HIS PRINCESS

CHAPTER 3

Ariana sat in the diner booth for ten minutes after the man left, staring at the crumpled document. The waitress came by to ask if she wanted anything. She ordered coffee just to have something to do with her hands.

When the coffee arrived, she pulled out her phone and called Martin Cole again. He answered on the third ring.

"I just got approached by someone claiming they framed my Dad," she said quietly. "They want two hundred thousand to make it go away."

Martin's voice turned sharp. "Where are you right now?"

"Diner on 5th and Maple. He just left."

"Stay there. I'm sending a colleague to pick you up."

She sipped the bitter coffee while waiting. Twenty minutes later, a woman in a navy pantsuit entered and walked straight to her table.

"Ariana Ross? I'm Lisa Grady, Martin's associate. Let's go."

They took a taxi to Martin's office. He was waiting behind his desk with two other men in suits when they arrived.

"What happened?" Martin asked.

Ariana repeated the conversation word for word and handed over the document. The men examined it carefully.

"This looks real," one of them said. "But we'll need to verify."

Martin leaned forward. "This can help. If we can prove the evidence was fabricated..."

"Can we afford to wait?" Ariana asked. "He gave me until Friday."

One of the other men spoke up. "We'll put a tail on you. If he contacts you again, we'll be ready to identify him."

Martin nodded. "In the meantime, act normal. Go home, get some rest. We'll handle the investigation from here."

Ariana took a taxi back to her apartment. As she unlocked the door, she noticed the light under Kiara's bedroom door was on. She pushed it open.

At a glance, they could be mistaken for twins—but only from a distance.

Up close, the differences were there, subtle but real.

Ariana, five years older, had a calmer energy—elegant, reserved, with high cheekbones and a steady gaze that rarely flickered. Her face carried the quiet weight of responsibility. Her dark hair was usually tied up, her figure slim but womanly, like someone who had grown into herself slowly, with intention.

Kiara, on the other hand, was more lean than slim—like someone who hadn’t yet filled into her frame. Her features were a touch softer, her eyes rounder, more expressive, more charming than beautiful, with a glow that came not from grace but youth. Her dark hair, though the same shade as Ariana’s, was worn loose and wild. And while Ariana moved like silence, Kiara always felt like a pulse—bright, emotional, unfiltered.

Kiara sat on her bed, suitcase open beside her. "I took an earlier train," she said.

Ariana sighed. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said, closing the door behind her.

Kiara stood, defiant. “I couldn’t just sit at school and do nothing.”

Ariana ran a hand through her hair. “You have midterms, Ki. A solo performance. You risk everything by being here.”

“Dad is in jail. Grandpa is in the hospital. And you think I should be stretching in a rehearsal hall like nothing happened?” Kiara snapped. Her voice cracked slightly, not from anger—but panic.

Ariana's shoulders softened. “I’m not asking you to pretend."

Kiara crossed her arms, her jaw tense. “You’re not the only one who cares, Ari.”

Silence fell between them.

Ariana finally sat on the edge of the bed, her tone quieter. “I just don’t want you dragged into this.”

“I already am,” Kiara replied, dropping beside her. “We’re in this together, right?”

Ariana hesitated, then nodded.

"I already called Grandpa's nurse. He's stable." Kiara stood up. "Now tell me what's really going on."

Ariana explained everything. Kiara listened quietly, then picked up her phone.

"I know someone who might help," she said. "My dance sponsor has connections."

Ariana’s eyes narrowed. “Sebastian Harris? That real estate tycoon?”

Kiara nodded as she held up her phone, the glow casting shadows on her face in the dark apartment. "Mr. Harris sponsors my education and dance scholarships. He owns half the commercial buildings in the city. If anyone can help fast, it's him."

Ariana rubbed her temples. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"We go see him tomorrow and explain the situation."

"And what do we offer in return? We have no money, no connections—"

"He likes talent," Kiara said simply. "Maybe you paint something for one of his buildings. Maybe I perform at an event. It's worth asking."

Ariana paced the small living room, her socked feet silent on the worn carpet. The electricity had come back on ten minutes ago, but neither of them had touched the lights.

"Fine," she finally said. "But we go together. And we leave if anything feels off."

“I know it sounds crazy,” Kiara added. “But he’s powerful. He knows people. And right now, we need every card we can play.”

Ariana nodded.

Kiara smiled. “You’ll see. He’s not that bad.”

Ariana didn’t respond.

Because something in her gut whispered otherwise.

---

The next morning found them standing outside a sleek downtown office building. Kiara smoothed her skirt nervously as they approached the reception desk.

"I-I'm here to see Mr. Harris" she told the receptionist.

"Are you Kiara Ross?"

"Yes."

"Take the elevator to the twentieth floor, turn right, and you'll find the CEO's office." The receptionist handed her an elevator card, and she thanked her before walking into the Harris Corporation building with Ariana in tow.

The elevator ride to the top floor was silent. When the doors opened, they stepped into a spacious waiting area with floor-to-ceiling windows. A stern-looking secretary gestured them toward a heavy wooden door.

Sebastian Harris stood by the window, his back to them as they entered. This was the first time Kiara was seeing him in person.

Despite having received his scholarship since her first year in high school, she’d never spoken to him directly. All communication had passed through the school administrator. His name had always hovered like a myth—the head of the Harris family, powerful and distant. A man who funded dozens of dreams, yet never appeared at award events or school ceremonies.

And now, suddenly, here he was. From his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window _Sebastian was tall, lean but solid, with the kind of posture that needed no announcement. His fair skin had a rich smoothness, his jaw was sharp, clean-shaven, and his gray eyes unreadable. He wore a fitted suit that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover—gray and quietly expensive.

There was something about him—too composed, too still. A man who never raised his voice because he never had to.

Kiara’s heart stuttered for a second. She didn’t show it, but for a brief, involuntary moment… she was a little stunned.

He was handsome—undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that. He looked dangerous in the way a storm cloud did before it broke. Silent, collected, but heavy with power.

Then he turned slowly, revealing sharp features and cold gray eyes that swept over them both before settling on Kiara.

"Miss Ross," he said. "I see you brought company."

Kiara swallowed. "My sister, Ariana. We need your help, Mr. Harris."

He gestured to the chairs in front of his massive desk. "Sit."

As they took their seats, Ariana studied the office—the modern art on the walls, the precisely arranged desk, the complete absence of personal items. Everything whispered control.

Sebastian steepled his fingers. "Speak."

Kiara laid out the facts quickly—their father's arrest, the fabricated charges, the demand for money. Sebastian Harris listened without interruption, his expression unreadable.

When she finished, he leaned back. "And what exactly do you expect me to do?"

Ariana spoke up. "We were hoping you might know someone who could help verify these documents are fake. Or point us toward legal representation that could—"

"I have better lawyers than your family could afford in ten lifetimes," Sebastian interrupted. "The question is—why should I involve myself?"