, she didn't even bother looking.
"YOU LOWLY MAIDS!" she screamed, snatching a pillow and hurling it with all her strength.
"How dare you enter without my permission?! Get out before I strangle every one of…"
The words died.
Her breath caught.
The figure stepping into the room was not a maid.
He was tall, impossibly so, filling the doorway with a presence that made the air shift. His suit molded perfectly to a sculpted frame, the kind only discipline and power could create. His features… too perfect, too sharp, ethereal, almost unreal.
He looked like an angel carved from marble.
Or a demon disguised as one.
Ivanna's heart stuttered in her chest.
His aura, cold, commanding, untouchable, pressed against her like an invisible weight.
This man was not ordinary.
And this man was her…?
Her eyes narrowed suddenly, anger flaring back to life.
Her husband?
The reminder reignited her fury.
She sat up straighter on the bed, chin raised, attempting to hide the tremor that had shot down her spine moments ago.
The prince had barely taken one step into her room before a pillow flew at his face with the velocity of a missile. He caught it reflexively, years of combat training saving him from a humiliating smack, but the shock of it still stung his pride.
He lowered the pillow slowly, eyes sweeping the disaster around him.
The entire room looked like a war zone.
Shattered glass, overturned furniture, broken vases, torn curtains, nothing had survived her fury.
His jaw tightened.
"Wow," he murmured, voice low and edged with disbelief. "You did all this?"
He nodded once, disappointed.
"Hmm. Interesting."
Without another word, he turned and walked out.
Ivanna blinked, startled for a moment, before anger shot through her veins again. She stomped after him, following him into a much larger suite, his.
He entered with calm, controlled steps and slid off his tie, his back to her. Ivanna hovered behind him like a storm cloud, breathing hard, glaring at him with all the rage in her tiny, furious body.
He closed his eyes briefly, breathed out…
steadying himself.
Then he turned.
And he froze.
For the first time, he truly saw her.
He had missed her appearance at the birthday party. At the wedding, she had avoided his gaze completely, half-hidden behind a veil, and he had been too consumed by vengeance to care.
He assumed the worst, plain features, perhaps, or average beauty at best, reinforced by the city's unflattering rumors.
But the woman standing before him now…
She wasn't just beautiful.
She was devastating.
Her hazel eyes were bright and stormy, her lashes thick, her nose elegantly pointed, her lips full and plush with a natural crimson tint. And her body, God.
Curves sculpted in outrageous perfection.
Rounded, full breasts. A flat waist. Hips that looked like they had been carved to tempt a saint. Skin smooth and glowing.
The prince's fingers twitched at his side.
He, a man who prided himself on self-control, felt his pulse stumble.
She looked like something out of a painting, too perfect to exist in reality. An untamed goddess wrapped in chaos.
He circled her slowly, expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed him with subtle flickers, stealing forbidden glances, tracing every line of her body.
He had seen many beautiful women.
Women who graced magazine covers.
Women who ruled red carpets.
But none of them, not a single one, compared to Ivanna.
For a dangerous moment, he felt himself slipping.
Then he reminded himself of why she was in his life at all, revenge, strategy, political leverage.
He exhaled sharply, locking his emotions back into place.
"So," he said coolly, "I heard my bride demanded to see me. Here I am."
Ivanna scoffed, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
"So you finally remember how to show up? Bride? Please, keep dreaming."
He chuckled softly, tilting his head.
"Really? Last time I checked, your family handed you over to me. I didn't ask for a wedding, yet they insisted. I was forced to register our marriage, remember?"
He tapped his chest mockingly.
"That automatically makes you my wife, Ivanna."
"Don't you dare call my name, you dimwit!" she snapped.
Before he could respond, she snatched something from the table and hurled it at him with vicious precision.
He caught it instantly.
His expression darkened.
She had thrown his limited-edition wristwatch, a custom piece worth more than the average apartment in the city.
"You call yourself a husband?" she shouted. "You left me here alone for almost ONE GOOD MONTHS! And you dare stand in front of me like you did nothing?! I could've gone with a dog instead of you!"
The prince exhaled slowly, as though he finally understood the root of her rage.
"I see where this is going," he murmured, placing the wristwatch on the bed with controlled precision. He lifted his gaze, eyes glinting.
"Not only do you enjoy throwing objects at your newly wedded husband… you also seem to have another problem."
He paused, lips curving.
"You miss me. You miss me so much you're practically growing fur."
Ivanna stared at him, then barked out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Really? Eugene, or whatever ridiculous name you go by…" she waved a hand dismissively "...I don't give a damn about you. If someone had asked me one months ago, I wouldn't even know you existed."
The prince raised a brow.
"How strange. Because my sources reported that you've been crying nonstop to see me. Yet here you are, suddenly indifferent."
"Indifferent?" she scoffed. "If I didn't need to speak to my parents, I wouldn't care if you dropped dead at the door."
He blinked once.
"Such a foul tongue."
"I want to speak with my parents," she snapped. "Or better yet, I want to go see them. And I want out of this rat hole. Everything about you and this place is creepy, I can practically feel the walls crawling."
"You don't like it?" he asked, voice calm, almost amused.
"Are you deaf?" She spread her arms dramatically. "What is there to like? This house looks like a haunted castle. I just want to talk to my parents, and then we're done with this conversation."
"So because you couldn't reach them, that's why you beat a maid unconscious?"
Ivanna rolled her eyes with royal arrogance.
"What is my business with an ordinary maid? Why should I care about low-born people? If they can't answer simple questions, I'll beat them to death if I want. Those useless creatures, tell them not to show their faces again unless they want worse."
The prince's smile thinned into something dangerous.
"Oh, your wish, sweetheart. Not mine."
He tilted his head. "Just… be careful what you wish for. You never know when it might come true."
He smirked, cold and knowing, as he picked up his jacket and his wristwatch. Then he turned, clearly intending to leave.
The realization hit Ivanna instantly.
She rushed ahead, blocking the doorway, glaring up at him defiantly.
"What kind of uncultured behavior is this?" he asked, tone calm but laced with ice. "It speaks poorly of the Sean family if their daughter behaves this disgracefully."
The slap came fast.
A loud crack echoed through the room.
The prince's head barely tilted, but his eyes widened, shock flashing across them.
No one.
No one in his entire life had ever dared lay a hand on him.
Not his father.
Not his mother.
Not his enemies.
And this girl, this spoiled, reckless girl had just slapped him.
"You must be insane to question my parents' training!" Ivanna shouted, trembling with anger. "And don't pretend you haven't heard of me. I hate lowly and stupid people. And I hate men even more. So watch yourself."
The prince slowly touched his cheek, then looked at her with unsettling calm.
"…Did you just slap me?"
"I did." She folded her arms, chin raised. "So what now? Hit me back. Then we'll see what kind of upbringing your parents gave you."
For a long moment, he simply stared at her.
Then he laughed softly, empty, humorless.
"I can see you have the personality to anger someone to death."
He stepped closer, his presence towering over her.
"But it's your lucky day... because... I don't hit women."
He leaned in, voice dropping to a soft, lethal whisper.
"But don't mistake that for mercy."
Ivanna swallowed, suddenly feeling something cold crawl down her spine.
He straightened his jacket, eyes hardened into steel.
"In fact," he said, stepping past her, "I have something far better in store for you. To put it plainly, Ivanna…"
He glanced back at her, expression dark, unreadable, and terrifyingly calm.
"Getting entangled with me was the worst luck of your life."
The hatred that flashed across his face was so raw, so sharp, that Ivanna's breath caught.
Goosebumps rose on her skin.
For the first time since she met him, she felt… FEAR.
She stood frozen, staring at the doorway, and only then realized he was already gone.