CHLOE

When Things Started Simple

​Chloe's story begins with a voice from her past: "Her father always told her she should lead a simple life." Honestly, she admitted to the reader, "He had some really solid arguments."

​She usually started with his points because they shaped her early thinking:

​Freedom from Luxury: He had argued that a simple life would keep her far from the constant, demanding chase for money required to sustain a luxurious lifestyle. "You can find happiness even in simple things in life," he would stress.

​Mental Well-being: He promised freedom from the pressure of trends and societal demands. "No pressure, and your mental health would be stable," he believed.

​Protection from Judgment: Finally, he argued she'd be safe from the judgment of a hypocritical society because she wouldn't have to impress anyone.

​And a part of her—the cautious, obedient part—knew he was right. She knew it deep inside her heart.

​But another voice, the one connected to her soul, spoke louder: She wanted to live the life she wanted, whether it would be simple or grand. That single line became her compass. This is her story: what she was before, the moment she chose to forge a different path for her fate, and what she has become.

She was 20 years old, fresh out of college with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and Latin honors. The pressure to succeed was intense; she felt she had to meet every expectation placed upon her. After months of searching for a job in line with her degree, she surprisingly landed her first role: a position in a foundation in Hong Kong dedicated to teaching people with autism.

​Getting there wasn't easy. Her parents immediately doubted her—could she truly survive alone in a foreign country for years? It took everything she had to convince them that she could manage, that this felt right. More than just a job, it felt great because she finally got to apply the theories she'd learned from school. She was ready to trade simple safety for a magnificent challenge.

​She spent the next four years dedicating her life to her career as a Cognitive Behavioral Therapist. She'd be honest, it was exhausting. She truly loved her clients, and she loved the professional life she had built in Hong Kong. It was just that... she started to miss her family, her friends, and that life she used to have—her life without constant worry. The grand challenge she had chosen was becoming an overwhelming burden.

​She decided she needed a break, a proper "me-time" retreat one weekend. While most of her colleagues were gearing up to enjoy Hong Kong's famous nightlife, she figured she needed something peaceful. In a moment of sheer impulse, she went to an art gallery. It felt completely out of character. Why on earth did she do that?

​But boy, she was glad she did. Because that very evening... she met her prince. A PRINCE. And yes, a real-life, royal one.

​

​She was standing there, silently gazing up at one particular painting. It was strange—just stripes of black and white, like a zebra, yet the artist had named it "The Maze." She was completely stumped.

​Just as she was about to give up thinking and move on, a presence interrupted her. Someone was standing right beside her, whom she hadn't noticed until he started speaking.

​He calmly explained the title: "The artist wants the people who see his piece to view it just as they want to see it. The painting is what the people see it is. So, technically, it's a perspective painting. You see what you want to see, and that merely reflects who you are and how you see things."

​He spoke so beautifully and was so articulate about art. If she hadn't known any better, she might have mistaken him for an art guru or even the gallery director. But no, he was someone else entirely.

​She knew him from the moment her gaze finally met his. It was His Highness Prince Magnus Asch (based on Prince Georg Antonius Constantin Maria 1999) of Liechtenstein. He was fourth in line to the throne. His older brother, Prince Mattheus Asch, came before him, followed by their father, Prince Alfred, and then their grandfather, Prince Henry. He also had an older sister, Princess Theresa Asch, and a younger brother, Prince Timothy Asch. His mother was Princess Esther of Wales, which was a fascinating detail in itself.

​How did she know all this detail, down to the names and birth order? Well, she happened to have a slight obsession. Since she was a young girl, she'd had a deep, unwavering interest in the monarchs of Europe.

​She had been so lost in her internal roll call of his lineage that she momentarily forgot they were standing in an art gallery, staring at a black-and-white painting called "The Maze."

​The silence stretched. He waited, a subtle smile playing on his lips, perhaps sensing her surprise.

​"So," she finally managed, trying to sound casual, "what do you see in 'The Maze'?"

​Her mother used to fill her head with stories: fairytales about princes and princesses, commoners becoming royalty with the help of fairy godmothers, magic, flying unicorns, and true love. She knew it was fiction, but it became a part of her, leaving her with a secret, deeply buried wish for her own modern fairytale.

​Now, facing a real prince, she had to laugh at the irony. Her current life was a million miles from that fantasy. She’d already accepted that it would never happen, concluding that knights in shining armor and princes rescuing damsels in distress were wildly overrated.

​She wasn't into princes these days, she thought, firmly correcting herself. She was practical.

​What she actually needed was a simple man with a steady job, a house, and a car—someone who possessed the qualities her father would approve of in a future life partner. That was the mature, sensible goal. Good grief, she thought, shaking the internal debate away. She was getting too far ahead of herself!

​"Excuse me?" she mumbled, finally focusing on the man beside her. "Where was I again?"

​She was at the Art Gallery. And she had just asked a literal prince what he saw in a painting called "The Maze."

​"What do you see in 'The Maze'?" she repeated, bringing her focus back to the painting and the Prince beside her.

​He finally offered his reply, and it was a beautiful metaphor, delivered with a calm, resonant voice. Honestly, it went completely over her head. She nodded politely, pretending to grasp the deep, philosophical meaning he’d just eloquently laid out. Despite her confusion, that beautiful coincidence—standing together, sharing a quiet moment over an incomprehensible painting—led them to talk about a lot of other things. They eventually introduced themselves.

​"I'm Chloe Jung," she said, offering her hand.

​He returned the gesture and a warm smile. "And I'm Magnus Hawthorne."

​Hawthorne. She instantly clocked the name. It was his maternal grandmother's surname—not an outright lie, but a perfectly safe shield. It meant he wasn't exactly hiding or disguised like some character in a movie; he simply wasn't advertising the truth.

​He didn't share anything more personal than that he was currently pursuing a Master's in Arts and Literature, which she found genuinely cool. As they spoke, she couldn't definitively confirm if this charming, knowledgeable man was the actual Prince Magnus Asch she'd mentally cataloged moments earlier. She didn't bother to ask. It felt intrusive. Maybe he was being careful, or perhaps revealing his true identity could put his security at risk. Either way, the mystery made the conversation all the more intriguing. For that evening, he was just Magnus Hawthorne, the insightful art lover.

​The experience at the gallery was amazing. Chloe had just had a long, engaging conversation with a prince—or at least a very charming and intelligent man named Magnus Hawthorne. It was an honor, and definitely a great story to tell her future kids and grandkids someday.

​But the story didn't end with a polite farewell.

​Before they departed, Magnus paused and looked at her with an easy confidence. "Chloe, I’ve genuinely enjoyed our talk about the maze and everything else. Would you allow me to continue the conversation over dinner?"

​It was an invitation she couldn't refuse. Or should she say, it was a date. She assumed it was.