The Prince's Contract Bride

Victoria Hawthorne had learned early in life that the world didn’t hand out respect to people like her. She had to rip it from their hands. Even now, stepping out of the sleek black town car in front of Ellington Mansion, she felt the familiar weight of eyes on her. The historic estate glowed under hundreds of strung lights, its stone façade and towering columns a monument to old American power. Tonight, the mansion was hosting a lavish banquet for the young Prince Ethan’s birthday. Every guest had been carefully instructed: dress elegantly, but never outshine the family. Victoria had chosen a bold, fiery red suit that hugged her figure like liquid silk. The color screamed confidence. The tailored jacket and matching trousers turned heads before she even reached the entrance. A diamond brooch glittered at her throat like a challenge. Let them stare Inside the grand ballroom, crystal chandeliers cast golden light over the elite of New York society. Politicians, old-money heirs, media moguls, and high-society matrons mingled with calculated smiles. Victoria moved through them like she belonged, because in her mind, she did. She was the CEO of Regal Beauty, the crown jewel of the Regal Group. Under her leadership, the company had become a billion-dollar empire of skincare, makeup, and luxury outfits. But no matter how many awards she won or how many products sold out overnight, the whispers never stopped. "Illegitimate." "Bastard daughter." "Commoner playing dress-up." She caught snippets of conversation as she passed a cluster of women in pastel gowns. “Did you see what she’s wearing? So desperate for attention.” “Chairman Hawthorne must be embarrassed.” Victoria smiled sweetly in their direction, then turned away. She had stopped caring about their opinions years ago. Tonight wasn’t about fitting in. It was about winning. Her phone buzzed discreetly. A message from Sophie, her sharp and endlessly loyal assistant: Marketing team in position. Socials primed. Go time. Victoria lifted her chin and stepped directly into the path of the photographers. Flashes exploded around her. She posed with effortless poise, one hand on her hip, the other holding a glass of champagne. The red suit caught the light perfectly. While the cameras devoured her, her team worked behind the scenes. Fake accounts flooded i********:, t****k, and X with perfectly angled photos. Paid articles went live within minutes. The Regal Group’s search algorithm was manipulated to push her name to the top. By morning, women across America would be searching for “red suit like Victoria Hawthorne.” It wasn’t vanity. It was strategy. An hour later, her phone lit up again. Sales reports were already pouring in. The exact suit, bag, and shoes she wore had sold out on the Regal Beauty website in under forty minutes. Pre-orders for the upcoming collection skyrocketed. Victoria allowed herself one small, satisfied smile. But the victory tasted bittersweet. As she moved toward the refreshment table, she overheard her half-brother Brandon and his wife Lauren laughing with a group of guests. “…can’t believe they invited her. Father must have been forced,” Brandon said, voice dripping with contempt. “Some people never learn their place, no matter how much money they make.” Lauren’s laugh was sharp. “At least she’s useful for publicity. Though I doubt even that red suit can hide the fact she’s still just the mistress’s daughter.” Victoria’s fingers tightened around her glass. She had spent her entire life proving she was more than her origins. Raised by her mother until ten, then shipped off to her father’s cold household like an unwanted package. The legitimate son, Brandon, had been groomed from birth. She had fought for every scrap of success. She turned away before they noticed her, but the sting remained. Across the ballroom, she spotted the young Prince Ethan, only eight years old, standing nervously beside his mother, Dowager Queen Eleanor. The boy looked overwhelmed by the attention. Eleanor, elegant and icy, scanned the room with sharp eyes. But someone was missing. The real power behind the Ellington family these days wasn’t the young prince. It was his uncle — Grand Prince Alexander Ellington, the Regent. Victoria had heard the stories. Brilliant. Handsome. Reluctant. Haunted by the tragic deaths in his family. A man who carried the weight of ceremonial duty he never asked for. She hadn’t come here just for marketing. She had come because she was running out of options in her war for control of Regal Group. And Prince Alex might be the only man powerful enough to help her win it. The evening wore on. Victoria charmed a few board members, dodged more barbed comments, and kept one eye on the exits. The banquet was winding down when she slipped away to explore the quieter halls of the mansion. She needed a moment to think. She turned a corner and froze. A tall man stood near a window, staring out at the dark grounds. Even from behind, his presence commanded the space. Broad shoulders, perfectly tailored tuxedo, dark hair slightly tousled as if he’d run his hand through it too many times. He turned slowly. Their eyes met. Prince Alexander Ellington. Up close, he was even more striking than the photos suggested. Sharp jaw, intense dark eyes, and an expression that seemed permanently guarded. He studied her for a long moment. “You’re still here,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Most guests have left.” Victoria’s heart beat faster, but she kept her face composed. “I appear to have gotten lost, Your Highness.” A faint, almost amused smile touched his lips. “Lost. Of course.” He took one step closer. “Tell me your name.” She hesitated. Admitting who she was could bring trouble. Being caught alone with the Prince Regent was risky. Alex’s eyes narrowed playfully. “I’ll count to three. If you disappear before I finish, I’ll let it slide.” His voice dropped. “It’s the least I can do for my junior.” Victoria’s breath caught. He remembered her. From the academy. From that secret dawn archery practice years ago. Before she could respond, a deafening explosion rocked the mansion. Glass shattered somewhere nearby. Smoke billowed from a distant hall. Shouts erupted throughout the building. Alex’s face drained of color. For a split second, Victoria saw raw terror in his eyes, the same look someone might have when reliving a nightmare. The night his brother died in a fire. Chaos exploded around them. Security rushed in. Guests screamed. Then Dowager Queen Eleanor stormed into the hallway, her face twisted with fury. Without warning, she slapped Alex hard across the face in front of everyone. The sound cracked like a whip. “You,” she hissed, voice trembling with rage. “This is your fault.” Victoria stood frozen, heart pounding, as Alex touched his reddened cheek. His eyes were distant, haunted. The night had begun with triumph. Now it was spiraling into something far more dangerous.