Chapter 90

I knew something was wrong the moment I reached for my journal and it wasn’t there. It had been under my pillow for weeks, tucked away like some adolescent secret, always close enough that I could reach for it when the words built too high in my throat. That journal wasn’t just a collection of entries, it was the only place I had allowed myself to be honest. When I needed to vent, cry, scream in silence, it had all gone into those pages. But now, the space was empty. The pen Richard had given me, the one engraved with the crest of the royal council, was gone too.

At first I tore apart the sheets, convinced it had just slipped between the mattress and the wall. But the longer I searched, pulling open drawers, checking under furniture, the more dread coiled in my stomach. It wasn’t misplacement. It was absence, deliberate and chilling. My heart thudded painfully in my chest, a sick rhythm echoing with every thought of what might happen if the contents of that journal fell into the wrong hands.

Emma appeared in the doorway, bleary-eyed and barefoot, rubbing at her temple. “What’s going on?”

“My journal,” I said, maybe too loudly. My hands trembled. “It’s gone. And the pen.”

Emma frowned and stepped into the room without hesitation. She joined the search without needing to ask another question, rifling through piles of books, scanning surfaces, lifting cushions. I could tell by the set of her jaw that she didn’t think we’d find it either.

After twenty minutes of tearing the room apart, she sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling hard. “You think someone took it?”

I nodded slowly, my throat tightening. “That journal has everything. Not just facts. Feelings. Things I never said out loud. I wrote about the mark, the overwritten bond, even the first night Richard and I... I mean, everything. I wrote what I couldn't say. About how I felt when he looked at me like I was the only person in the room. About the nights we spent pretending it was just physical. It's all in there.”

Emma’s eyes softened, her worry turning sharper. “We need to tell Nathan. Right now.”

He arrived within the hour, still in yesterday’s clothes, exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. The three of us gathered in the kitchen, where the overhead lights hummed and the smell of coffee did nothing to settle the panic in my gut.

“If it was stolen,” Nathan said slowly, folding his arms, “we have to assume the worst. That it’s already been read. Possibly scanned. Leaked.”

My fingers curled around the coffee mug, knuckles white. “What would David do with it?”

Emma exchanged a look with Nathan. “He’d use it to paint Richard as compromised. Frame it as a scandal. Say he was hiding personal ties that cloud his judgment.”

Nathan nodded grimly. “Or twist it into a narrative about coercion. Abuse of power. Emotional manipulation. That journal exposes both of you in ways no one else has seen.”

I didn’t realize I was shaking until Emma placed a steadying hand on mine. “So what do we do now?”

Nathan stood. “We go to Richard.”

By dawn, we were seated in a secured side room at the estate. The lights overhead were too bright, casting harsh shadows on all our tired faces. Richard looked like he hadn’t slept in days. The room was silent except for the occasional rustle of paper as we reviewed documents.

He nodded to me. “Tell him.”

So I did. I explained about the journal, what I had written in it, how it had gone missing, and when. I told him what it meant, that every vulnerable moment, every secret about us, every fear and longing I hadn’t dared say aloud was in that notebook. When I finally said the words “second chance bond,” the air left the room. My voice stayed steady until I mentioned the overwritten mark.

“Do we have any idea who could have taken it?” Richard asked.

Nathan shook his head. “Not yet. We’re reviewing surveillance from the apartment complex. But whoever it was knew exactly what they were after.”

Emma leaned forward, her voice clipped. “It’s more than a security breach. It’s emotional blackmail. Anyone who reads that knows exactly how to manipulate her. Or him.”

Richard’s jaw tightened. He stood and began pacing, the tension practically vibrating off of him.

“We go public,” he said suddenly.

Everyone stared.

“You want to confirm it?” someone asked, incredulous.

“I want to take control of the story,” Richard replied. “If we wait, David will spin it into something worse. But if we get ahead of it, we decide the terms.”

Nathan turned to me. “Amelia, are you sure?”

No, I wasn’t. But I nodded anyway. What other choice did we have?

“Then we prepare the message,” Richard said. “We do it today.”

The press conference was hastily arranged in the estate courtyard, just hours later. Reporters swarmed like sharks sensing blood. Flashbulbs sparked as I stood just behind Richard, staring into the sea of cameras. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, my palms damp even though the late morning breeze had a bite to it. Emma stood beside me, steady and unreadable.

Richard didn’t use a script. He didn’t need one.

“Yes, I share a second chance bond with Amelia,” he said clearly. “It wasn’t political. It wasn’t strategic. It was something real. And I am not ashamed of it.”

Gasps rolled through the crowd. Some reporters frantically typed while others simply gaped.

“This campaign will not be derailed by fearmongering,” he continued. “We will proceed with honesty. I won’t allow anyone to use my bond as a weapon.”

The backlash was immediate. Outrage. Support. Confusion. Protesters showed up before the press conference even ended. David’s camp scrambled to respond. By the next morning, new headlines flooded every feed. Talk shows speculated. Pundits dissected every word. My face and Richard’s flashed across every major network.

Despite the chaos, I was reinstated. Promoted, even.

Lead Intern Coordinator.

The irony didn’t escape me. One moment I was being quietly removed, the next thrust into the spotlight again, but this time with a title.

I walked into the press room with a new badge clipped to my collar and my heart hammering in my chest. Emma smiled from the corner. Nathan gave me a barely perceptible nod.

I stepped up to the podium. “Good afternoon,” I said. “Let’s begin.”

I briefed the press on updated scheduling and new transparency protocols. I dodged loaded questions, kept my voice level, and didn’t flinch. When I looked to the wings, I saw Jenny. She stood rigid, arms folded, eyes sharp. She didn’t say a word. But I felt the weight of her presence like a stone.

After the briefing, Richard found me in one of the upper corridors. The floor-to-ceiling windows glinted with late afternoon sun. He reached for my hand without saying anything.

I let him. He leaned down and kissed me, soft and certain. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission. The kind that would be seen by anyone walking past those windows.

Later that night, Nathan and Emma sat hunched over surveillance footage in my living room. The lights were dim, our voices quiet. The room smelled like tea and worry.

“There,” Emma said, pointing.

We all leaned in.

A figure in a hoodie. Slipping out the door of my apartment building. The image was grainy, but the silhouette was unmistakable.

Emma zoomed in. My breath caught.

Jenny.