Chapter 17
95%
Cleo’s POV
After I and Daxon had our fallout, everything around me collapsed overnight.
My credit cards got frozen. Bank accounts drained. Even the fancy apartment I’d been living in got repossessed.
I stood outside a 24/7 convenience store with my suitcase, my body drenched in rain, my makeup smudged, my luxury clothes soaked. I looked like a fucking stray dog nobody
wanted!
I tried calling a few of my old “sponsors.” But I was either blocked, or my call came straight to voicemail. ‘Damn it, no one’s really gonna pick up?!‘ Not even the underground fight scene would let me in anymore–I’d been blacklisted!
By morning, I had nothing. Nothing but the cold, wet floor of a tiny rented room to curl up
- on.
That’s when I saw Davina’s live interview.
It was a global broadcast arranged by the royal family. That bitch sat in a custom designer dress, perfectly composed, answering questions with a faint smile.
“I don’t have any big dreams,” she said softly. “If I could choose, I’d just want to live a free
life.”
The way she carried herself–calm, elegant, untouchable–it lit a fire behind my eyes.
I zoomed in on Davina’s composed face on my phone. Her face made me grit my teeth.
“Why? You’re just a stray picked up from an orphanage!”
Then it hit me.
‘Am I not adopted too?‘
I pulled herself together and went home.
The old iron gate creaked open. My foster mom stood there with a plastic bag, clearly surprised to see me.
“You’re back?”
“I need to ask you something,” i said, cold and straight to the point.
My mom frowned. “Watch your tone.”
“Am I even your biological daughter?” My eyes locked on hers. “Did you get me from an orphanage?”
Her expression changed instantly. She turned toward the house and yelled, “Your dad’s home–go ask him.”
My adoptive dad shuffled out in slippers, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He didn’t even flinch when he saw me.
“You’re adopted. What about it?”
Chanter 16
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11:14 Tue, 20 May
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“Who are my real parents?” I snapped between my clenched teeth. “Who the hell am I?!”
With a thud, Mom slammed the plastic bag to the floor. “You’ve lost your damn mind. Life got hard, and now you come crawling back to look for your roots?”
“If you really wanna know,” Dad said lazily, “fine.”
He went inside and came back with a dusty old box. Inside was a yellowed piece of paper from the orphanage. It listed my birth details and abandonment records.
I followed every clue on that paper, desperate to find my real parents,
Turns out…
‘Both my biological parents were addicts?! And those losers have been fucking dead for years?!‘
I couldn’t accept it. I refused to accept it.
I always told myself I might be some heiress lost at birth, or a rich family’s stolen daughter. How come I was just an abandoned baby discarded by two junkies?!
‘No. No way in hell. I’m not giving up!‘
A few days later, I tracked down that Swedish prince–the same one Davina had humiliated, the one left disgraced and discarded.
“You want to work together?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You want a comeback or not?” I shot back. “If you play along, we both have a shot.”
I faked a DNA report again.
This time, I used stolen blood and a fake identity to fabricate a “proof” that I was the one with the real royal blood.
Soon, a bombshell headline exploded online.
[DNA twist: Is she the true royal princess?]
I went on a rampage all over the internet, “exposing” Davina’s dark past.
Dropping out for a guy. Getting dumped. Rumors of a miscarriage. A fake DNA test result.
Old photos. Edited clips. All of it spread like wildfire online.
-And just like that, the palace was under fire again.
The very next day, the palace released a statement.
[Princess Davina has behaved improperly and shamed the royal image. She will undergo a full investigation and disciplinary measures.]
Davina’s POV
When I read that statement, I just smirked.
In the royal conference room, all the big–name royals gathered. The tension in the air was suffocating.
My grandfather’s face was grim as he stared at me.
“Davina, do you have any idea how important your identity is? What you’ve done–do you
Cleo’s POV
After I and Daxon had our fallout, everything around me collapsed overnight.
My credit cards got frozen. Bank accounts drained. Even the fancy apartment I’d been living in got repossessed.
I stood outside a 24/7 convenience store with my suitcase, my body drenched in rain, my makeup smudged, my luxury clothes soaked. I looked like a fucking stray dog nobody
wanted!
I tried calling a few of my old “sponsors.” But I was either blocked, or my call came straight to voicemail. ‘Damn it, no one’s really gonna pick up?!‘ Not even the underground fight scene would let me in anymore–I’d been blacklisted!
By morning, I had nothing. Nothing but the cold, wet floor of a tiny rented room to curl up
- on.
That’s when I saw Davina’s live interview.
It was a global broadcast arranged by the royal family. That bitch sat in a custom designer dress, perfectly composed, answering questions with a faint smile.
“I don’t have any big dreams,” she said softly. “If I could choose, I’d just want to live a free life.”
The way she carried herself–calm, elegant, untouchable–it lit a fire behind my eyes.
I zoomed in on Davina’s composed face on my phone. Her face made me grit my teeth.
“Why? You’re just a stray picked up from an orphanage!”
Then it hit me.
‘Am I not adopted too?”
I pulled herself together and went home.
The old iron gate creaked open. My foster mom stood there with a plastic bag, clearly surprised to see me.
–“You’re back?”
“I need to ask you something,” I said, cold and straight to the point.
My mom frowned. “Watch your tone.”
“Am I even your biological daughter?” My eyes locked on hers. “Did you get me from an orphanage?”
Her expression changed instantly. She turned toward the house and yelled, “Your dad’s home–go ask him.”
My adoptive dad shuffled out in slippers, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He didn’t even flinch when he saw me.
“You’re adopted. What about it?”
I’ll Stay until the 101st Time He Leaves Me Broken
1/3 74.2%
11:14 Tue, 20 May G.
95%
“Who are my real parents?” I snapped between my clenched teeth. “Who the hell am I?!”
With a thud, Mom slammed the plastic bag to the floor. “You’ve lost your damn mind. Life got hard, and now you come crawling back to look for your roots?”
“If you really wanna know,” Dad said lazily, “fine.”
He went inside and came back with a dusty old box. Inside was a yellowed piece of paper from the orphanage. It listed my birth details and abandonment records.
I followed every clue on that paper, desperate to find my real parents.
Turns out…
‘Both my biological parents were addicts?! And those losers have been fucking dead for years?!‘
I couldn’t accept it. I refused to accept it.
I always told myself I might be some heiress lost at birth, or a rich family’s stolen daughter. How come I was just an abandoned baby discarded by two junkies?!
‘No. No way in hell. I’m not giving up!‘
A few days later, I tracked down that Swedish prince–the same one Davina had humiliated, the one left disgraced and discarded.
“You want to work together?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You want a comeback or not?” I shot back. “If you play along, we both have a shot.”
I faked a DNA report again.
This time, I used stolen blood and a fake identity to fabricate a “proof” that I was the one with the real royal blood.
Soon, a bombshell headline exploded online.
[DNA twist: Is she the true royal princess?]
I went on a rampage all over the internet, “exposing” Davina’s dark past.
Dropping out for a guy. Getting dumped. Rumors of a miscarriage. A fake DNA test result.
Old photos. Edited clips. All of it spread like wildfire online.
And just like that, the palace was under fire again.
The very next day, the palace released a statement.
[Princess Davina has behaved improperly and shamed the royal image. She will undergo a full investigation and disciplinary measures.]
Davina’s POV
When I read that statement/I just smirked.
In the royal conference room, all the big–name royals gathered. The tension in the air was suffocating.
My grandfather’s face was grim as he stared at me.
“Davina, do you have any idea how important your identity is? What you’ve done–do you
Chapter 17
2/13 75.8%
11:14 Tue, 20 May
45%
know what it’s done to this family?”
I looked up, calm and cold.
“Did any of you ever stop to ask if I even wanted this identity?”
The room went dead silent.
“From the day you found me, you didn’t care about me. You only cared who I could marry,
how much I was worth, and how much debt I could pay off for this family.”
I stepped right up to my grandfather, no fear in my eyes.
“Well, here’s my answer-
“I don’t give a damn about your royal bloodline.
“I don’t want to be the princess.
