HIS PRINCESS

CHAPTER 12

Sebastian stared at the security footage for several long minutes, rewinding and replaying the grainy images. The girl moved like Ariana, wore Ariana's clothes, even carried herself with that same quiet defiance. But something nagged at him - a slight hesitation in her step, the way she kept her head angled away from the cameras.

He rubbed his temples. Maybe he was imagining things. The lack of sleep and constant frustration with Ariana's resistance were getting to him. The footage wasn't clear enough to be certain.

With a frustrated sigh, he tossed his phone onto the desk. It skidded across the polished surface, coming to rest against a stack of contracts. The bourbon in his glass had gone warm and flat.

The intercom buzzed again. "Sir, your 7pm with the Singapore clients—"

"Tell them I'm indisposed." His voice carried an edge that hadn't been there before.

He stood abruptly, straightening his cuffs. The reflection in the window showed a man in perfect control, but the tightness around his eyes betrayed his irritation.

Down the hall, the office staff worked in hushed tones, sensing the storm brewing behind the closed door. The usual evening bustle was muted, footsteps softer, voices lower.

Sebastian poured himself another drink, the ice cubes cracking under the stream of amber liquid. He took a long sip, the burn doing nothing to ease his frustration.

The fluorescent lights of the police station visitation room buzzed overhead as Ariana sat across from her father. Cameron Ross looked older than his fifty-three years - his prison jumpsuit hung loosely on his frame, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. His normally well-groomed salt-and-pepper hair stood in disarray.

Ariana placed both hands flat on the cold metal table between them. "How've you been holding up?" she asked.

Cameron gave a tired smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The food's terrible, but I'm getting used to it." His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't used it much.

She slid a brown paper bag across the table. "I brought you some toiletries. They checked everything at the security booth."

"Thank you." His fingers trembled slightly as he opened the bag to peek inside. The scent of soap and shaving cream briefly masked the station's stale air.

Ariana glanced at the mirrored wall behind her father, knowing officers watched from the other side. "Martin's filing another motion tomorrow," she said, keeping her voice low but steady. "The evidence is shaky at best."

Cameron nodded, his hands now folded neatly on the table. "Don't wear yourself out over this. I can handle myself."

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence that followed. Ariana studied her father's hands - the same hands that had taught her to hold a paintbrush - now marred with fresh papercuts from prison paperwork.

"Grandpa's stable," she offered finally. "The new medication seems to be helping."

Cameron's shoulders relaxed slightly. "That's good." He hesitated before adding, "And Kiara? She's still at school?"

Ariana nodded. "She's studying hard as always." She didn't mention that Kiara's scholarship might be at risk because of Sebastian's proposal she refused to honour.

A uniformed officer knocked on the doorframe. "Five more minutes."

Cameron exhaled slowly. "You should go. It's getting late."

Ariana stood, her chair scraping against the linoleum floor. "I'll be back on Thursday. With more books this time."

Her father stood too, the chains around his ankles clinking softly. "Ariana," he said as she turned to leave. "Whatever happens...I'm proud of you."

She swallowed hard and nodded, unable to trust her voice. The officer led her father away while another guided her back through the maze of corridors to the exit.

---

Ariana stepped out of the police station into the harsh afternoon sunlight. The bus ride home consumed less time because the driver took a shorter route, the vinyl seats sticking to her skin as she stared blankly at passing storefronts.

She got off at the market district, pushing a squeaky shopping cart through fluorescent-lit aisles. Canned soups, rice, cheap coffee - available choices that wouldn't spoil. The cashier didn't meet her eyes as he bagged the items.

Her apartment welcomed her with stale air and silence. She put the groceries away, cans clanking in the cupboard. The folder from Madame Flora sat untouched on the kitchen table where she'd left it.

Ariana washed her hands, the water scalding. She dried them slowly before opening the folder. The contract's crisp pages smelled faintly of lavender.

She read each clause twice. The terms were clear - one year of her life in exchange for her family's freedom. Ariana closed the folder. She exhaled slowly, her breath fogging the glass.

The decision settled in her chest like a stone. She would sign Madame Flora's contract tomorrow.

The shower ran hot. Steam fogged the mirror as she washed away the stress of the week.

Dressed in black jeans and a dark sweater, Ariana sat on the edge of her bed.

She turned off the lights and lay down, staring at the ceiling. The clock ticked toward midnight before sleep claimed her.

___

The black town car pulled through wrought iron gates, crunching along the gravel driveway of Scotland Mansion. Ariana watched through tinted windows as manicured gardens gave way to the imposing stone facade of the largest private estate in Chorcolate City.

A uniformed attendant opened her door. "This way, Miss Ross." The marble foyer echoed with their footsteps as she was led past oil portraits and antique vases to a sunlit lounge.

"Madame will be with you shortly," the attendant said, gesturing to a brocade sofa. A maid appeared silently, placing a silver tray with tea and scones on the coffee table. The porcelain cup steamed faintly as Ariana waited, counting the grandfather clock's ticks.

Minutes later, the double doors swung open. Madame Flora entered leaning heavily on an ivory cane, her attendant hovering close behind. Today's jade-green dress matched the emerald brooch at her collar.

"You're punctual," the old woman observed as she settled into the armchair opposite Ariana. "I appreciate that in a person."

Ariana set down her untouched tea. "I've considered your proposal."

Madame Flora's knuckles whitened on her cane. "And?"

"I'll agree—" Ariana met her gaze squarely "—if we amend the terms. A proper marriage lasting one year after the child's birth. Then divorce afterwards."

The attendant inhaled sharply. Madame Flora's expression remained impassive, but her eyes sharpened. "Marriage is unnecessary."

"It is for me." Ariana's voice remained steady. "I won't bring a child into the world under a contract. But I will as a wife."

The fire crackled in the hearth.

Madame Flora tilted her head, considering. "You understand this changes nothing about custody."

"I do."

Madame Flora studied Ariana for seven silent seconds. "Keep in mind Khalid's condition remains unchanged? His... episodes?"

"And if conception doesn't occur within six months?"

"Then we annul with no obligations." Ariana's fingers didn't tremble as she adjusted her cuff. "But your support for my family begins as soon as I sign the contract."

The old woman's cane tapped once on the Persian rug. "Spencer," she called without raising her voice.

The attendant hurried out, returning moments later with the suited man Ariana recognized from the hospital. He carried a leather-bound folder.

"Draw up new contracts," Madame Flora instructed. "It should contain standard prenup terms, plus Miss Ross's... special conditions." She turned back to Ariana. "You'll meet Khalid here tomorrow at noon."

Ariana nodded.

As Spencer escorted her out, Ariana glanced back at the lounge. Madame Flora remained seated, her silhouette framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, already speaking quietly into her phone. The old woman didn't look up as the doors closed behind them.

The mansion's polished hallway stretched before Ariana as Spencer led her back to the entrance. Their footsteps echoed off the marble floors, passing beneath crystal chandeliers that cast diamond-shaped shadows.

A maid stood ready by the door, holding Ariana's jacket on outstretched arms. The fabric carried a faint scent of lavender from the lounge.

"Tomorrow at noon, Miss Ross," Spencer reminded her as he opened the heavy oak door. The afternoon sunlight streamed in, warming the foyer.

Ariana nodded without speaking. The same black town car waited at the base of the stone steps, its engine idling quietly.