MELISSA'S POV
I was still reeling from the email.
The glow of being nominated as a finalist for Miss England hadn’t worn off yet. It still didn’t feel real. I’d read the message over and over again, as if the words might vanish if I blinked too hard. Even with the chaos that had clouded my morning, that one email had felt like a hand reaching down and lifting me from the mess.
For the first time in days, I felt light.
Hopeful.
I had been smiling, hugging a pillow to my chest, letting the idea of Miss World, cameras, gowns, interviews, and finally making something mine swirl around in my head—when my phone vibrated again.
Just one name popped up.
Xavier Kesh.
And I froze. It wasn’t a text. It was a post.
My thumb hovered over it for a few seconds, my pulse flickering at my wrist. I
