Amy Stone
The car stops in front of the palace gates, and I can already feel the tension in the air. The guards straighten at once, their polished boots snapping together as they bow deeply. Good. They should. The old me would’ve looked away, unsure how to act under all the attention. But not anymore.
I step out, my heels striking the stone with sharp precision. The red gown I wear flows behind me like liquid fire, catching every flicker of light. My pulse is steady, my expression blank. Inside, though, I can feel the storm brewing.
Peter walks beside me, his voice low and worried. “Amy, think about this carefully. What if that email was wrong? What if someone is trying to play you again?”
I don’t even glance at him. “I don’t make mistakes anymore, Peter. I’m not the old Amy. I see thr
