The car door closes with a quiet finality that feels louder than it should.
For a moment, I say nothing.
The city slips past in fractured reflections—glass, steel, power. Everything sharp. Everything watching. It mirrors the world I'm about to walk into.
And the version of me they expect to see.
"Alright," Maximilian says beside me, far too relaxed for a day like this, "you've been staring out that window like you're planning to declare war on the skyline."
I don't look at him. "Maybe I am."
"Should I warn the buildings? Or let them die unawared"
A breath escapes me before I can stop it.
I turn slightly. "You're insufferable."
"And yet," he replies smoothly, "your favorite person in this car."
"You're the only other person in this car."
"Technicalities."
That almost earns him a smile.
Almost.
Silence settles again—but it's not heavy. Not with him here.
Maximilian has always been my constant. My Beta.
"You don't have to carry all of it at once, you know," he says after a while.
There it is. I should've known he wouldn't let it go.
"I'm not," I reply, too quickly.
"Eleanor."
Just my name.
No title. No weight. Just… me.
I lean my head back, closing my eyes for a second. "Everyone is watching, Max. Every step. Every word. Waiting."
"For you to break?"
I don't answer.
Because that's exactly it.
"Breaking yourself before they get the chance doesn't count as strength," he says quietly.
My fingers tighten against my lap. "I'm fine."
A soft scoff. "You've been 'fine' for years. Forgive me if I'm not convinced."
I turn to him then, a warning in my gaze. "I am fine."
He holds my eyes—not challenging, not pushing. Just steady.
"Right," he says finally, lifting his hands slightly. "Unshakable. Untouchable. Just like him."
I look away first.
"I don't have a choice," I say, quieter now. "I have to be like him."
My father.
The standard. The loss that still hasn't settled into something I can carry without effort.
Maximilian exhales slowly. "You don't have to replace him, Ellie."
Ellie.
The name pulls at something fragile.
For a moment, I let it. The grief. The exhaustion. The pressure pressing in from all sides.
"Things are different now," I murmur.
"They are," he agrees. "Which is why you shouldn't be doing this alone."
"I'm not alone."
"You're trying very hard to be."
I shoot him a look, but there's no real heat in it. He knows me too well. And just when I think he'll keep pushing—
He doesn't.
Instead, his expression shifts, something lighter slipping back in.
"You know," he says casually, "this entire situation could've been avoided."
I narrow my eyes. "That sounds like the beginning of a bad suggestion."
"You should've brought Justin."
I let out a dry, humorless breath. "Absolutely not."
Maximilian grins, clearly entertained now. "Come on. Your father practically chose him. Strong alliances, powerful family, and—if I recall correctly—he sings."
I finally turn fully toward him, unimpressed. "He performs. There's a difference."
"Oh?" Maximilian raises a brow. "Enlighten me."
"He enjoys an audience," I say coolly. "And he enjoys being admired even more."
"Tragic flaw," Max says. "Very dangerous."
"He's also jealous," I add, my tone sharpening slightly. "Possessive over things that were never his to begin with. And far more calculating than he lets on."
Maximilian studies me now, the humor dimming just a touch. "And yet…"
"And yet," I cut in, already knowing where he's going, "my father trusted his family. Their influence. Their reach."
Connections that run deep through the kingdom.
Connections I can't afford to dismiss
"I tolerate him," I finish flatly. "For what he represents. Nothing more."
Maximilian leans back, considering that. "He'd still make a very dramatic accessory at this meeting."
I almost smile. "He'd make it about himself within five minutes."
"Fair," Max admits.
Silence returns—but this time, it's sharper. Focused.
"Alliance meeting," he says after a moment. "What are you expecting?"
My gaze shifts back to the window, but I'm not really seeing the city anymore.
I'm seeing the room.
The players.
The moves.
"Polished hostility," I say. "They'll smile. Offer condolences. And then they'll test me."
"Of course they will."
"They'll assume grief makes me weaker," I continue. "That I'll hesitate. That I'll bend."
Maximilian's voice lowers slightly. "And will you?"
I turn to him.
"No," I say
A pause.
"Good," he replies, a hint of pride slipping through.
The car begins to slow.
I feel it—the shift. The moment everything stops being preparation and becomes reality.
Maximilian glances ahead. "Final question."
I sigh faintly. "What?"
"Dramatic entrance," he says, "or terrifying silence?"
I glance at him.
Then forward, as the building comes into view—tall, imposing, filled with people who think they understand power.
"Why not both?" I say.
The car stops.
He steps out first, circling around to my side. I don't move until the door opens.
One breath.
That's all I give myself.
Then I step out.
And the world reacts
Eyes turn. Conversations falter. The air shifts—subtle, but undeniable.
Good.
Let them look.
Let them measure.
Let them think I'm just the grieving daughter clinging to her father's legacy… and the alliances he left behind.
Including Justin.
I lift my chin, every inch the princess they expect—
And none of what they're prepared for.