Chapter 11
The media frenzy was instantaneous. Cameras flashed like lightning behind the chapel windows, voices outside turning shrill as the news broke.
“The Sleeping Colombo wakes–during his own wedding!”
“Zacharias speaks–and says her name!”
“Who is Scarlett Royce? Isn’t Alina was Zacharias was his fiancee?”
They didn’t even bother asking if it was a miracle or a scandal. They didn’t care. The headline was enough to send the world into a spiral.
Security came flooding in seconds after Zacharias spoke. My father’s men, the hospital’s private guards, and a few of the family’s old loyalists closed ranks so fast it was like they’d been rehearsing this moment their whole lives.
Zacharias and I were whisked away through the chapel’s side doors. I barely registered the flash of Alina’s fury in the rearview mirror as she screamed something incoherent and flung her phone at one of the pews.
Winston had reached for her, but his hand had faltered mid–air. I saw his eyes- just for a second–land on me instead. He looked like a man watching a star collapse. Or maybe a queen rise.
He didn’t know which terrified him more.
XXX
We were taken to one of the private villas near the Colombo estate. A fortress dressed in glass and hush money. Doctors came in rotating shifts. Zacharias father made sure they were paid in suitcases and silence. For the outside world, we were “recovering.” Grieving. Celebrating. No one could quite decide.
Inside the villa, it was just us.
Zacharias was weak–his muscles barely responsive, his voice hoarse like he’d swallowed smoke. But his eyes… they always found mine first.
He remembered me. That much was clear.
Not my title. Not my scandals. Not the weight of my last name or the sins I wore like lipstick.
Just me.
“You smell like… bergamot and winter,” he whispered once, head tilted, his fingers twitching like they wanted to move but couldn’t.
I smiled faintly, brushing a cool cloth over his temple. “I’d say you’re delirious,
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but that’s actually very accurate.”
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“Scarlett.” He tested my name like it was a secret he used to love. “I remember you. The girl who sat three rows ahead. You always had ink on your fingers.”
“Guilty,” I murmured, and tucked the cloth into the bowl beside me.
He stared at the ceiling. “But I don’t remember the accident. I don’t remember… who I was supposed to marry.”
I leaned back in the chair, slow and feline. “Good.”
His gaze slid to me. “Was it you?”
There was a pause.
“No,” I said calmly. “You were supposed to marry someone else. But she didn’t love you. Not really. She loved what you were. Your name. Your crown. And maybe your cheekbones on a good day.”
He gave a ghost of a laugh. “And you?”
I studied him then. The prince in ruins. The boy I used to watch from behind a veil of cigarette smoke and duty.
“I loved you before you had a crown,” I said. “I loved you when you didn’t even know my name.”
XXX
Alina didn’t go quietly. She stormed out of the chapel that day like a banshee with a Birkin. Cursed my name to the press. Screamed at my father. Demanded that Zacharias be tested for poison, brainwashing, or both, or whatever.
But the footage of his awakening had already gone viral.
His voice. His fingers brushing mine. His first word.
“Scarlett.”
She couldn’t fight that.
Winston followed her, but not right away. He lingered in the chapel for a few seconds too long. Just staring at the altar. There was something in his face I couldn’t quite place.
Regret? Wonder?
Maybe both.
He’d never seen me like that before. Not really. He’d loved the version of me that played nice for the cameras. That obeyed. That apologized for the space she took up.
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But this Scarlett–the one in the black dress, in command of the room, with a crown of ashes and vengeance–this one tugged at something in him.
I could feel it.
He was wondering if he
sen wrong.
Good.
Let him.
Let them all wonder what would’ve happened if they’d loved me better.
Because now, Zacharias–the heir, the miracle, the man the world watched sleep for a year–was awake. And all he remembered… was me.
***
ALINA’S POV
You know what I hate more than losing? Watching my fucking half sister, Scarlett, win!
I was wrapped in a silk robe worth more than the chapel’s flower arrangements, lounging in the penthouse suite Papa booked after the whole disaster of a wedding. The curtains were drawn, the room bathed in soft golden light, and the scent of imported roses tried to soothe my nerves.
It didn’t work.
Every news outlet, every damn channel, every whisper on the gossip apps had one thing in common.
Scarlett.
Scarlett Royce.
Scarlett, the girl no one invited.
Scarlett, who somehow married my fiancé right in front of the entire world.
I threw my phone at the velvet armchair and nearly shattered the glass flute of pomegranate juice in my hand. “This is a nightmare. It’s a fucking nightmare!”
Papa- Pablo, head of the De Fontaines shipping empire and partial owner of five racing circuits–sat calmly at the table eating caviar like nothing had happened.
“I told you not to wear that shade of lipstick,” he said absently, scrolling through his tablet. “Too much drama. You always cry when it smears.” Islammed my hand down on the glass coffee table. “Papa, are you listening to me? He’s awake! Zacharias is awake and he said her name like he’s some
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romantic lead in a cheap Netflix drama! Scarlett of all people!”
He looked at me over the rim of his espresso. “You’re engaged to Winston.”
I folded my arms and pouted, curling up in the giant chair like a furious kitten. “I was only engaged to Winston because I thought Zacharias was going to be in a coma forever. Everyone thought so. And now he’s awake, and she’s married to him. She stole him. She doesn’t deserve him.”
“She didn’t steal anyone. You were never married.”
“But I was supposed to be!” I snapped. “We had bridal sketches, Papa. He was
mine!”
