CHLOE

It Was Not Simple As She Thinks

The next thing she knew, it was just her and him seated at a quiet, elegant table in a high-end restaurant. The atmosphere was intoxicating: a musician played a soft melody on a violin for them, and the attentive waiter poured a deep red wine into her glass.

​And the food? It was incredible. She hadn't actually eaten an entire meal that cost half her monthly salary before—so to her, this wasn't just a simple dinner; it was grand. She knew, deep down, that this was precisely the kind of extravagant experience her father's "simple living plan" was meant to avoid.

​As she took a sip of the twelve-year-old Carlos Rossini, holding the wineglass up to the candlelight, she realized how far she'd already strayed. In case anyone didn't know what was happening in her life right now, it was a collision of worlds. She was sitting there, having a serious conversation about society with the Prince, and she was loving every minute of it.

​"You mentioned the hypocritical society your father warned you about," Magnus said, swirling his glass. "What part of society do you think puts the most pressure on young professionals right now?"

​"Oh, that's easy," she replied with a wry smile and a slight shrug. "Probably the part that expects us to know what kind of wine to order." She paused for effect. "Or maybe the part that expects us to pretend to understand abstract art and talk about societal pressures when, really, I'm just trying to figure out if this delicious main course has hidden gluten. You know, the actual important stuff."

​She saw the slightest flicker of surprise cross the Prince's face. His left eyebrow rose just a fraction—an involuntary twitch that confirmed her superficial answer had landed. She knew it was a terrible, flippant reply, but tonight, she wasn't the serious Cognitive Behavioral Therapist. She was just Chloe, enjoying a grand meal and choosing blissful ignorance.

​He maintained his composure quickly, however, and a small, intriguing smile returned. "A fair point, Chloe. The pressure to appear cultured and well-fed is indeed formidable. But surely, as a psychologist, you have a more academic view on the professional burden?"

​"You've caught me, Magnus," she confessed, leaning forward slightly. "But you see, my academic view—the one about stress and cognitive load and the imposter syndrome that plagues every young professional—is currently in an intensive care unit." She paused, pointing to the wineglass. "This, my twelve-year-old friend, is the doctor, and I am officially on a break. You know what they say: A weekend off means brain off. Thinking about professional burdens is, quite frankly, the very last thing on my list."

​She looked around the beautiful room, letting the soft violin music wash over her. "So, instead of society, let's talk about something more pressing, shall we?" She set her wineglass down with a decisive clink. "What's the best part of being named 'Magnus'?"

Chloe forgot Magnus's answer to that question, probably because she was still overwhelmed by her current situation.

​

​Inner Monologue:

So, here she was. Twenty-four, single, and on her first ever date—or at least, her first luxurious dinner with a literal prince, which certainly felt like a date.

​She believed she was a total mess, or at least, her lifestyle was. She couldn't really afford to gratify her desires, so she had resolved to follow her father's advice: to live a simple life. She tried so hard to be responsible for everything she did; she didn't spend much on material things and saved up—she wasn't even sure why she saved, but she did. She proudly called herself a "wise-spender."

​And she was glad she didn't regret her choices. She didn't become miserable... she just became lonely. Friends drifted away because she didn't hang out with them; their idea of fun involved spending too much on temporary luxuries.

​Of course, some might suggest she had her clients to talk to, but they had their own lives and their own needs. Besides, she wasn't friends with her clients; she was their therapist.

​If her mom could read this, she would remind her to be thankful for what she'd become: a decent, well-mannered, sophisticated woman who was respected, looked up to, and whose presence was a "blessing and grace." Yeah, her mother made it sound like she was about to become a virgin saintess. And this, Chloe felt, was why she was bound to be single for life.

That evening had been longer than most of Chloe's ordinary evenings, and she didn't even realize she had drunk too much and passed out.

​She only realized how wasted she had been when she woke up in a suite. The suite was undeniably luxurious—far grander than anything Chloe could afford. She sat up, clutching the plush duvet, her head throbbing. The door opened, and Magnus entered, his easy charm gone, replaced by a deep, almost stern seriousness.

​He pulled up a chair and didn't mince words. "I think it's time I stop with the pretense. I am not merely Magnus Hawthorne." He paused, his gaze fixed on her. "I am His Highness Prince Magnus Asch of Liechtenstein."

​Chloe looked back at him. She opened her mouth, ready to admit she knew, ready to explain her fascination with European history, but the words didn't come out as a shock. Of course, he is, she thought. She had known since the gallery. The lack of reaction seemed to frustrate him.

​He leaned forward. "Your lack of surprise confirms my suspicions. I know who you are, Chloe Jung."

​She frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

​"You don't have to pretend anymore," he continued, his voice hardening. "I've had my men research your background. We saw your old f*******: posts from college. My name... with a heart emoji next to it. You posted about me."

​The blood drained from her face. That silly, youthful post she’d forgotten years ago.

​"I now believe our meeting at the Art Gallery was probably not a coincidence," he stated, his tone cold and definitive. "You keep track of me. You must have planned to seduce me. Your innocent cover has been blown, and I find it quite frankly disgusting." He pushed his chair back abruptly. "I don't want to see you again."

​His allegations were like a punch to her stomach. She could assure him none of it was true. It was not her plan to seduce him; she was a woman of dignity, not some gold-digger! But before she could find the words to defend herself, he was already standing by the door with his entourage waiting outside.

​"You will not tell anyone about me or this meeting," he commanded.

​He placed an envelope on the mahogany dresser. "Consider this a retainer for your silence."

​Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the immense, silent room.

Chloe stared at the envelope. Her entire body trembled from the sheer rudeness and unfairness of his accusations. When she finally opened it, she gasped. It was a check for a vast amount—a shocking sum of money left to shut her up.

And... she took it.