Love is blind, but greed gives you 20/20 vision. Daniel Wright thought he was the king of New York.

He had the billions, the skyscrapers, and the supermodel mistress. The only thing standing in his way was his quiet, boring wife, Kate.

A woman he’d picked up from a dusty bookstore and planned to discard like last season’s Prada. He thought he was divorcing a penniless nobody.

He didn’t know that by signing those papers, he wasn’t just losing a wife. He was declaring war on one of the most powerful royal families in Europe.

Watch what happens when a billionaire realizes his poor wife is actually a princess.

The sound of a Montblanc pen scratching against crisp linen paper echoed through the silence of the penthouse at 432 Park Avenue. It was a sound Catherine Wright had been dreading, and yet expecting, for months.

She sat on the edge of the cream-colored Roche Bobois sofa, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wore a simple navy cardigan and jeans, a stark contrast to the opulence surrounding her.

Across the marble coffee table sat her husband, Daniel Wright.

Daniel was the poster boy for American excess. At forty-two, he was the CEO of Wright Capital, a man who moved markets with a tweet and destroyed companies for sport.

He was handsome in a predatory way—sharp jawline, bespoke Tom Ford suit, eyes that always seemed to be calculating the value of whoever he was looking at.

Today, looking at his wife of five years, he had evidently calculated her value as zero.

“It’s generous, Kate,” Daniel said, sliding the document toward her.

He didn’t look her in the eye. He was busy checking his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Central Park.

“Two million. The apartment in Jersey. You keep the Honda. It’s more than you had when I found you.”

“Found me,” Catherine repeated softly.

Her voice was calm, almost melodic, showing none of the devastation that should have been there.

“You make me sound like a stray dog, Daniel.”

“Well, look at the facts.”

Daniel scoffed, turning away. He took a slow sip of his Macallan 64, as if the number alone could steady him.

“You were working in a dusty antique bookshop in the village when we met. You had student loans. You wore thrift-store coats.”

“I gave you this life. But we’ve evolved in different directions.”

“Evolved?” Catherine said.

“Is that what you call sleeping with your publicist?”

Daniel’s face hardened. The air in the room shifted, as if the penthouse itself had decided to hold its breath.

At the far end of the apartment, the elevator doors chimed softly.

“Jessica is not just a publicist,” Daniel snapped.

“She’s a partner. She understands my world. She fits in at the Met Gala. She knows how to talk to the board.”

“You, Kate—you’re sweet, but you’re invisible. At dinners, you talk about gardening and books. You embarrass me with your lack of ambition.”

The elevator doors slid open, and the click-clack of Louboutins announced the arrival of the very ambition Daniel was praising.

Jessica Hart walked in like she already owned the deed. She was stunning—undeniably blonde, statuesque—wearing a red Versace dress that cost more than Catherine’s entire pre-marriage wardrobe.

She tossed her Chanel bag onto the armchair Catherine usually sat in to read.

“Is it done, Richie?” Jessica asked.

Her voice dripped with saccharine sweetness that never reached her cold blue eyes.

She didn’t even look at Catherine.

“Almost,” Daniel said, his posture relaxing instantly as his gaze landed on her.

“Kate is just reviewing the settlement.”

Jessica laughed, a light, dismissive sound. She walked over and draped her arms around Daniel’s neck, leaning in to whisper loud enough for Catherine to hear.

“Don’t be too difficult, honey. Two million is a lot for a shopgirl.”

“Think of all the knitting supplies you can buy.”

Catherine stood up slowly. She didn’t scream.

She didn’t cry. She simply smoothed the wrinkles out of her jeans.

“I don’t want the two million,” Catherine said quietly.

Daniel pulled away from Jessica, narrowing his eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“If you think you’re going to fight this and get half, you’re delusional. The prenup is ironclad.”

“My lawyers are from Cravath, Kate. They’ll bury you under legal fees before you even step inside a courtroom.”

“I don’t want your money, Daniel,” Catherine clarified.

Her gaze shifted to Jessica, then back to her husband.

“And I don’t want the Jersey apartment or the Honda.”

“Then what do you want?” Daniel asked, confused.

“Alimony? Stocks? I want a clean break,” Catherine said.

She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a pen—not a fancy Montblanc, but a simple heavy fountain pen with a crest engraved on the cap, too small for Daniel to notice.

“I will sign the divorce papers right now, uncontested.”

“I leave with what I came with. My books, my clothes, and my name.”

“Your name?”

[clears throat]

Jessica giggled.

“You mean Miller? Wow. Hold on to that legacy, sweetie.”

Catherine ignored her. She leaned over and signed the papers with a fluid, practiced hand.

Catherine.

Right.

But Catherine added, straightening up.

“I have one condition.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, checking the signature to make sure it was valid.

“Go on.”

“The charity ball next week at the Pierre Hotel,” Catherine said.

“The Global Humanitarian Gala. You’re the keynote speaker. You insisted I attend with you months ago to keep up appearances.”

“I want to attend one last public appearance as Mrs. Wright, before the announcement goes out on Monday. To save face.”

Daniel laughed, relief washing over him. He had expected a fight for his Hamptons estate.

“That’s it?”

“You want one last night of playing dress-up? Fine. Jess wasn’t going to be ready to debut until next month anyway.”

“Perfect,” Catherine said.

She picked up her tote bag.

“I’ll have my things moved out by tonight.”

“Where will you go?” Daniel asked, a momentary flicker of pity crossing his face.

“The YMCA?”

Catherine walked to the elevator. She pressed the button, then turned back, offering them a smile that was chillingly serene.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Daniel,” she said.

“I’m going home.”

As the doors closed, Daniel turned to Jessica and grinned.

“That was easier than I thought. I told you she had no backbone.”

Jessica kissed him, smearing red lipstick on his collar.

“She knows her place, Richie. Some people are born to rule, and some are born to serve.”

“She’s just background noise.”

They toasted with champagne, celebrating their victory.

They had no idea the background noise was about to bring the whole symphony crashing down on their heads.

The transition from the penthouse to the street was jarring, but for Catherine it was liberating.

She hailed a yellow cab, not a black car.

“Where to, lady?” the driver asked.

“The Carlyle Hotel,” Catherine replied.

The driver raised an eyebrow in the rearview mirror. She didn’t look like the typical Carlyle guest, but he drove on.

When they arrived at the legendary Upper East Side hotel, Catherine didn’t go to the front desk. She went straight to the elevators, inserting a black keycard that bypassed the lobby entirely.

It took her to the royal suite on the thirtieth floor.

The doors opened into a space that made Daniel’s penthouse look like an IKEA showroom.

It was decorated in gold leaf and Louis XVI furniture.

Standing by the window, holding a secure satellite phone, was an elderly man in an impeccable butler’s suit.

“Your Highness,” the man said, bowing deeply as she entered.

“Welcome back.”

Catherine let out a long breath, her shoulders finally dropping.

“Hello, Alfred. It’s good to be back.”

“Please tell me you have tea.”

“Earl Grey,” Alfred said.

“The real kind. Imported this morning from the palace, ma’am.”

He poured a steaming cup from a silver service.

“I trust the meeting with Mr. Wright went as expected.”

“He was predictable,” Catherine said, taking the tea.

She walked over to a velvet armchair and sat down, crossing her legs with a grace she had carefully suppressed for five years.

“He offered me money to go away. He thinks I’m destitute.”

“The arrogance of the nouveau riche,” Alfred muttered with quiet disdain.

“If only he knew that your family’s art collection alone is worth more than his entire company.”

“He will know soon enough,” Catherine said, her eyes flashing.

“Did you arrange everything for the gala?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[clears throat]

“The Grand Duke—your father—was displeased to hear of the divorce. But he is flying in, along with your brother, Crown Prince Alexander.”

“They will be attending the gala as surprise guests of the French ambassador.”

Catherine smiled. It was a wicked smile.

“And the dress?”

“It arrived from the vault in Geneva an hour ago,” Alfred said.

He gestured to a large velvet-covered mannequin in the corner of the room and pulled the cover off.

Underneath was a gown that would stop traffic.

It wasn’t just a dress. It was a statement.

Deep emerald silk, custom-made by Dior. But the centerpiece wasn’t the fabric.

It was the sash—the royal sash of the House of Bourbon Palmer—pinned with the star of the Grand Cross.

And next to it, resting on a velvet pillow, was the tiara: the fleur-de-lis diamond tiara that hadn’t been seen in public since her grandmother wore it to the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II.

“Perfect,” Catherine whispered.

“May I ask,” Alfred said gently.

“Why did you stay with him so long? You could have ended this charade years ago when he first started showing his true colors.”

Catherine looked out the window at the Manhattan skyline.

“Because I wanted to be sure, Alfred. I wanted to see if a man could love me—Catherine Miller, the girl with the books—not Princess Catalina, the heir to a throne and a banking empire.”

“I wanted to believe in the fairy tale of normal life.”

She took a sip of tea, her expression hardening.

“But Daniel proved that for men like him, normal is just code for disposable.”

“He fell in love with a fantasy of a savior complex. He wanted a poor girl he could rescue, control, and then upgrade when he got bored.”

“He broke the only rule my father gave me when I left the palace.”

“Never let a commoner make you feel common.”

“He will regret it, Your Highness,” Alfred said.

“He won’t just regret it,” Catherine said.

She stood and ran her fingers over the cold diamonds of the tiara.

“He’s going to learn a lesson in hierarchy.”

“Daniel thinks he’s a shark because he swims in a pond. He’s about to find out what happens when you swim in the ocean with the whales.”

Meanwhile, at Wright Capital HQ, Daniel was in a high-stakes board meeting.

The company was trying to secure a massive contract with the European Union for renewable energy grids, a deal worth forty billion dollars.

It would make Wright Capital the most powerful energy firm in the world.

“We’re hitting a wall with the regulatory committee in Brussels,” his VP of operations—a nervous man named David—said.

“The permit requires a royal warrant, or approval from the Council of Historic Preservation, specifically for the land we want to build on in southern France.”

“It has historical ties to an old aristocratic family. They have veto power.”

Daniel waved his hand dismissively.

“Buy them out. Everyone has a price.”

“Who is the family?”

“It’s complex,” David said, shuffling papers.

“The land belongs to the Duchy of Palmer and Piacenza, currently held in trust by the collateral branch of the Spanish and Luxembourgish royal families.”

“The head of the trust is very private. We’ve been trying to get a meeting, but they’ve ghosted us.”

“Keep pushing,” Daniel barked.

“I don’t care if it’s the King of England. Offer them double market value. I want that deal signed by next week.”

“And get me a meeting with the French ambassador at the gala on Saturday. I’ll charm him.”

Jessica, sitting in the corner taking notes on her iPad, looked up and smiled.

“You can charm anyone, Richie. Once we get that deal, we’ll be the power couple of the century.”

“Forget the Kardashians. It’ll be the Wrights.”

Daniel leaned back in his chair, feeling invincible.

He had shed the dead weight of his boring wife.

He was about to close the biggest deal of his life.

“Nothing can stop us now,” he said.

He had no clue that the head of the trust he was trying to bribe was currently sitting at the Carlyle Hotel, drinking Earl Grey tea and planning his public execution.

The grand ballroom was dripping with crystals and old money.

This wasn’t a Hollywood red carpet. This was serious wealth.

Senators, oil tycoons, ambassadors, and tech moguls filled the room.

Daniel Wright stepped out of his Rolls-Royce Phantom, Jessica on his arm.

Jessica had gone all out.

She wore a sheer, sparkling silver dress that left little to the imagination, designed to grab headlines.

As cameras flashed, she posed, soaking it in.

Daniel beamed, feeling like the king of the world.

“They love us,” Jessica whispered, waving to the paparazzi.

“Look at them.”

They entered the ballroom, and Daniel immediately began working the room.

He shook hands with the CEO of Goldman Sachs, laughed with the mayor, and kept his eyes peeled for the French ambassador, Henry Desroches.

“There he is,” Daniel said, spotting the ambassador near the stage.

“Let’s go seal the deal.”

He steered Jessica toward the front, but as they approached, he noticed something odd.

The ambassador wasn’t looking at the crowd.

He—and everyone else in the VIP section—was looking toward the massive double doors at the top of the grand staircase.

A hush fell over the room.

The music—a live string quartet—abruptly stopped, then transitioned into a formal, regal fanfare.

“What’s going on?” Jessica asked, annoyed that the attention had shifted away from her dress.

“Is it a surprise performance?”

“Babe,” Daniel muttered.

“I don’t know.”

The master of ceremonies stepped to the microphone.

His voice boomed, but it trembled slightly with reverence.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise.”

Daniel frowned.

Rise for who? The president wasn’t scheduled to be here.

“Please welcome,” the MC continued.

“His Royal Highness, Grand Duke Henry of the House of Bourbon Palmer. His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Alexander.”

The doors swung open.

“And Her Royal Highness, Princess Catalina.”

Three figures stepped onto the balcony overlooking the ballroom.

On the left, a tall, imposing man with gray hair and a chest full of military medals.

On the right, a handsome younger man in a tuxedo with a red sash.

And in the center was Kate.

But it wasn’t the Kate Daniel knew.

This woman stood three inches taller in heels that cost a fortune.

She wore the emerald gown, the sash of the royal house draped across her chest.

And on her head—glittering under the chandeliers like a halo of ice—was the massive diamond tiara.

Daniel’s glass of champagne slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.

“That’s—” Jessica gasped, her eyes bulging.

“That’s your wife.”

“No,” Daniel whispered, his brain misfiring.

“That’s Kate. She—she buys her clothes at Target.”

“This is a joke. It’s a prank.”

The room erupted into a different kind of murmur.

Not gossip—respect.

Awe.

The entire room, including the billionaires Daniel idolized, bowed their heads or curtsied as the trio began to descend the staircase.

As Kate—Princess Catalina—walked down the steps, she didn’t look at the floor.

She looked straight ahead, radiating a power Daniel had never seen.

She looked majestic.

The French ambassador—the man Daniel had been trying to bribe for weeks—rushed forward to the bottom of the stairs.

He didn’t offer a handshake.

He bowed low and kissed Kate’s hand.

“Your Highness,” the ambassador said, his voice amplified by the acoustics.

“We are honored by your presence. We did not know the royal family would be gracing us tonight.”

Kate smiled, a gracious, diplomatic smile.

“Thank you, Ambassador. I apologize for the deception.”

“I have been observing life in New York incognito for some time. But family duty calls.”

Daniel stood frozen, his mouth agape.

People were starting to look at him, then at Kate, whispering furiously.

“Richie, do something!” Jessica hissed, panicked.

“Why is she wearing a crown? People are looking at us like we’re idiots.”

Daniel, running on pure adrenaline and denial, pushed through the crowd.

He marched right up to the ambassador and Kate.

“Kate!” Daniel blurted, his voice cracking.

“What the hell is this? Is this some kind of costume party?”

“Take that thing off your head. You look ridiculous.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

The ambassador looked at Daniel with pure horror.

The Grand Duke—Kate’s father—stepped forward, his eyes like steel.

“I beg your pardon,” the Grand Duke rumbled.

“Who is this man who dares to speak to my daughter in such a manner?”

Daniel pointed a shaking finger at Kate.

“Daughter? I’m her husband. She’s Catherine Wright.”

“She’s a nobody from the village.”

Kate turned her head slowly to look at Daniel.

Up close, the transformation was even more terrifying.

Her eyes weren’t the soft, pleading eyes of his wife.

They were the eyes of a ruler looking at a peasant.

“Daniel,” she said coolly.

“You seem confused. Let me introduce you properly.”

She gestured to the older man.

“This is my father, Grand Duke Henry, and this is my brother, Crown Prince Alexander.”

She took a step closer to Daniel, her voice dropping so only he, Jessica, and the immediate circle could hear.

“And I am not Catherine Wright.”

“My name is Princess Catalina Marie TZ of the House of Bourbon Palmer.”

“And as of this morning—when you signed those papers—I am happily divorced.”

She turned to the ambassador.

“Henry, is this the man representing Wright Capital? The one seeking the permits for the land in Provence?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the ambassador said nervously.

“I see,” Kate said.

She looked at Daniel, a small, cruel smile playing on her lips.

“Well, as the head of the Heritage Trust that owns that land, I’m afraid the answer is no.”

“We don’t do business with people who lack integrity.”

Daniel felt the blood drain from his face.

The forty-billion-dollar deal—gone in a sentence.

“Kate, wait,” Daniel stammered, reaching for her arm.

Before he could touch her, two massive security guards in suits materialized, blocking his path.

“Do not touch Her Royal Highness,” one of them growled.

Jessica, realizing the ship was sinking, tried to pivot.

“Oh my God, Kate. I always knew there was something special about you.”

“I told Daniel, didn’t I?”

Kate looked at Jessica.

She looked at the cheap, flashy silver dress.

Then she looked at her own emerald silk.

“Ms. Hart,” Kate said.

“I believe you have my husband. You can keep him.”

“I have a kingdom to run.”

She turned her back on them and walked into the crowd, the sea of people parting for her like the Red Sea.

Daniel was left standing in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by shattered glass and the ruins of his life, as the whispers of New York’s elite turned into laughter.

If the gala was the crash, the following Monday was the burning wreckage.

Daniel woke up not in his penthouse, but in a hotel room at the Pierre.

He hadn’t wanted to go home and face the silence of the apartment where Kate used to be.

Beside him, Jessica was scrolling furiously through her phone, her face pale.

“Have you seen this?” she shrieked, shoving her iPhone into his face.

It was the New York Post.

The headline was brutal, printed in bold black letters.

THE PRINCESS AND THE PRICK.

Below it was a split photo. One side showed Kate in her emerald gown and tiara, looking like a queen.

The other showed Daniel, red-faced and sweating, pointing a finger at her, with Jessica looking terrified in the background.

“They’re calling me the court jester!” Jessica screamed, throwing the phone on the duvet.

“My Instagram comments are a war zone. I’ve lost ten thousand followers since midnight. Daniel, fix this!”

Daniel rubbed his temples.

His head was pounding.

“Calm down, Jess. It’s just a tabloid. It’ll blow over in forty-eight hours.”

“The news cycle moves fast.”

He was wrong.

When Daniel arrived at Wright Capital an hour later, the atmosphere was funereal.

Usually the lobby buzzed with energy. Today, employees huddled in corners whispering.

When they saw him, they went silent and looked at the floor.

He stormed into his office.

“David. Get in here.”

David—his VP—hurried in, looking like he hadn’t slept.

He was holding a stack of papers.

“Tell me the EU deal is still salvageable,” Daniel demanded, pouring himself a coffee.

“I’ll fly to Brussels. I’ll apologize to the ambassador personally.”

“It’s not just the deal, Daniel,” David said, his voice shaking.

“It’s the stock.”

“What about the stock?”

“Look at the ticker.”

Daniel turned on the Bloomberg terminal on his desk.

He gasped.

STRL—Wright Capital—was down thirty-eight percent in pre-market trading.

The line on the graph looked like a cliff dive.

“Why?” Daniel roared.

“Because of a gossip column? Because of the fraud allegations?” David said quietly.

Daniel froze.

“What fraud?”

“When you filed the disclosure forms for the EU energy project,” David said.

“You listed the land acquisition in Provence as secured pending signature.”

“You leveraged company assets based on that land being ours.”

“Now that the princess—your ex-wife—has publicly stated that the Heritage Trust will never sell to us, the SEC is investigating us for misleading investors.”

“They think you lied about having the deal locked down to pump the stock price.”

Daniel slumped into his leather chair.

She did this.

He could feel it in his bones.

“She planned this.”

“There’s more,” David continued, wincing.

“Since the news broke that Catherine is royalty, the press has been digging into your divorce filing.”

“You offered her two million. The public perception is catastrophic. Clients are pulling out.”

“The Teachers’ Pension Fund of Ohio just liquidated their entire position in Wright Capital.”

‘Se oli viidensadan miljoonan dollarin tili.’

‘Poissa.’

Daniel tunsi seinien sulkeutuvan.

Hän nappasi puhelimensa ja valitsi sen numeron, jota oli jättänyt huomiotta viiden vuoden ajan.

‘Kate.’

Puhelu meni suoraan vastaajaan.

Mutta se ei ollut vanha vastaajatervehdys, jossa hän kuulosti ujolta ja suloiselta.

Se oli geneerinen automaattinen ääni.

‘Soittamasi numero ei ole enää käytössä.’

Hän paiskasi puhelimen alas.

‘Valmistele suihkukoneeni,’ Daniel ärähti.

‘Olen menossa Eurooppaan. Minun täytyy löytää hänet. Jos saan kuvan, jossa teemme rauhan, markkinat vakautuvat.’

‘Hän on yhä Kate. Hän on pehmeä. Voin puhua hänet siihen.’

David katsoi häntä säälin vallassa.

‘Daniel, hän ei ole Euroopassa.’

‘Lentolokit osoittavat, että kuninkaallinen valtuuskunta lensi tänä aamuna Caymansaarille.’

‘Caymansaaret?’

‘Miksi?’

‘Siellä on Royal Holding Companyn päämaja,’ David sanoi.

‘Ja Daniel… Siellä hoidetaan yrityksemme velka.’

Kylmä väre kulki Danielin selkää pitkin.

Hän ei vielä ymmärtänyt koko kuvaa, mutta tiesi yhden asian.

Hiiri, jonka hän oli potkinut ulos talostaan, purki parhaillaan hänen elämäänsä tiili kerrallaan.

Kolme viikkoa myöhemmin Daniel Wright oli mies, joka oli ylpeä siitä, ettei koskaan kerjäänyt.

Mutta seisoessaan raskaiden rautaporttien ulkopuolella laajalla kartanolla Portugalin rannikon kukkuloilla – missä kuninkaallinen perhe lomaili – hän oli valmis anomaan.

Hän näytti hoitamattomalta.

Viime kuukauden stressi oli vanhentanut häntä viisi vuotta.

SEC:n tutkinta kuumeni.

Lautakunta uhkasi äänestää hänet ulos.

Ja Jessica—no, Jessica oli muuttunut painajaiseksi.

‘On kuuma, Daniel,’ Jessica valitti vuokratusta Mercedesistä hänen takanaan.

‘Ja korkokengät uppoavat maahan. Eikö voitaisi vain soittaa hänelle?’

‘Ole hiljaa, Jessica!’ Daniel ärähti.

Se oli ensimmäinen kerta, kun hän todella huusi tytölle.

Hän vetäytyi järkyttyneenä.

Daniel painoi portin intercom-nappia uudelleen.

‘Daniel Wright täällä tapaamassa Hänen Korkeuttaan, prinsessa Catalinaa. Se on kiireellistä.’

Staattinen rätinä.

Sitten ääni, jonka Daniel tunnisti.

Se oli hovimestari Alfred.

‘Prinsessa on keskellä sellotuntia, herra Wright. Häntä ei saa häiritä.’

‘Alfred, ole kiltti,’ Daniel sanoi, ääni särkyen.

‘Tiedän, että kuulet minut. Lensin meren yli. Tarvitsen vain viisi minuuttia. Minun täytyy pyytää anteeksi.’

Hiljaisuus.

Sitten portti surisi ja narisi hitaasti auki.

‘Viisi minuuttia,’ Alfredin ääni varoitti.

‘Älä pakota minua päästämään koiria vapaaksi. Enkä puhu vertauskuvallisesti.’

[selvittää kurkkuaan]

Daniel palasi autoon ja ajoi pitkin pitkää, mutkittelevaa ajotietä, jota reunustivat sypressipuut.

Kartano oli henkeäsalpaava—1800-luvun palatsi, maalattu pastellikeltaisella ja vaaleanpunaisella, näkymä Atlantin valtamerelle.

Se oli vanhan rahan maailma, varallisuuden taso, joka kuiskasi eikä huutanut.

Hän löysi Katen puutarhasta, istumassa pergolan alla, joka oli peitetty wisteriumilla.

Hänellä oli päällään valkoinen pellavakesämekko ja sandaalit.

Hän näytti nuoremmalta.

Vapaampi.

Hän soitti selloa, syvät, surulliset sävelet täyttivät ilman.

Hän ei lopettanut soittamista, kun hän lähestyi.

Hän lopetti kappaleen, antaen viimeisen nuotin värähtää hiljaisuuteen.

‘Et koskaan kertonut soittavasi selloa,’ Daniel sanoi hiljaa, seisten kymmenen metrin päässä.

Kate katsoi ylös.

Hänen ilmeensä oli ilmeettömä.

‘Et koskaan kysynyt.’

‘Yleensä laitoit television kovemmalle, jos yritin harjoitella.’

‘Sanoit, että klassinen musiikki on masentavaa.’

‘Olin idiootti,’ Daniel sanoi.

Hän astui askeleen eteenpäin.

‘Kate, minä… En tiennyt.’

‘Et tiennyt, että olen prinsessa?’ Kate kysyi, asettaen jousen alas.

‘Olisiko sillä ollut väliä, Daniel?’

‘Olisitko rakastanut minua enemmän, jos olisit tiennyt, että minulla on arvonimi?’

‘Vai olisitko vain rakastanut pääsyä, jonka voisin antaa sinulle?’

‘Rakastin sinua,’ Daniel valehteli.

Hän yritti kutsua esiin viehätyksen, joka oli voittanut sijoittajat puolelleen vuosikymmeniä.

‘Olin eksyksissä, Kate. Yrityksen stressi. Jessica—se oli virhe, keski-iän kriisi.’

‘Haluan sinut takaisin. Ei otsikon takia. Meille.’

Kate nauroi.

Se oli kuiva, ontto ääni.

‘Haluat minut takaisin, koska Wright Capitalin osake on kaksitoista dollaria osakkeelta.’

‘Haluat minut takaisin, koska SEC tarkastaa kirjanpitoasi.’

‘Haluat minut takaisin, koska tarvitset Royal Heritage Trustin hyväksymään Provencen sopimuksen.’

Daniel jähmettyi.

Hän tiesi kaiken.

‘Voin muuttua,’ Daniel pyysi.

‘Allekirjoitan uuden avioehdon. Annan sinulle puolet yrityksestä. Jätän Jessican heti.’

‘Hän on autossa. Sanon hänelle, että kävelee takaisin lentokentälle.’

Kate nousi ylös.

Hän käveli hänen luokseen, silmät etsien hänen kasvojaan.

Hetkeksi Daniel luuli voittaneensa.

Hän luuli näkevänsä välähdyksen vanhasta Katesta – naisesta, joka teki hänelle pannukakkuja sunnuntaisin.

‘Et todellakaan ymmärrä,’ hän kuiskasi.

‘En halua puolta seurastasi, Daniel.’

Hän viittoi Alfredille, joka seisoi varjoissa ja piti kädessään hopeista tarjotinta, jossa oli asiakirja.

‘Minulla on se jo.’

Puutarhan hiljaisuus oli raskas, rikkoutuen vain kaukaisessa, rytmikkäässä Atlantin aaltojen pauhuessa kallioita vasten.

Ilma tuoksui suolalle ja blolle