Jilted By Prince, Claimed By King

Author: Johan Gorski

Chapter 1 No.1

Word Count: 841 | Released on: 22/01/2026

inst the sudden influx of freezing air, expecting the suffocating burn of salt water. Her hands flew to her throa

re was

soft, expensive weav

kaleidoscope of blurred lights and shadows, b

ng against steel pylons; it was the muffled thrum of a bass line from a distant ballroo

len or blue. Her manicure was perfect-a soft, i

ing with the stone balustrade. The cold bite of the snow-covered stone again

ent crash. The headlines. The viral videos. The sneer on Prince Clement's face. The sign

pulled her phone from her clutch with trembling fingers.

mber

year

night of the Winter Chalet Gala. The night her li

it was an inferno, chemical and cloying, spreading through her veins like liquid

ew thi

cham

twenty minutes ago. "Just

ere, a "homeless" man, planted by the tabloids and paid for by someone she trusted, had grabbed her. The ph

r taste of blood flooded her mouth, a grounding anchor ag

la. Shadows moved behind the sheer curtains. She saw the glint of a camera lens. They were

e would not go back in there. Going back meant death. It meant the slo

ide of the balcony. Below lay a drop that would break legs. To the left, s

oyal

tonight, occupied by the one man whose power ec

natius

on. Her skin felt too tight for her body. The cold air, which should h

re soles, a shocking, necessary pain. She grabbed

sound of the latch clicking on the balco

all its own. Her muscles screamed in protest, weakened by the poison coursing through her. The stone was slick with ice beneath her trembling hands. She swung one leg over the abyss, t

God she thought had aban

ckening lurch of gravity reclaiming

Chapter End

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Jilted By Prince, Claimed By King

Johan Gorski Modern

“It was the night of the Winter Chalet Gala, the most prestigious event of the year and the night my life was officially supposed to begin. I was the perfect socialite, a Senator's golden daughter, and the fiancée of Prince Clement. Then my sister, Bailee, handed me a glass of champagne with a sweet, innocent smile. "Just a sip for luck, big sister." Within minutes, my blood turned into liquid fire. In my past life, I didn't realize that "luck" was a drug designed to strip me of my dignity. I had stumbled into a hallway where a planted stranger waited for the paparazzi to catch us. The scandal was the first nail in my coffin. My family disowned me, my fiancé abandoned me for my sister, and I eventually ended the nightmare by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. I died in the freezing bay, realizing too late that my sister's love was a death sentence and my parents had already replaced me. The betrayal felt like swallowing broken glass, a pain more suffocating than the salt water that eventually claimed my lungs. Why did the people I loved want me dismantled? Why was my suicide their only version of mercy? Opening my eyes again, I was back on that snowy balcony three years ago. The iridescent pearl manicure was back on my fingers, and the drug was already screaming in my veins. But I won't be the carcass for the vultures this time. I kicked off my heels and climbed the stone railing, looking toward the forbidden Royal Wing. I'm not going back to the trap. I'm going to the only man powerful enough to burn them all: King Ignatius Fisher.”