Destiny's Game* Chapter 28: "Featuring Angelica Jane."

Louis’ POV

My flight was being booked while I finally got the rest I deserved. I lay back on the couch, half-watching a TV show — until I realized sothing odd.

The main topic wasn’t my company.

It wasn’t the Alvara na or the business empire.

It was .

The TV humd softly.

"He’s one of the youngest CEOs — took over his father’s business at eighteen," one of the anchors said.

"That’s really young," the woman beside him replied, her voice almost admiring.

"I know, right?"

Their laughter was light, harmless — but it scraped at sothing inside .

"I heard their stock prices and profit margins rose exponentially after he took over," the woman said, her red gown glittering softly under the studio lights.

"That’s actually true," the man replied with a practiced smile.

"This is the part where we introduce you to Miss Angelica Jane," the host said, smiling like every word out of his mouth was rehearsed.

I barely paid attention at first. I thought the show would finally move on — politics, economy, anything but . Then the cara shifted, and I froze.

The lights on the screen softened over her features, the familiar curve of her smile, the sa hazel eyes that used to follow across a classroom.

Angelica Jane.

For a mont, it felt like the air left the room.

A classmate from when I was sixteen — from before the chaos, before the empire, before this version of existed.

She looked older, polished, confident. A far cry from the shy girl who used to hide behind her textbooks.

And yet, there was sothing else in her expression — a glint of recognition, maybe resentnt. The kind that told this wasn’t coincidence.

"Angelica," the host continued, turning toward her, "you ntioned earlier that you have a few stories about Mr. Alvara?"

She smiled — slow, deliberate.

"Oh, I have more than a few."

Obviously, the cheers and claps were loud from the live audience.

Michael ca out from the kitchen in the suite, a bowl in his hand, still chewing sothing as he sat beside on the couch.

I sighed, leaning back, a muscle in my jaw tightening. The volu on the TV felt like it was mocking .

"Well, we were classmates," Angelica said, her voice carrying easily through the studio mics. "Attended the sa school and... dated for a while."

The audience exploded — laughter, cheers, gasps.

Michael nearly choked on whatever he was eating, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

"Oh, this just got interesting," he muttered through a mouthful, eyes glued to the screen.

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face.

"Unbelievable," I muttered under my breath.

The cara cut to the host, who was grinning like a predator slling blood.

"Dated the great Louis Alvara?" he said dramatically, earning another round of applause. "Now that’s a story we have to hear!"

Michael snorted, pointing his spoon at the screen. "You were a heartbreaker even back then, huh?"

I shot him a glare sharp enough to silence him.

He raised his hands defensively, still smiling.

I turned back to the TV. Angelica’s expression had softened, but I knew that look — the careful mix of sweetness and control.

She wasn’t here to reminisce. She was here to remind the world that even kings have pasts.

"Was he academically sound?" the host asked, tilting his head toward her with a curious smile.

"Yes, he was," Angelica replied confidently. "It might sound like a tall tale, but he always got the highest grades... unless he didn’t want to."

The host chuckled, leaning forward a little. "Unless he didn’t want to?" he repeated. "Care to explain? That wasn’t too clear."

Angelica laughed lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as the audience leaned in. "Louis was the kind of student who could ace any exam without even trying. But sotis, he’d deliberately hold back — hand in a half-done paper, skip questions on purpose. It wasn’t arrogance. It was... control. He liked to decide when to win."

The audience gave a collective ooh, clearly intrigued.

Michael glanced at from the corner of his eye, amusent dancing on his face.

I could already feel the headlines forming: "The calculating prodigy — genius or manipulator?"

I exhaled slowly, muting the TV before the next round of cheers. "Control," I muttered, almost to myself. "Everyone thinks they understand it until they see what it costs."

Michael smirked. "Sounds like she rembers you a little too well."

I didn’t reply — just stared at the screen, at Angelica’s practiced smile.

The past had a funny way of finding its way back... and sotis, it smiled for the caras.

"What was it like dating him?" the female host asked, leaning in with that practiced curiosity only talk show hosts have.

"Well, Cleo," Angelica said with a bright smile, "it was a wild ride."

The audience erupted in laughter and whistles.

Michael peeked at from where he sat, spoon still halfway to his mouth, studying my expression like he expected to see sothing — guilt, amusent, nostalgia.

He got nothing.

"He was the man of my dreams to young ," Angelica continued, her voice softening just a little. "A pureblood dating an oga like ."

The crowd reacted — a mix of surprise and excitent rippled through the room.

Michael’s brows rose. "Interesting." He

muttered under his breath, giving a sideways glance.

I didn’t answer. I just leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed on the screen.

Angelica smiled faintly, her gaze flicking toward the cara like she knew exactly what she was doing. "Back then, everyone thought it wouldn’t last — and maybe they were right," she said. "But for a while... it felt like sothing real."

Michael whistled low, setting his bowl aside. "She’s got guts," he said. "Talking about you like that on live TV."

"She’s got a motive," I replied quietly. "Nobody digs up the past without wanting sothing in return."

Cleo leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, eyes glinting with curiosity. "Sothing real, huh?" she said. "Do you still keep in touch?"

Angelica laughed softly. "No, not really. We went our separate ways after graduation. He... changed. I guess success does that to people."

The audience murmured, that eager whisper of shared judgnt.

The male host jumped in, grinning. "Changed how? Co on, Miss Jane, don’t leave us hanging."

Angelica’s lips curved. "He was different back then. Warr. Softer. You could actually make him laugh."

The audience awed like they were watching a romance film.

Michael chuckled under his breath. "They’re eating this up like popcorn."

She paused for dramatic effect, her tone turning lighter but sharper. "But the Louis I saw in the papers — in the suits, surrounded by guards — he looked like a man who’d forgotten what it ant to feel anything."

That line hit harder than I expected.

Not because it was untrue — but because it was too close to the truth.

Michael let out a low whistle. "Ouch."

I didn’t respond. My reflection on the dark screen stared back at — calm, still, unreadable.

Cleo clapped her hands together. "Well, you heard it here, folks! The untouchable Louis Alvara was once a lovesick teenager!"

The audience burst into laughter and cheers.

Angelica smiled sweetly. "We were kids," she said. "But if he’s watching —" she looked right at the cara "— I hope he’s still the boy who used to believe the world could change."

I sighed, standing up and walking toward the window. The city lights glimred beyond the glass like scattered fire.

"So what other things are there about him—like his favorite color and everything?" Cleo asked, leaning closer, voice soft but prying.

Angelica smiled, a flicker of nostalgia passing across her face. "Well... his favorite color was purple," she said.

The room went oddly quiet. Even the audience, who had been giggling and whispering a mont ago, seed to feel the sudden weight of it.

Michael glanced at . "Purple, huh? Never would’ve guessed."

I said nothing. Just watched.

Angelica continued, "He really loved his younger brother. He’d teach him all sorts of things — math, science, how to stand up for himself. I rember how proud he was the first ti his brother sang in front of a crowd."

Her voice softened. "Louis even learned the piano... just so he could play along with him."

A gentle wave of awws rippled through the audience.

Michael looked at again, this ti with a raised brow. "Didn’t know you played piano either."

"Not anymore," I muttered.

Angelica chuckled lightly, oblivious to the tension thickening in the room. "He’d pretend he didn’t care about anything — always so composed — but when it ca to his brother? He’d do anything to make him smile."

The audience lted again, and Cleo clutched her chest. "That’s so sweet!"

Michael whispered under his breath, "They’re painting you like so kind of tragic prince."

"Let them," I said quietly, but my fingers had tightened around the arm of the chair.

On the screen, Angelica’s eyes seed to linger for a mont — like she was speaking not to the crowd, but to .

"He had this way of making you feel like the world wasn’t such a cold place," she said softly. "Even when he didn’t believe it himself."

"Wow," Cleo said, her eyes widening as the audience broke into applause. The clapping faded just in ti for her next question. "So... why did you two choose to break up — and when?" she asked, smiling like she already knew the drama was coming.

"Umm," Angelica began, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "we broke up when we were... I think fifteen. But we stayed friends until he was eighteen."

The audience gave a soft aww — the calm before the storm.

"I think we broke up because it was the right thing to do," she continued. "More than anything else, we had more of a friendship bond." She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the cara, then added, "Although... we did a lot more than kissing."

The room exploded. Cheers, whistles, and laughter filled the air.

Michael, beside , nearly choked on his snack. He was laughing like a maniac, slapping his thigh.

"Oh, this is gold," he gasped.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Of course it is."

On the screen, Angelica’s words were being drowned out by the crowd. "We were curious!" she tried to say, but her voice disappeared beneath the chaos of laughter and teasing shouts.

"Curious?" Michael repeated, grinning. "Yeah, I bet you were."

I sighed deeply, sinking further into the couch. "I’m changing the channel."

He snatched the remote from my hand. "Oh no, you’re not. This is way too good."

I couldn’t take it anymore. The crowd’s laughter, Michael’s wheezing beside — it all felt like static in my head.

Luckily, the universe threw a lifeline. The door opened, and Bill stepped in, his usual composed self.

"It’s ti to go back to Gloria," he said calmly. "All the preparations have been made."

I stood imdiately, grateful for the distraction. "Good," I said, straightening my jacket. "I’ve had enough entertainnt for one night."

Michael was still grinning. "You sure you don’t wanna finish the episode? They might bring out your kindergarten teacher next."

"Keep talking and I’ll cancel your ticket," I muttered, brushing past him.

He laughed, but I could feel his eyes on — he knew I was irritated. Still, I didn’t look back. Gloria City was waiting, and this ti, I wasn’t coming ho for peace.