The Fragile Princess

Kael’s POV

I held Banjo’s shock-filled gaze without letting a single emotion show on my face. My sapphire eyes remained as cold and clear as ice.

"I didn't do anything, Banjo," I said softly, keeping my tone completely even. "If your legal team failed to secure land that didn't belong to you in the first place, that sounds like a problem with your business."

Banjo stepped closer, his broad chest almost brushing against my shoulder. The phone was still gripped tightly in his long fingers, his knuckles pale. "Don't play word games with me, Merinda. That land was supposed to be processed by morning. Tahlia’s family already has architects scheduled to break ground"

"Banjo!"

A high, breathless voice cut through the dim corridor.

Tahlia stood at the end of the hallway, holding the heavy crimson skirt of the matriarch gown in one hand. She looked tiny against the massive archway, her delicate honey-blonde hair framing a face that was pale, smooth, and utterly defenseless. Her doe-like hazel eyes welled up with instant, shining tears the second she saw us standing together.

"Banjo, please" she whimpered, taking a weak, trembling step forward. "Everyone in the ballroom is looking for you. The reporters they’re asking such mean questions about why your wife is sitting alone in the kitchen. I tried to defend you, but I feel so dizzy"

Banjo turned away from me instantly. The sharp suspicion on his face dissolved into pure, instinctual worry. He moved past me so fast the rush of wind lifted the hem of my dress.

"Tahlia, I told you to stay at the table," Banjo said, his voice instantly softening into a tone he had never once used with me. He reached her in two long strides, catching her elbow to steady her. "You shouldn't be walking around without your medicine."

"I was worried about you," she whispered, leaning her small frame heavily against Banjo’s broad chest. She looked over his shoulder, her hazel eyes locking directly onto mine.

For a fraction of a second, the weakness in her face vanished. A small, cruel smirk touched the corner of her lips a silent, triumphant taunt meant only for me.

Then, faster than a heartbeat, her eyes rolled back.

With a soft, dramatic gasp, Tahlia’s knees buckled. She dropped toward the polished floor like a limp ragdoll.

"Tahlia!" Banjo roared.

He caught her mid-fall, sweeping her frail body up into his arms easily. The sudden noise echoed down the corridor, drawing the immediate attention of the guests and journalists standing near the open ballroom doors. Within seconds, a dozen people spilled into the hallway, gasping in shock as camera flashes began to pop like rapid fire.

"Get a doctor! Call the venue paramedic now!" Banjo barked to his head of security, his voice raw with panic.

Tahlia lay cradled in his arms, her head resting against his chest, her chest heaving in short, shallow gasps. She clutched the lapel of Banjo’s tuxedo with trembling fingers, fluttering her eyelids open as if struggling with every ounce of strength she had left.

"Banjo" she choked out, her voice loud enough for the gathering crowd to hear clearly. "Don't be mad at Merinda. She didn't mean to"

Banjo froze, looking down at her in horror. "What are you talking about, Tahlia? What did she do?"

Tahlia let out a pathetic, trembling sob, burying her face deeper into his jacket. "When I was coming down the hallway she blocked my path. She stared at me with so much hatred she told me I didn't deserve to wear this dress she said I was a parasite who deserved to die of my illness"

A collective gasp rippled through the surrounding crowd of Zurich elites.

"How horrifying!"

"What a monster!"

"She really tried to stress a sick girl to death out of jealousy!"

"She’s a vicious gold-digger!"

The accusations flew around me like sharp glass. I stood perfectly still near the wall, watching the performance with an eerie, detached calm. Part of me wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it was, but the deeper part of my heart, the stupid, human part that had spent three years wishing for Banjo to treat me fairly felt like it was being slowly squeezed until it bled.

Banjo slowly stood up, holding Tahlia securely against his chest with one arm while his amber eyes turned toward me.

The warmth and panic he had shown Tahlia were completely gone. What remained in his face was a terrifying, murderous rage.

He took two heavy steps toward me. The crowd parted instantly, making way for the king of Vance Enterprises.

"Is this true?" Banjo growled, his voice so deep and cold it sent a shiver down the spines of the onlookers.

"No," I said simply, looking him straight in the eye. "She’s lying, Banjo. I didn't say a single word to her. I was standing right here talking to you."

"Liar!" a socialite from the crowd shouted. "Look at Miss Sterling! She’s trembling! Why would she lie when she can barely breathe?"

Banjo didn't even bother to evaluate the timeline. He didn't think about the fact that he had been standing with me just moments before. His judgment when it came to Tahlia Sterling was completely, utterly blind.

" Apologize," Banjo commanded, his voice echoing off the high ceilings of the corridor.

I blinked once. "What?"

"You heard me, Merinda," he spat out, his jaw clenching hard. He pointed toward the floor in front of Tahlia. "Get over here, drop your ridiculous pride, and apologize to Tahlia for threatening her. Right now. In front of everyone."

The hallway went dead quiet. Dozens of phones were pulled out, their camera lenses pointed directly at my face, waiting for the hidden wife of Banjo Vance to swallow her shame and submit.

I looked at Banjo’s hard, unforgiving face. I looked at Tahlia, who was peeking at me from behind Banjo’s shoulder, a tiny, satisfied glint in her eyes.

This was my husband. The man I had bound myself to for three long, agonizing years. The man who had promised to protect my dignity when we signed our marriage papers, now dragging it through the mud to comfort a fake princess.

A strange, quiet peace settled deep over my soul. The last lingering thread of hope inside me finally snapped with a silent, sharp pop.

"No," I said softly.

Banjo’s eyes flared with disbelief. "What did you say?"

"I said no," I repeated, my voice growing stronger, clearer, ringing through the quiet hall. "I will not apologize for a lie. And I will never apologize to her."

Banjo took a dangerous step closer, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper meant only for me. "If you refuse to apologize right now, Merinda, I will strip you of every privilege you have under the Vance name. I will make sure you leave this marriage with absolutely nothing."

I looked at him, and for the first time in three years, I felt no fear. I felt no sorrow. Only an overwhelming, icy clarity.

"You can't take away what I never had, Banjo," I whispered back.

Before Banjo could respond, a tall, distinguished elderly man wearing a classic, flawless suit stepped out from the shadows near the service elevator. It was Jarrah Thorne, the Vance family’s head butler and trusted advisor.

Jarrah walked past the whispering crowd, holding an old, antique silver tray in his white-gloved hands. On top of the tray rested a single, thick, red-wax-sealed envelope stamped with the official insignia of the Swiss High Court.

Jarrah stopped right beside Banjo, lowering his head respectfully, though his eyes darted toward me for a fraction of a second with an unreadable depth.

"Mr. Vance," Jarrah said in a calm, soft-spoken tone that cut through the tension. "Forgive the interruption, sir. But a courier just delivered an emergency notice from the Swiss Banking Regulatory Board."

Banjo frowned, still holding Tahlia. "What notice? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Jarrah lifted the envelope slightly. "It concerns the primary liquidity accounts of Vance Enterprises, sir. A freeze order has just been placed on all international transactions by the supreme directive of the Kael Banking Syndicate.”