Chapter 2

• Lucian descended the steps toward the front row of the royal enclosure, his face an impenetrable mask as he looked out across the sprawling arena. Over eighty thousand spectators were streaming into the seats, buzzing with anticipation for the long-awaited championship decider.
• It was a biting, freezing day, and the members of his entourage were huddled in their heavy coats, grumbling incessantly about the dreary English cold.
• Lucian hardly registered it.
• He was used to the cold.
• He had been numb for eight long years.
• Dante, his head of security, stepped forward and held out a ringing phone. “Savannah is calling again, Your Highness.”
• Without glancing back, Lucian gave a slight, decisive shake of his head. Dante paused briefly before powering down the device.
• “Another broken heart left in your wake.” The gorgeous blonde shivering in the adjacent seat let out a breathless, disbelief-filled laugh. “You really are made of stone, Lucian. Rich, drop-dead gorgeous, and completely emotionally unavailable. Why break things off? She’s head over heels for you.”
• “That’s exactly why,” Lucian replied, his voice flat and detached as he watched the athletes warming up on the field, entirely ignoring the woman searching his profile for a flicker of warmth.
• “If you’re walking away from one of the most stunning women in the country, what chance do the rest of us have?”
• None.
• None at all. It was all a meaningless game, Lucian thought idly—a game he had grown utterly exhausted of playing.
• Sports provided a rare, brief distraction. But before the opening whistle, he had to endure the endless parade of hospitality. Two grueling hours of ambitious socialites, forced pleasantries, and empty smiles. Two grueling hours of feeling absolutely nothing.
• His face flashed across the massive stadium screens overhead. He observed his own image with detached indifference, mildly surprised by how composed he appeared. A loud cheer erupted from a section of the crowd below, and Lucian offered the practiced, charming wave expected of him, wondering vaguely if any of them would care to keep him company for a few hours later.
• Anyone would do. It truly didn't matter.
• So long as she didn't expect a single thing in return.
• He turned toward the tinted glass walls of the VIP Suite, where the formal lunch was underway. A quiet, deep-auburn-haired server was meticulously arranging the place settings, her lips moving as she double-checked the layout.
• Lucian studied her silently, his dark eyes narrowing as she paused and pressed a trembling hand against her mouth. He noticed the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she drew in a ragged breath, then tilted her chin upward to stare blankly at the ceiling. It was unusual behavior for someone catering a high-stakes event.
• Then he realized what was happening: she was fighting back tears.
• Over the years, he had learned to recognize the subtle warning signs of emotional distress in women, if only to time his swift departures. With icy detachment, he watched her struggle against the oncoming wave of grief.
• She was a fool, he thought grimly, to let herself care about anything that deeply.
• A faint, bitter smile touched his lips. Hadn't he been the exact same way at her age? Back in his early twenties, when the world had felt limitless, hadn't he foolishly let his heart rule his mind?
• Then he had learned a brutal lesson—one far more permanent than anything taught in his university lectures on politics and diplomacy.
• He had learned that emotion was a lethal vulnerability, capable of destroying a person just as effectively as a weapon.
• So he had buried every last trace of it beneath years of ironclad self-preservation. He had locked his feelings away so tightly that he couldn't access them even if he wanted to.
• And that was precisely how he intended to keep it.
• Trying desperately not to draw attention to herself, Maya carefully set the silver dessert plate down in front of the prince. Polished silverware and delicate crystal caught the ambient light against pristine white linen, but she barely registered the luxury. She had served every course in a complete haze, her thoughts consumed by Julian, who was currently dining in a private box just a short walk down the hall with her replacement.
• Maya hadn't seen the woman, but she knew what she looked like in her head. Flawless. Blonde. The kind of effortless beauty who didn't seek comfort in a box of chocolate cookies when her life fell apart.
• Did she have an advanced degree? Was she brilliant?
• Maya’s vision suddenly blurred, and she blinked furiously, stepping backward around the long table while forcing herself to ignore the casual banter floating around the room. Please, no. She was going to break down right here in the VIP Suite, in front of the prince and his high-profile guests. It would be the most mortifying moment of her life.
• Desperate to hold it together, she focused every ounce of energy on the tray in her hands, but she was hanging on by a thread. Chloe was right. She should have called in sick and hidden under her blankets until she could face the world again. But she couldn't afford to lose this contract over a broken heart.
• A sudden burst of laughter from the table shattered her concentration. The sound only magnified her intense feeling of isolation, and as she stepped back, a single tear escaped and trickled down her cheek.
• That single slip broke the dam, and a lump formed tight in her throat while her eyes burned fiercely.
• Not here. Please, not here.
• Instinct urged her to spin around and flee, but protocol strictly forbade turning her back on the royal party. So she stood frozen, staring intently at the plush deep-maroon carpet with its subtle woven crests, desperately hoping her presence was invisible.
• People rarely noticed the catering staff anyway, right? She was just a background figure—the hand that poured the wine, the shadow that cleared the plates. A silent, efficient fixture of the room. Not a real person with a breaking heart.
• “Here.” A broad, warm hand extended a folded linen handkerchief toward her. “Take it.”
• With a sharp intake of breath, Maya dragged her eyes up from his long, steady fingers, meeting a pair of eyes as dark and intense as a stormy winter midnight.
• Everything seemed to stop.
• Time froze instantly.
• The tears halted in her eyes, and her chest locked up.
• It was as if her mind had disconnected from the room entirely. In a fraction of a second, she forgot her heartbreak, forgot Julian and his new partner, and forgot the high-class audience surrounding them.
• The only thing that existed was the man standing directly in front of her.
• Her knees felt suddenly weak under the weight of his presence. Up close, his sharp, aristocratic features were almost overwhelming in their symmetry—bold, strong, and impossibly striking.
• His dark gaze flicked down toward her mouth, and the sheer intensity of that quiet look sent a sudden, electric jolt through her core. Her lips tingled, and her pulse hammered frantically against her ribs.
• That sudden surge of adrenaline snapped her back to reality.
• Oh, God. “Your Highness—” Was she supposed to curtsy? She had been so completely overwhelmed by his presence that she had momentarily forgotten every rule of basic etiquette. What was the protocol here?
• The cruel irony of the situation hit her like cold water. The one moment in her life when she desperately needed to blend into the wallpaper, she had managed to draw the undivided attention of Prince Lucian himself.
• Her horrified gaze dropped back down to the handkerchief in his hand. He knew. There was no hiding it now.
• “Take a breath,” he instructed softly, his voice low and remarkably steady. “Slowly.”
• Only then did she realize how he had positioned himself. His broad shoulders effectively shielded her from the rest of the room, blocking the line of sight for every guest at the table so no one could see her distress.
• The strange thing was, Maya could no longer remember why she had been on the verge of tears. One direct, lingering look from those dark eyes had completely wiped her mind clean.
• Mortified, yet deeply relieved to have a brief moment to recover, Maya took the handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. A heavy sense of resignation washed over her as she realized she had just created a whole new disaster for herself.
• He was going to complain to Brenda. And why wouldn't he? She should have smiled, remained poised, and paid closer attention when the socialite to his right had asked about the dietary details of the menu.
• She had just managed to get herself fired.
• “Thank you, Your Highness,” she murmured, stuffing the cloth into her pocket. “I’m fine now. Just... please don’t give me sympathy.”
• “There is zero chance of that. Sympathy isn’t in my vocabulary,” he replied, a sardonic flicker of humor brightening his dark eyes. “Unless we’re talking about sympathy sex.”
• Too focused on keeping her composure to be properly shocked, Maya took another deep breath. The sudden expansion of her chest proved too much for her fitted white uniform shirt, and two buttons popped cleanly off the front. Maya froze, a silent gasp escaping her lips. As if breaking down in front of royalty hadn't been humiliating enough, she was now on the verge of spilling out of her lace bra. What was she supposed to do now? Cover herself and draw even more attention, or pray he hadn't noticed?
• “I’m definitely going to have to file a formal complaint about you,” he murmured, his tone gently apologetic in a way that made her knees feel like lead.
• “Yes, Your Highness.”
• “A stunning server in sheer stockings and delicate black lace is a serious distraction.” His bold, unhurried gaze dropped to her cleavage and stayed there. “You’re making it completely impossible to pay attention to the boring blonde sitting at my table.”
• Prepared for a sharp reprimand, Maya let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “You’re joking.”
• “I never joke about fantasies,” he drawled softly. “Especially the vivid ones.”
• He thought the glamorous blonde was boring?
• “Are you saying you’re having fantasies right now?”
• “Can you blame me?” The sheer, unfiltered appreciation in his eyes stood in such stark contrast to the self-loathing she’d been harboring all morning that Maya could only stare up at him. Then reality reasserted itself—he was obviously teasing her. A woman like her didn't inspire wild fantasies.
• “It isn’t very nice to tease me, Your Highness.”
• “You only need to say ‘Your Highness’ once. After that, ‘sir’ works just fine.” An amused glint danced in his dark eyes as his glance drifted from her collarbone to her lips. “And if anyone is doing the teasing here, it’s you.”
• He was looking at her with a raw, masculine admiration that men usually reserved for runway models.
• And that wasn't Maya. She knew what she looked like. “You haven’t touched your dessert yet, sir.”
• A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m looking right at it.”
• Oh God. Prince Lucian was actively flirting with her.
• Maya’s legs went trembling soft. The sheer intensity of his gaze made her feel suddenly, impossibly radiant. Her crushed self-esteem bloomed like a dry plant catching sudden rain. This ridiculously handsome, powerful prince—a man who could have virtually any woman on the planet—was standing inches away, flirting with her.
• “Lucian,” a sharp, spoiled female voice called from the table behind them. “Come back and sit down.”
• He didn't even turn around.
• The fact that he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from her sent a thrill straight through Maya's chest. Her cheeks flushed under his heavy, deliberate gaze, and the air between them suddenly felt thick with tension. Trying to comprehend how she’d gone from crying over her ex to standing in a high-stakes standoff with a prince in under five minutes, Maya swallowed hard.
• It was him, she realized helplessly.
• He was just magnetic.
• And entirely out of her league.
• Flirting was a fun distraction, but he had an entourage waiting on him—drop-dead gorgeous women competing for his attention. Remembering where she was and who she was standing next to, Maya gave him an embarrassed look. “They’re waiting for you, sir.”
• The slight raise of his dark eyebrow suggested he didn't see why that mattered in the slightest, making Maya offer a weak, nervous smile. He was a ruling prince. People waited for him; that was simply how his world worked.
• Surely his attention belonged back with the polished, perfectly put-together women glaring at his back?
• She cleared her throat, her cheeks burning. “They’re going to wonder what’s keeping you.”
• “And why should I care?”
• Envious of his absolute indifference, she let out a quiet laugh. “Because... generally, people care about what others think.”
• “Do they?”
• “Yes,” she said with an awkward laugh.
• “Do you care what people think?”
• “I’m catering staff, sir,” Maya replied dryly. “I have to care. If I don’t care, I don’t get tipped—and then I don’t pay rent.”
• Lucian offered a casual, single-shouldered shrug. “Fair enough. Then let’s eliminate the audience. What they can’t see, they can’t judge.”
• With absolute confidence, he flicked a single glance toward a burly, sharp-suited man standing near the entrance. That silent gesture was all it took. Dante moved instantly.
• Within moments, the security team was politely ushering the entire party out of the suite. The men left with knowing, subtle glances; the women, with sharp, indignant huffs.
• Awestruck by the effortless display of power, Maya wondered what it must feel like to hold so much authority that a single look could clear a room. What must it be like to move through life completely unbothered by the opinions of others?
• It was only when the heavy double doors clicked shut that the reality of the situation hit her.
• She was completely alone in the VIP Suite with Prince Lucian.
• She let out a faint, disbelieving laugh. He had just cleared out a room full of the most glamorous people she had ever seen—for her?
• Lucian turned back to face her, his dark eyes gleaming with a sudden, dangerous intensity.
• “So,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Now that we have some quiet... how do you suggest we pass the time?”