[ESTELLE]
"I have to go, Estelle," he said, his voice low. "Let’s talk about this later."
"O-okay . . . I’ll wait for you at the apartnt then? If you’re too busy here."
He didn’t answer. Just turned his back on and walked toward Eve.
I watched them go, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder, his entire attention swallowed by her presence.
And then it hit .
His favorite wasn’t anymore.
It wasn’t even Kelsey.
It was Eve.
If I wanted my happily ever after with Damien, I needed to act fast. And if that ant getting close to Eve again? Then so be it. Even if I had to betray Cole. Especially if I had to betray Cole. Because let’s be honest, it was probably his fault anyway for ssing things up.
I was this close to hearing wedding bells—and that idiot just destroyed everything I had work for months! Ugh, wait until I get back to New York. Cole is definitely going to feel my wrath. He has no idea what’s coming for him.
There was no way I was going to let that idiot cousin of mine ruin my relationship with my soulmate. Not now. Not when I was this close to the finish line.
I took another sip of champagne and straightened my spine.
All hope wasn’t lost—far from it.
Sure, things weren’t looking great right now. Damien had suddenly turned cold, and his attention was completely glued to his long-lost sister like he was auditioning for the role of overprotective big brother of the year.
But I wasn’t going to panic. Not yet. Because if there was one thing I was sure of, it was that I knew exactly who to cozy up to in order to win Damien back.
And besides, co on. He had to miss .
Maybe not emotionally right this second—he was clearly in shock with the whole "Frizkiel royalty long-lost sister reunion" drama unfolding like a soap opera—but eventually? He’d rember . And not just for my sparkling personality or my charming laugh. No, no. He’d rember the nights. The passion. The sheer talent I had—okay, maybe not talent, per se, but the effort. I was a great student. Top of my class, really. With Damien leading, I had beco . . . well, competent in bed. And isn’t that what counts?
He couldn’t just forget that, right?
Anyway, strategy. I was already forming my ga plan. If being sweet and supportive and emotionally available wasn’t cutting it, I had to get creative. I’d make friends with the right people. Or more specifically, the right person.
Evangeline Cole Frizkiel.
Or as I used to call her—Eve Rosette. My dear cousin’s ex-girlfriend turned royalty, now apparently the key to everything. If I could win over her, if I could get on her good side, then I’d have my way back into Damien’s heart. Sister-in-law bonding, here I co.
Was it shaless to plan my future wedding by infiltrating the royal inner circle through a woman who looked like she wanted to strangle the last ti we spoke?
Maybe.
But desperate tis called for mildly stalker-ish asures.
I was prepared. I would sit beside her at brunch, laugh at her jokes even if I didn’t get them, complint her gowns, ask about her skincare routine, maybe even pretend I loved babies if that’s what it took. I would beco the best fake best friend a girl like Eve could ever ask for.
Even if I had to pretend I liked herbal tea.
Even if I had to wear beige.
Even if I had to gasp apologize to her for whatever weird passive-aggressive things I may or may not have said during our last encounter.
I would do it. All of it.
Because Damien? Damien was worth it. The man looked like he stepped out of a drama poster, and he liked —at least once. And I was going to remind him of that every chance I got until he proposed to in a castle surrounded by roses, violin music, and confetti. Or at least in the apartnt living room with pizza and a "sorry I was distant" hug. I wasn’t picky.
Let the war for my future begin. Because I may not be a Frizkiel by blood—but I could still beco one by marriage.
And if I had to sweet-talk, sche, or outright buy the world to make that happen?
So be it.
Ga on.
=== 🤍 ===
Days had passed.
No, scratch that—weeks. And my mission to reclaim Damien’s attention? A complete and utter failure.
I hadn’t exactly been on the right track. First off, Eve was impossible to approach. I had tried. Believe , I did. I’d loitered around her tea parties, offered to hold her ridiculously tiny clutch bags, even complinted her pearl-encrusted shoes that looked like they belonged in a museum, not on a human foot.
But she was so guarded—like "Secret Service ets Victorian nun" kind of guarded. She had protective brothers, a thick aura of "don’t ss with ," and this cool expression that made question my entire existence.
Even I was intimidated—and I once stole a crocodile bag from a woman nad Helga during Fashion Week because she pissed off. I paid for it later though because it didn’t want to go to jail so the jokes was on .
Then there was Damien.
A complete no-show.
Not even a ghost of him. No texts, no surprise calls, not even a casual "you up?" ssage at 3 AM, which, let’s be honest, I would’ve gladly taken at that point.
And okay, I got it. He was busy reuniting with his long-lost sister—emotional stuff, deep family healing, whatever. But a month of radio silence?
Was I . . . dead to him now?
Well, I still had the key to his apartnt. That counted for sothing, right?
Right?
I an, he hadn’t kicked out. That had to be a good sign. Except . . . he also hadn’t been there. Not once. Just , his enormous penthouse, and his robotic espresso machine that hated .
I was starting to feel like a glorified house-sitter. Like one of those suspiciously underpaid assistants in K-dramas who "accidentally" fall in love with their boss but end up cleaning a lot of floors.
Yep. That’s my life right now.
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