Felicity's POV.
The room was silent. Too silent. Even the machines beside my father hummed like they were holding their breath.
He looked older than I remembered—frail, like time had stolen the steel from his spine and left behind a man made of paper and guilt.
I stepped closer, arms folded, heart pounding.
"Please explain to me, Dad. Why did you leave? What was so unbearable that you just... vanished? You broke our hearts. Mine. Mom's. You left us like we were nothing."
His pale blue, weary eyes closed for a moment, like the question physically hurt him. When they reopened, there was something clearer behind them—regret sharpened by truth.
"Back then, your mother and I… we were happy. And when you were born, Felicity, I was the happiest man alive. But things started to fall apart the moment the monarchy got involved," he whispered. "I left… because I was trying to protect you."
I blinked. "Protect me from what?"
He looked away, the lines on his face deepening. "I made a deal. Back when I was still Duke of Scotland, I was expected to marry someone of noble blood. A royal political match. But I fell in love with your mother and married her instead. It caused... chaos."
He broke into a harsh cough, his body folding in on itself. I moved without thinking, grabbed the water, and helped him drink. Slowly, he regained his breath.
"The monarchy gave me a choice," he continued, voice lower now. "Step down quietly, leave the country, disappear with your mother and you… or watch everything we loved crumble in scandal."
"You chose exile," I said, bitter. "You chose silence over your own daughter."
"No," he said, locking eyes with mine. "I chose peace. You were just a little girl. I thought if I left, you'd be safe. Free from the pressure, the titles, the politics. I didn't know I'd lose you in the process."
I couldn't speak. My lips were pressed into a thin line.
"I watched you from afar. Every birthday. Every achievement. I had someone send me photos. I know it doesn't make up for anything, but I never stopped caring." he replied.
"You never called. Never wrote. Why?" I asked.
His face crumpled slightly.
"I couldn't. The terms were strict. One message, one slip, and it would all fall apart. I chose silence… for your sake. I'm sorry. But I never stopped loving you, my daughter."
I stared at him. My chest tightened. My heart ached to forgive and wanted to hug him. My mind screamed betrayal. And somewhere between the two, I found myself whispering,
"I don't know if I forgive you… but I'm here. That has to mean something."
He nodded. Tears welled in his eyes. "It means everything."
And in that raw silence, I felt something shifted. Not healed. But no longer broken.
**********
Christopher's POV
While Felicity talked with her dad, I found myself cornered—royally—by my own.
My father stood in the hospital garden like a damn marble statue, arms behind his back, that royal jaw clenched tight like a war commander about to send troops into battle—briefings, treaty, meetings… and now, over my love life.
"She made quite the impression," he said without looking at me.
I tilted my head. "Who?"
"Felicity. She lit up the palace—your sister's best friend, fire in sneakers," he said, pausing. "But that doesn't make her a suitable match, Christopher."
I scoffed. "Not a good match, says who? Because she doesn't come with a title? She's not on your precious royal pedigree list?"
He turned and gave me a sharp look—cold as blades. "This isn't about love, Christopher. It's about duty. You're a Prince. You were born for responsibility, not daydreams and rebellion."
I stepped closer. "But I love her. I breathe when I'm with her. She makes me feel real like a man—not a title. Isn't that worth something?"
Grayson arched his brow. "You think love is enough? Love fades. Alliances last."
"She's more than enough. You like her," I said. "You know you do. And she's not just anyone—she's the daughter of a Duke."
He exhaled sharply. "Yes, I like her. She has spark. But spark isn't structure. She doesn't fit."
"Then let me make her fit, give me a chance, father" I said. "She didn't even know I was a prince until recently. I know she will fell for me, not the crown."
His silence tightened like a noose.
Then, finally, he spoke. "One week."
I blinked. "What?"
"One week," he repeated. "You show me this isn't just infatuation. You get her to truly like you. Love you. Not out of sympathy or loyalty—but genuinely. If she doesn't…"
He trailed off.
I squared my shoulders. "If she doesn't?"
"You will marry Mia." Grayson said.
I gaped. "Excuse me? You're kidding."
"That's the deal," he said, voice steel. "One week. Win her heart. Convince the court, the country—me. Or the engagement to Mia goes back on."
I stared at him like he'd grown horns. "This is blackmail."
"No," he said coldly. "This is monarchy."
The words slapped me, but I didn't flinch. Because one phrase burned in my brain like wildfire: > Game on.
I smirked, gave him a slight bow. "Challenge accepted, Your Majesty."
Because Felicity Paddington already had my heart. Now, I have one week to win hers. And failure? Not an option.