Same Day
Time: Noon
Location: Palace of Versailles – Vestibule de l'Escalier de la Reine
Golden sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Queen's Staircase Vestibule, where carefully laid white marble gleamed with reflected light, and the gilded floral engravings on the walls whispered of unforgettable history. The classical pillars standing proudly beside the grand staircase gave the place an aura of grandeur.
But to Bella Leclair?
It was just... another staircase.
And another.
And yet another.
> "Dear God… how many staircases does this palace have? If someone brought in an official elevator, no one would complain."
Bella descended the steps with poised grace, but inside her, a storm of dry inner commentary was brewing.
She had tied her hair into a low bun, letting a few soft strands frame her forehead. Her expression was calm—but her sharp blue eyes scanned everything, silently judging every detail from the morning's event:
> "Fifty-year-old ladies talking about dating on Take Time?
One of them said her niece has a crush on the delivery guy.
The other was scandalized because the neighbor's daughter wore sneakers with a dress.
Me? I wanted to vanish. And take them with me."
She reached the final step and exhaled slowly… She made it out.
But the next scene? More victims.
A group of noble girls gathered near a flower-adorned window. A very high-end camera stood ready, while a petite assistant directed poses in a hyper-professional tone:
> "Please, slight tilt of the head... don't look directly at the lens... perfect!"
The whole vibe screamed: "This will be printed, framed in their private tea salon, edited in a grey filter, with the words 'Golden Memories' on top."
Bella? She couldn't resist.
She walked into the photo.
Naturally, giggles erupted and one girl squealed:
> "Beeellaaa! Join us!"
"Oh my gosh, yes! Come on!"
"You're the best, Bella!"
She stepped in between them, raised an eyebrow and chuckled coolly:
> "If my face shows up on the right corner… way better. Or left… hmm, maybe both. Let's begin."
Laughter filled the hall. Bella had willingly joined the sacred ritual of aristocratic girls' group photos.
But after the picture, as Bella continued walking down the hall—
She saw her.
The strange girl.
Golden-blonde hair.
Big blue eyes filled with a hint of confusion… and anxiety.
She clutched her phone with one hand, glancing left and right, like she was searching for the emergency exit of a party she hadn't signed up for.
Bella glanced at her sideways and dismissed the sight.
> "Definitely one of those girls who lost their maid."
But the girl approached.
The girl (nervously, but with a soft voice):
> "Excuse me… you're Bella Leclair, right?"
Bella stopped, turned slightly, head tilted with polite curiosity, her luminous eyes studying the girl's face.
Bella (calm and composed):
> "Yes. I am."
The girl looked down for a second, then raised her head and suddenly blurted:
The Girl (with sudden enthusiasm):
> "I want you to teach me how to ride a horse! Please! I really want to learn. Please, Bella…!"
Bella blinked, caught off guard by the rapid shift from "lost girl" to "unstoppable fangirl."
Bella (half-whispering to herself):
> "Is this some kind of hidden camera drama or…?"
She raised an eyebrow, about to ask,
> "How do you know me? Why me? Are you okay?"
But the girl didn't give her a chance.
She begged. Publicly.
Tearful eyes. Hands clasped. A scene that couldn't be escaped.
The Girl (raising her voice):
> "Please! I don't trust anyone else! I heard about you… you're an amazing rider, and I… I want to be like you!"
Two seconds passed.
Bella could feel noble eyes starting to turn toward her.
Bella (whispering quickly with a diplomatic smile):
> "Okay… I'll do it. Just stop begging, people will think I kidnapped your cat."
The girl lit up like someone just handed her a letter of acceptance to Princess Academy. She whispered, overjoyed:
The Girl:
> "I'll be ready by this afternoon, I promise! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
And she ran off—like a child who'd just won ten years' worth of free chocolate.
Bella stood in place, exhaled slowly, and glanced around.
> "Me? Teaching the family's pampered girls how to ride?
Okay… at least I won't be bored today."
Then she smiled faintly to herself and continued her walk through the halls of Versailles, where the light danced over her tied hair, her earrings swayed with her steady steps, and the palace… felt like it had been written just for her.
•••
Time:Afternoon
Location: Private Horse Training Grounds – Versailles Palace
Near the Grande Écurie
The sun was beginning its descent, casting golden beams over the ornate, timeworn walls of the royal stables and bathing the vast training grounds in warm light.
Bella stood beside a chestnut horse, gently stroking its mane as she waited for the girl who hadn't shown up yet—someone whose name she didn't even know. The white horse selected for the girl stood a few feet away, still and quiet.
Her matte black riding helmet gleamed faintly with a slim gold stripe. The deep burgundy riding jacket hugged her waist and swayed subtly with each step. The golden buttons, engraved with the Leclair family crest, shimmered in the sunlight.
Beneath it, she wore a white high-neck blouse with a delicate golden trim around the collar, matching the soft gleam in her sharp blue eyes. Her thick beige riding pants, reinforced with grippy leather at the knees, looked ready to counter any sudden movement from the horse. Her tall glossy black boots, custom-made, were sleek, elegant, practical—and easily triggered.
Bella held a short leather training crop in her right hand and gently adjusted the collar of her blouse with the other.
Bella (thinking with quiet sarcasm):
"Perfect. I'm ready. The horse is ready. The crop is ready. ...Now, where's our missing model?"
Before she could finish the thought, the pampered girl finally arrived—walking as if every grain of sand on the ground was a landmine threatening her pristine white shoes.
Her tiny velvet pink hat bounced with the breeze, almost flying away if not for her shaky hand gripping it tightly. Her powder-blue jacket trimmed with white lace looked stolen from a tea party fashion show, not a riding gear shop.
Her silky white blouse featured a large, overly elegant bow at the neck—so clean it probably never heard of the word "dirt." Her pale pink trousers were just loose enough to suggest the designer had never expected her to move in them. Ever.
And her shiny white boots? Bella swore she saw a tree reflected in them.
The girl walked on tiptoes, clutching the edge of the saddle like she was saying goodbye to the horse, not preparing to ride it.
Her delicate silk gloves were the final nail in the coffin of seriousness.
Bella (thinking, almost floored by the drama):
"What the... does this girl think we're staging a fashion show?"
Still, Bella kept her face composed—even if the corners of her mouth twitched dangerously toward surrender.
The Girl (approaching excitedly):
"I—I'm here! I'm not late, right?"
Bella (in a calm, professional tone):
"No, you're fine. Come on… we'll start with a warm-up."
The Girl (nervously, as she walks):
"Oh… um, is warming up necessary? Can't we just start right away?"
Bella (with a light smile):
"Warming up's essential. Your muscles are still asleep, and joints don't work until they've had coffee… or something similar to wake them up."
The Girl:
"But I had coffee! With chocolate!"
Bella:
"Great. Then your body's ready—but your spirit still needs training."
A pause. Then the girl chuckled nervously as Bella turned to adjust the saddle.
Bella (glancing at her):
"But before we start… are you sure you want to ride? Or are we staging a photoshoot? Because your outfit screams runway, not arena."
The Girl (soft laugh):
"No, no… I really want to ride."
Bella:
"Alright. If you fall, don't cry. Just remember—it's normal. Most riders start with falling."
The Girl (clinging to the saddle):
"And if I do fall… really?"
Bella (extending a hand, smiling):
"I'll laugh a little… then I'll help you up."
The girl giggled nervously and gestured to the white horse like she was introducing a groom at a wedding.
The Girl:
"He's… so beautiful. So, do I just… start? Like this?"
Bella:
"Lift your leg, and—"
Wobble.
The Girl:
"Ahh—wait, wait... my leg won't cooperate."
Bella (half-smiling):
"Your leg wants to live. Honestly? I don't blame it."
As the girl awkwardly tried to mount the horse like a pro, the outer world reacted:
To the right of the arena, a group of noblewomen giggled quietly, whispering predictions like:
"How many steps before she tumbles?"
Across the field, the girl's mother waved a pink handkerchief and shouted with exaggerated sweetness:
Mother (overly excited):
"Go Louisaaaa! Mommy's proud! Knees up like in ballet!"
Near the stables, a few young noblemen watched the scene.
One of them, a refined young man with neat blond hair and blue eyes, sat silently. His face is calm—but inside, 70% laughing.
Louisa glanced his way… and tripped immediately.
Bella (muttering):
"Yup… falling loves you." (She looked to the stable boy)
"Bring the mounting step. She needs it."
Before he could move, Louisa interrupted.
Louisa (determined):
"No! I can do it—I promise. No step! I want to look like a professional!"
Bella (raising an eyebrow):
"Even professionals use steps, Louisa. This is a sport, not an action film."
Louisa (childishly stubborn):
"No… I got this."
Bella:
"Alright. I'm here… don't worry. If you fall, at least the grass is soft."
Louisa tried again. Then again. And again.
Each attempt: higher embarrassment level.
Finally, Bella placed her hand on Louisa's thigh and sighed deeply.
Bella:
"Okay… I'll help you. I hate reruns."
She stepped in gently, placed a hand on Louisa's back, guided her with a few simple cues—
And finally, Louisa made it onto the horse.
Louisa (in awe):
"I'm up? I'm really up?!"
Bella (soft chuckle):
"Yes. Congratulations. The party's over. Back to work?"
Bella mounted her chestnut horse with ease, her movements fluid—like she'd been born in the saddle.
She took hold of Louisa's white horse by the reins and began walking calmly beside her.
Louisa:
"I'm so grateful to you. Really, truly."
Bella:
"I'll accept your gratitude once you manage to stay on for more than ten seconds."
From a distance, her mother's voice rang out:
Mother:
"Bravoooo! Louisa, darling! The next queen of the racetrack!"
Bella (muttering):
"Oh God… it's French Andromeda Mom."
And so, they walked side by side—Bella, the composed rider, and Louisa, wobbling like a toddler learning to ride a bike.
But most importantly… Bella was smiling.
Despite the nuisance, she was genuinely enjoying something different.
Bella continued to lead Louisa's white horse, while her own chestnut horse walked steadily beside them. She looked like she was parading nobility on an open stage.
Bella (calmly, raising an eyebrow):
"So… Louisa. Tell me—who are you, really? What's your story? And why horseback riding today, of all days?"
Louisa (blushing, cheerful):
"Um… I'm Louisa de Berne. I'm twenty. My family's noble, but honestly… we barely leave Paris. Mama always says the palace life is safer than the outside world."
Bella (teasing):
"Ah, the golden-cage type. Classic. Any siblings?"
Louisa:
"Nope. Only child. Mama says I'm her only jewel—but sometimes I feel like they're just… way too afraid for me."
Bella (in her head):
"Everything makes sense now…"
As they neared the starting point again, a burst of applause and cheers rose up—from Louisa's mother, who stood among the noblewomen like a lead in a French drama.
Mother (shouting proudly):
"Braavooo, Louisa! That look you gave was so regal! And your seat on the horse—oh, just like your grandfather's war photos!"
Louisa (giggling on horseback):
"Mooom, stop embarrassing me!"
Bella (dryly, under her breath):
"I think the horse is the only one preserving your dignity right now…"
A group of noble young men in their twenties approached, clapping with that graceful, charming flair—all smiles and pearly teeth.
Young Man 1:
"Miss Bella, your performance today proves all the stories were true."
Young Man 2:
"And Louisa was… incredible! In her own… unique way?"
Then a polished young man with slicked blond hair and piercing blue eyes stepped forward. There was something mysterious—and entertained—in his gaze.
The Young Man (with a respectful bow):
"It's an honor to witness Bella Leclair's skill up close… just as I imagined."
Bella (smirking coolly):
"Thanks… and you are?"
The Young Man (quiet confidence):
"Elliot. Elliot de Montagne."
Bella gave him a soft, amused smile.
But beside her, Louisa's expression fell. From joy… to silence. She had been waiting—for a glance, a comment, a reaction from Elliot.
…But he hadn't even looked at her.
Bella noticed.
Bella (in her head, observing Louisa):
"Ah. Got it. This is what the sudden horse obsession is about. Crush alert."
Louisa, still giggling nervously, suddenly perked up with forced energy:
Louisa:
"Miss Bella, can we go again? I think I'm actually improving!"
Bella (dryly):
"Improving? You didn't even hold the reins for half the lap."
Louisa (playfully pleading):
"I promise I'll hold them this time! And I'll really try. Just one more round… please!"
Bella (thinking):
"That's the look—the plea that breaks even the strongest decisions… or causes migraines."
Bella (sighing):
"Alright. But step by step. No surprises."
Louisa (grinning):
"Promise!"
They started a second lap—Bella in front, holding the reins of her chestnut horse, eyeing Louisa's white one carefully.
After a few steps, Louisa whispered:
Louisa:
"Miss Bella… can I try holding the reins myself? Just a little…"
Bella:
"You're a beginner."
Louisa (pleading):
"I swear I won't do anything crazy! Just let me try. You're right here."
Bella (grumbling):
"Fine… if you're gonna whine like you're hosting a 24-hour broadcast… go ahead."
Louisa took the reins…
Bella began coaching her:
Bella:
"Raise your right hand a bit… good. Don't pull too hard. Let the horse feel you—not fear you."
But in a sudden, clumsy moment, Louisa pressed her left leg incorrectly.
Bella (in her head, slowly):
"Nooooo… this is exactly what I was afraid of."
The white horse shot forward like an arrow from a crooked bow.
Louisa (screaming):
"Aaaaah! I didn't mean to!!! Stop! STOP!"
Bella (gasping, shouting as she pushed her horse forward):
"LOUISAAAA!!"
One scream—enough to send birds flapping from trees in chaos.
Louisa (panicking):
"I'M DYIIING! WHERE ARE THE BRAKES!? BELLLAAAA!!"
She clung to the saddle with all her might as the once-graceful, porcelain-like white horse transformed into a furious racehorse, galloping like someone had just insulted its entire bloodline.
Bella (thinking quickly):
"No!! I'm an idiot… I knew her voice was a disaster warning."
She didn't waste a second. Bella grabbed her reins, raised her crop, and lightly struck the ground.
Her horse understood the signal instantly—and bolted.
The scene looked ripped from a film: Dust flew beneath the hooves.
The sunset kissed the edge of the arena in orange gold.
Bella, in her black helmet, eyes locked with focus, had one mission only—rescue the girl clinging to dear life as she screamed.
Louisa (shrieking):
"I'M GONNA DIEEEE!! WHERE'S THE HORSE BRAKES?! BELLLAAAAA!!"
Bella (shouting as she approached):
"There are no brakes, girl! Pull the reins! Right hand—PULL! No—don't grab the neck strap like it's a carnival ride!"
She got closer—the distance between the two horses no more than a meter.
Bella (thinking):
"Lesson learned: never let a beginner try anything just because they're sweet or annoying enough to beg."
The young nobles from afar (among them Alistair, the blond one):
"Wait… is this turning into an action scene?"
Bella (shouting):
"Louisa! I'm grabbing your reins—don't move!"
Louisa:
"I'M NOT MOVING! The horse has other plans!!"
At a critical moment, Bella's horse came up beside Louisa's. She reached out—and caught the white horse's reins tightly.
The white horse resisted…
But Bella was now controlling two horses—and her chestnut steed helped calm the pace.
Gradually… the gallop slowed.
Then stopped.
Silence.
Then a voice from the crowd shouted:
"BRAVOOOO, BELLA!"
Louisa's mother clapped like her daughter had just invented electricity.
Louisa (in a shaky voice, somewhere between laughing and crying):
"I… survived?"
Bella (catching her breath, then laughing softly):
"Yes, you survived. But if this were an anime, you'd be the heroine that dies in episode two."
Louisa (sincerely):
"I'm sorry… really. It's just… he was looking at me…"
Bella (raising an eyebrow):
"Elliot?"
Louisa (barely whispering):
"Yeah…"
Bella (soft, sarcastic smile):
"When will you all realize a guy (to the girls) or a girl (to the boys) isn't worth risking your life for? I mean, come on… he looks at any girl with shiny hair."
Louisa (laughing shyly):
"Oh… right… oops."
Bella:
"Anyway… we're heading back. Slowly. No more heroic stunts. I'll order you some mint tea later, to calm your nerves."
Louisa (sighing, smiling):
"Okay… Captain Bella."
Bella:
"Oh, now I'm Captain? Weren't you just trying to ride solo five minutes ago?"
Louisa:
"They say people change after a near-death experience…"
They both laughed and began walking back to the arena, while the crowd buzzed with excitement over what they'd just seen.
Elliot was watching Bella now—surprised and impressed.
But Bella didn't look at him.
Her focus remained on Louisa, still clutching the saddle like it might run off again.
Bella (thinking with a small smile):
"She's not brave… but she's got heart. And sometimes, that matters more than all the training in the world."
The sun had begun to dip toward the horizon, casting long golden shadows over the smooth sand of the training arena.
Bella guided her chestnut horse with calm strides.
To her right, Louisa still held the reins of her now-calm white horse, her face glowing with a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and wonder.
But before they could take even ten steps—
"LOUIIIIIISAAAAA!"
A noblewoman in a flowing grayish-blue silk gown came sprinting toward them, the hem of her skirt flying behind her with surprising grace for her age.
Two maids struggled to keep up.
Her carefully styled blond hair had two strands falling loose from worry.
She practically clutched Louisa's horse by the leg, raising her hand toward her daughter.
Mother (hysterically):
"Are you alright?! Oh God, you almost DIED! I was about to become a Sunday morning tragedy!"
Louisa (flustered):
"I'm fine, Mama… really, I'm okay."
Bella (calmly, elegantly):
"I handled it quickly. Nothing serious happened."
The mother's eyes landed on Bella like she was seeing an angel.
She clasped her hands over her chest.
Mother:
"Miss Leclair! I owe you my daughter's life! This is the behavior of only the noblest families, I swear it! If you were closer, I'd kiss your hands right now!"
Bella (with a small smile and soft voice):
"No need, madam. It was my duty. We all make mistakes… and we all try to protect each other, don't we?"
The mother gave her daughter a warm look—then shifted into stern mode:
Mother:
"But Louisa, why did the horse bolt?! You told me you wouldn't go fast!"
Louisa (gulping):
"I… I mean… I was just…"
She stammered, unsure of what to say. Her eyes sparkled with panic—terrified that Bella might tell the truth.
But before Louisa could say a word…
Bella (with an innocent smile):
"I believe the horse saw a very large bee. It was about to sting him, so… he panicked and ran."
Louisa (frozen, whispering):
"A bee?!"
Bella (winking subtly):
"Of course. A big bee."
Louisa's eyes widened—then she smiled, understanding the favor, and immediately played along.
She turned to her mother with a look of horror, acting like that bee nearly ended her.
Mother (dramatically):
"Ohhh, these bees! Nothing is sacred anymore! Even the bees are aggressive now!"
She shook her head, then stepped toward Bella and gently touched her arm.
Mother:
"I'm truly grateful. I'll speak to your father at the next event. The Leclairs… you really are an example of nobility."
Just then, Elliot arrived with a group of young noblemen—ushered in by the scent of expensive cologne and uneven grins.
Elliot (in his calm voice, with a side-smile):
"We saw some action from a distance… turns out the real party was here."
His gaze was locked on Bella—completely ignoring Louisa, who still sat on the horse like a statue of crushed hopes.
Another young man (laughing):
"Honestly, Miss Bella, the way you handled that horse… incredible. I swear it felt like I was watching a historical film—where the heroine saves the princess from a dragon."
Third noble:
"And that maroon jacket? Stunning. The outfit completed the moment!"
Elliot (in a quiet voice, eyes fixed on Bella):
"And let's not forget… you were her hero."
Bella (laughing softly, eyes narrowed):
"A hero? Oh no, darling. If I were a hero, I would've thrown myself in front of the horse. All I did was grab the reins."
The young men laughed, while Louisa stood silently nearby, her eyes darting from face to face—hoping someone, anyone, would mention her. She glanced at Elliot, waiting… for a word. A glance.
But nothing.
Bella turned toward her and caught the disappointment flickering in her eyes.
That strange twinge hit her chest—that kind of awareness that makes your heart pause for a beat.
Bella (softly, looking at Louisa):
"Are you ready for a second round tomorrow?... This time, you lead. Not me."
Louisa's eyes widened—glowing again, even though her heart still stumbled.
Louisa:
"I… yes! Definitely! I want to ride… again!"
She flicked a glance toward Elliot, who still hadn't noticed.
But she'd made up her mind.
Next time, he would.
Bella (with a warm, encouraging smile):
"Alright then. Let's prove that you can ride horses… not just fall off them."
And so the two horses trotted away once more, toward the far side of the arena—this time with calmer steps, but with intentions clearer than ever.
---
Beneath the shade of a tall cypress, Elliot de Montagne stood, watching the two horses drift lightly over the sandy ground.
The wind tugged at the hem of his cream-colored noble jacket.
He reached to adjust his collar—but his hand paused halfway.
His eyes were fixed on her…
Bella Leclair.
The late sunlight shimmered across her neatly tied hair as she laughed at something Louisa had said.
She leaned slightly over her horse, like she belonged in the scene.
No—like the whole scene was designed to highlight her.
Elliot (thinking, exhaling slowly):
"Five years apart… but who cares?"
He dropped his gaze to the ground for a second, like trying to organize feelings that refused to be organized.
Then he chuckled to himself:
"She looks like she stepped out of a book…"
He ran a finger lightly over his jawline, watching her adjust the saddle, smiling without effort.
Then he leaned his shoulder against the tree trunk behind him.
"Always in control… even when everything's falling apart, she just laughs—and makes others laugh. Strong… but not arrogant. Elegant… but never fake. Smart… way too smart."
He paused.
Looked up at the orange sky, then tapped his foot lightly on the ground.
"Man, stop acting like you're in a romance novel. She's five years older, owns a company, has charisma that could choke a room… and those eyes…"
He stopped himself.
Then chuckled again:
"But really… who cares."
Then, in a calm, confident tone—chin tilted up, a mischievous grin creeping in:
"At least I'm taller than her. And honestly… that's enough of a start for me."
He gave a short whistle, shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and started walking back to the palace—
murmuring to himself with a quiet, amused smirk:
"Just wait."
•••
Time: Two days after the horse arena incident
Place: Royal Opera Hall at the Palace of Versailles – Night
Under the massive crystal chandeliers hanging from a ceiling adorned with gold and ivory carvings, the opera hall was filled with the scent of expensive perfumes and the whispers of aristocratic nobles. The heavy red curtain hadn't risen yet, and everyone sat in their seats with strict royal order.
Soft music played in the background, while the ladies' fans opened and closed with exaggerated grace.
Amelie sat in the second row, wearing a traditional French gown in royal purple—a dress so heavy it felt like it contained hidden gold bars. She sighed, leaning her head back slightly.
Amelie (thinking, with a desperate face):
"If this chandelier falls, I'm not moving… my dress weighs more than a horse."
To her right, her elegant mother—dressed in a black gown studded with crystals—was leaning toward another aristocratic lady whispering:
"Yes, my son is now twenty-seven… strong build, well-read, loves children. I think Amelie would be very happy if she were to marry him."
Amelie (whispering to herself):
"God, make me a butterfly so I can fly away from this seat."
Then… before things got worse… here she came.
Bella Leclair, wearing a luxurious midnight blue dress that fluttered lightly near her feet, a small white gold tiara adorned with blue stones on her head, and suspiciously bright eyes.
She approached Amelie's seat with light steps and a fake innocence, speaking softly:
"Amelieee… Can I sit next to you? A princess took my spot next to mommy, and my aunt's seat was too far from the stage. I'm scared I'll get bored!"
Amelie (looking at her in disbelief):
"Bella… every seat in the opera is great. Sit over there, behind your grandmother Camilla, like any sensible noblewoman."
Bella (exaggerating in pleading, holding Amelie's arm):
"But you're the only one who understands me, Amelie! Say you miss me, say you need me, say I'm like a breeze on a stifling night!"
Amelie (sarcastically):
"You're like the August heat—nobody asks for it, but it comes anyway."
Bella laughed, then politely bowed toward Amelie's mother:
"Good evening, my lovely aunt. May I sit next to Amelie? I'm lost without her."
Amelie's mother (smiling, firmly):
"Of course, dear. Sit down. Amelie likes your company, even if you never stop talking."
Amelie (muttering):
"Me? Like? No, mom, I'll need therapy after this."
Bella (proudly sitting down):
"Wow… the opera hall, my friend, and my sparkling dress… who could ask for more?"
Amelie (looking at the ceiling):
"I… ask for silence."
Bella (whispering):
"Impossible, I'm a walking noise in high heels."
The scene gradually shifted to the sound of the orchestra announcing the start of the show…
Bella and Amelie sat side by side, one shining with excitement, the other quietly boiling inside.
Amelie (thinking in conclusion):
"My annoying, stubborn, obsessed friend… yet, I wouldn't trade her for any Paris fashion show."
•••
Time: Mid-show
Place: Royal Opera Hall – Palace of Versailles
The stage was bathed in golden light, and the lead singer soared with her voice amidst the hall's ornate columns. The orchestra's sounds rose and fell in a magical harmony, and breaths were nearly held tight in intense focus.
Bella sat beside Amelie, watching the performance with eyes barely open, while Amelie sat stiffly, feeling the true weight of her dress, the protocol, and… the friendship now being tested.
Then…
"Bellaaaa!"
The voice wasn't loud but clear… directed at one person in particular.
Bella raised an eyebrow and glanced lightly around.
Amelie (murmuring):
"Am I imagining things? Or is someone really calling you?"
With her usual aristocratic sarcasm, Bella leaned slightly and scanned the noble rows with her eyes.
There she was…
Louisa.
Sitting in the parallel row, wearing a lace dress of white and gold, her blonde hair carefully styled, and her blue eyes glowing with excitement.
She waved gently, a shy smile playing on her lips.
Next to her… her mother, who looked like she'd just won the race of "Who Befriends Bella Leclair First."
Louisa's mother (whispering politely, waving):
"Miss Leclair, the seat next to Louisa is empty; you'll be our beautiful guest tonight."
Bella (whispering playfully):
"Oh my God, a live official invitation."
She then turned to Amelie with a clever smile.
"What do you think, Amelie? Should I change seats?"
Amelie (half-lidded eyes):
"If I say no, you'll go. If I say yes, you'll go too."
Then sighed:
"Put on your heels and walk, but don't fall on me."
Bella (laughing softly):
"I love your emotional support through all my life's stages."
She rose gently and waved her small hand at Amelie.
"See you later… partner in crime since diapers."
Amelie (whispering to herself):
"The partner in crime who abandons me for a cute blond and an annoying mother's voice."
Then closed her eyes.
"I love you, Bella… but today, officially… traitor."
Bella sat next to Louisa, who was almost bursting with joy.
Louisa (nervously whispering):
"I was hoping you wouldn't refuse… My grandmother said , "I'm lucky you even agreed to teach me horse riding… and now you're sitting next to me!"
Bella (soft whisper, smiling):
"If I refused praise… then I'm a liar. Keep going."
Louisa's mother (from the other side, enthusiastically intervening):
"Look at you two, French beauty at its finest!"
Then whispered:
"I think the queen will notice this harmony, don't you?"
Bella (smiling gently, diplomatically):
"I just hope the singer notices half the audience isn't watching her right now."
At the far seat, Amelie observed all this with still eyes, the scene unfolding before her like cheap French drama:
"A girl saves a girl… then steals her."
She slowly closed her fan and rested her head on her hand.
Amelie (thinking lightly):
"Yes… she always preferred me, even when we ate garden dirt together. But the difference is I helped her wash the dirt off, and now there's a new one trying to teach her how to walk among flowers."
Then quietly turned toward the stage:
"Well… fine, at least the show is good. And I plan to get back at her when she asks me for sweets later."
•••
The melodies rose gently, and the lead singer sang with a passion like a velvet storm.
In a corner, Bella sat between Louisa and her mother, soft laughter spilling from the three as if they were in a small ladies' lounge, not at a grand royal event.
Louisa (whispering playfully):
"Then imagine, my cousin thought I'd marry the count's son… even though I can't even talk to him without dropping my glass!"
Bella (laughing softly, covering her mouth with her fingers):
"Louisa, you're a ticking social bomb… anyone marrying you better get insurance first."
Louisa's mother (entering with gentle drama):
"I just pray someone finds her before she decides to run away with the swimming coach."
They all laughed, the conversation feeling like a romantic comedy scene unfolding right in front of everyone.
On the side row, Amelie watched quietly.
Amelie (thinking coldly):
"Oh, great. She's got a new girl squad… and here I am, sitting like a forgotten potato."
But before she could craft a new internal joke from her tired imagination…
A soft but audible voice echoed through the hall:
"Miss Bella Leclair?"
The orchestra paused briefly, as if respecting the royal summons, and some heads lifted.
Bella (blinking, surprised):
"Did… someone call me?"
She began to look around, like a star spotting someone waving in the crowd.
Louisa (astonished):
"Did… did they say your name?"
Louisa's mother (raising an eyebrow):
"Were you moved to the VIP guest list without us knowing?"
Slowly, all eyes shifted… to the royal box upstairs.
Queen Charline sat there, smiling gently and waving her gloved white hand.
Beside her sat King William II, speaking with Adrian III, while their goddaughter approached.
Queen Charline (soft but clear voice):
"Miss Bella, I am honored to have you sit beside me tonight."
Bella (thinking with surprise, smiling):
"Well… now this is official… have I become an opera star or something?"
She stood gracefully, excusing herself from Louisa and her mother with an elegant smile.
Bella (calmly):
"Please excuse me… it seems I must now play my diplomatic role."
Louisa (waving enthusiastically):
"Go! Tell them you love pancakes more than politics!"
Louisa's mother (proudly):
"Be dazzling as we're used to, Miss Leclair."
Bella then looked toward Amelie, giving her a light wave, as if to say:
"I haven't run away from you, just… been kidnapped."
Amelie (sighing, leaning back):
"Of course… the queen herself? I can't compete with that."
She took out her small fan, gently fanning herself as if cooling inner resentment.
Bella made her way through the hall, steps calm, head held high as always.
She thought…
"Since when has my name been called from above, in noble circles? Since when did sitting next to the queen become normal?"
She smiled lightly to herself:
"Oh, right… since I was born a Leclair."
Arriving at the royal box, she bowed smoothly.
The queen gestured for her to sit beside her.
Queen Charline (warm whisper):
"You delighted our last gala… and I couldn't let you sit far away tonight."
Bella (calm and confident):
"It's a great honor, Your Majesty… and I will try not to laugh loudly during the show."
The queen laughed softly and nodded to her as the performance resumed…
Below, a blonde girl waved, and a short-haired brunette rolled her eyes…
But Bella sat next to the Queen, smiling… thinking:
"Is this coincidence? Or a calculated move on the great chessboard?"
•••
From afar, the orchestra played a soft melody, the kind that hinted at rising dramatic tension on stage.
But in the back seats of the royal box… there was a far more dangerous side scene unfolding.
Queen Charline sat beside Bella Leclair with all the grace of nobility and the wisdom of one who knew the secrets of palaces.
She was elegant in a royal dark blue gown embroidered with silver threads, her light crown glittering under the golden lights — but her gaze was fixed on Bella with eyes that analyzed more than they seemed.
Queen Charline (soft whisper, without turning her head):
"Miss Leclair… I don't think I've ever seen you smile so genuinely at a palace event before."
Bella (feigning modesty, placing her hand gently on her chest):
"Oh? Maybe because I don't have facial muscles trained to smile all the time, Your Majesty."
The Queen laughed softly and raised her delicate glass, as if about to confess a secret.
Queen:
"That's exactly what makes you stand out… your unusual honesty in these circles."
Bella (looking at her kindly, though her mind buzzed with questions):
"Alright… what is Her Majesty plotting? This isn't just idle aristocratic chatter."
Though the Queen's eyes were on the crowd, her tone suddenly shifted — sharper, more direct.
Queen:
"I've always believed France deserves a queen with a brilliant mind… and the courage to ask questions."
Bella (lightly laughing):
"And I thought France wanted a queen who knows every flower's name… and how to sew hems with precision."
Queen (blinking slowly):
"Yes. And perhaps one who can manage a media crisis… or protect the heir to the throne from rash decisions."
A small pause.
Bella sensed the arrow — but it didn't hit her. She bowed to it with intelligence.
Bella (feigning innocence):
"Oh, is Your Majesty referring to Prince Adrian? He does look stunning in his robe… must be exhausting carrying that much charm every day."
Queen (laughing, but not fooled):
"You know, I'm quite serious about choosing a wife worthy of France's dauphin…
And sometimes, I notice certain women dim their brilliance — for one reason or another."
Bella (taking a slow sip of water):
"Sometimes, Your Majesty… some don't see themselves as 'potential heirs' wives' at all…
They simply see themselves as people… trying to stay normal."
The Queen chuckled again, but her eyes kept evaluating.
Beside the King… Prince Adrian III sat quietly, arm resting on the seat's edge — and his eyes…
weren't watching the opera.
They were watching Bella.
His face was calm, but something in his expression resembled private enjoyment
not of the scene… but of the way Bella pretended to be clueless.
Adrian (thinking, smiling to himself):
"Playing dumb? Bella…
If I hadn't read your economic reports for the government, I might've believed you."
He pretended to focus on the performance, but a faint smile lingered on his lips
the kind that only appears when a man is intrigued…
and knows that she knows.
While the Queen resumed watching, resting her chin on her hand with poise,
she finally whispered, side-glancing:
Queen Charline:
"Perhaps we'll continue this conversation… at the next dinner party?"
Bella (with a charming smile, faking innocence):
"If you mean a conversation about chefs and the royal table… I'll be the first to arrive."
Queen (raising an eyebrow):
"No, dear. About thrones… and marriage."
Bella (blinking):
"…Is Your Majesty suggesting I join a royal drama series?"
Queen (laughing):
"Perhaps… You certainly have the talent for it."
Bella smiled tensely, then slowly turned to the other side and whispered under her breath:
"What is people's obsession with marriage…"
•••
The air inside the royal box had finally settled…
Or so Bella thought.
Even Queen Charline turned toward her son, Adrien III, with a small, almost innocent smile, and said in a voice dripping with artificial sweetness:
"Adrien… darling, why don't you sit where your mother was?
I believe Miss Leclair might find your company… more enjoyable."
Bella (thinking, wide-eyed):
"Nooooo… not now. Not him. Not here!"
Prince Adrien smiled — and said nothing. He simply stood.
With all the calm elegance of royalty, he moved and switched places with his mother, as if this had all been prearranged
and of course, it was.
Bella (smiling, forced, while internally screaming):
"Great. Wonderful. I'm now officially the heroine in a cliché romance titled 'The Dauphin and the Deranged Noblewoman.'"
Prince Adrien sat beside her… with the confidence of a man fully aware of his effect.
His long blond hair was tied low and draped over one shoulder.
He wore a noble white suit with a mid-length red sash lined with gold stripes.
His cologne was faint, masculine, and — unfortunately — pleasant.
Adrien (leaning toward her calmly, in a low voice):
"I enjoyed your conversation with my mother… Your performance of innocence was… impressively convincing, I'll admit."
Bella (pretending to laugh):
"Thank you, Your Highness… I have a long background in school play roles. I was always the tree."
Adrien (chuckling):
"And were you a proud oak… or a sweet cherry blossom?"
Bella (politely, still watching the opera):
"I was a root. I didn't move. Just like my current situation."
The queen now sat beside the king — two seats away, a bit distant — smiling as if she wasn't listening…
but of course, she was.
Every word was being mentally recorded in her golden ledger.
Adrien (leaning in slightly):
"I admire your ability to answer… even when you'd rather not."
Bella (smiling through clenched teeth):
"A useful skill, especially when queens — I mean, cameras — are watching."
Bella's mind (screaming):
One… two… three… breathe, girl. Don't be sarcastic. Don't make a joke. The queen is near. Don't comment on his crown. Don't ask about his haircut. Don't laugh at that voice dripping with overconfidence… Just breathe.
Adrien (noticing her tension, smiling):
"Am I bothering you, Miss Leclair?"
Bella (tight-lipped):
"Not at all, Your Highness… Your presence really… fills the space."
Bella's mind (again screaming):
Why me? Why him? Why tonight? Is life a satire and I'm the idiot lead?
Adrien:
"I've heard you're a skilled rider… intelligent… independent…
And unintentionally… quite alluring."
Bella (blinking rapidly, aware the queen is watching):
"…You seem well-informed, Your Highness. Must be reading a lot of newspapers."
Adrien (his tone growing more serious):
"The papers don't say everything…
I prefer to discover the truth for myself."
Bella's mind (mocking):
And here we are… Season Two of: The Prince Pretending to Be Deep.
A moment of silence passed.
The opera grew more dramatic in the background…
While Bella tried to balance protocol, politeness, and not… blowing the whole situation up.
Adrien (quietly):
"You know… I expected you to be more arrogant…
But I'm starting to realize there's something far more complex behind that smile."
Bella (softly):
"Behind every smile, Your Highness…
There are usually facial muscles… and a lot of endurance."
The prince smiled again, leaning back slightly — as if that would be enough, for now…
But his eyes never left her.
From her seat, Queen Charline observed them both and thought:
> "Perfect… Phase one has begun.
Let's see if this noblewoman is truly fit… to become the Dauphine of France."
•••
A few minutes later...
"I… I'm sorry, I need to use the restroom,"
Bella said in a soft voice as she stood up from her velvet seat in the front row, a sweet, innocent smile aimed at Queen Charline.
And the moment she exited the hall,
she grabbed the hem of her heavy dress and began to run.
Bella (breathing as she ran, muttering):
"Who added all these layers?! Who decided that old French fashion needed three skirts?! Where's technology when you need it?!"
Her running was not elegant, but it was honest.
She left behind the sound of violins, the applause of the audience, the scent of expensive perfumes… everything.
She was just running, gripping her gown and lifting it with her fingers like she was in a life-or-death race.
Bella (panting, talking to herself):
"I'm a refined lady… That's what they say. I'm the princess of the era… That's the story. I'm elegant… unless this dress is trying to kill me literally."
Finally,
she stopped in a dim side corridor — no music, no Dauphin.
She pulled out her phone from her tiny gold-embellished purse and opened a movie app.
Bella (with a faint smile):
"Horror movie, or lovers getting slaughtered? No… I need something that wipes reality away. Attack on Titan maybe?"
Suddenly—
a faint sound from behind one of the pillars.
Bella froze in place.
Bella (quietly, eyes narrowing):
"Not now… don't tell me it's some 18th-century ghost?"
But she approached, cautiously, her heart pounding like the opening drums of a dramatic act.
And then she saw them.
Two men, dressed in noble attire — the kind that reeks of corruption even if doused in Dior cologne.
They were whispering, thinking no one could hear…
But Bella was there.
First Man:
"The next banquet? Yes… If what we planned happens, France will be without a crown prince."
Second Man:
"The harbor explosion is just the beginning… shaking the royal image will crush them from within."
Bella (thinking, eyes widening):
"Oh no… no time to run. I need to act."
She opened the voice recorder app and began recording silently, slipping her phone into her pocket like it was just a handkerchief.
The conversation lasted about two minutes…
Each word felt like a thorn pressed deeper into her chest.
Suddenly,
the two men began walking — toward the very hallway she stood in.
Bella (gasping softly):
"Crap."
She thinks… thinks fast…
No time to hide.
Bella's move? Simple. Walk like she's been there the whole time.
She closed the recording, adjusted her expression, held her phone as if she were texting… and calmly strolled back down the corridor like she'd just arrived.
Bella (whispering to herself in perfect acting tone):
"Okay, but tell me, what kind of juice did they put in? No, I don't like cranberry… Oh no, not this again, Raymond—"
And when the two men looked down the hall,
they saw Bella walking forward, graceful, unbothered — just a duchess' daughter wandering the night.
They paused.
They bowed politely.
First Man:
"Miss Leclair… we didn't see you inside."
Bella (smiling gently):
"Oh, I just needed some fresh air… and a little more freedom.
Isn't the night lovely?"
Second Man:
"Indeed… Have a good evening."
Bella:
"And you as well, gentlemen."
They passed by…
Walked away without a hint of suspicion.
Bella (walking calmly, while her mind burned):
"You bastards… I'm going to expose you.
I swear I'll use that recording the same way I use concealer under my eyes — smartly, professionally."
Before turning the corner,
she glanced back at them — a cold, sharp look that summed up everything she was thinking.
They didn't notice.
And Bella disappeared into the shadows...
But she had only just begun.
•••
Time: After midnight
Place: Bella's private suite – Upper floor of the Palace of Versailles
A soft glow from a vanilla-scented bedside lamp
reflected off the white chiffon curtains, gently swaying in the breeze that slipped in from the balcony.
Bella sat at the edge of her bed.
Her long black hair fell over her shoulders, dressed in a pale cream nightgown.
One hand held her phone, the other pressed lightly against her forehead… thinking.
The bed behind her was perfectly made, like she had never even considered sleeping.
Bella (thinking, in a quiet voice):
"This recording… if I submit it, they'll say: you edited the audio, you faked the conversation, you used your influence… They might even say I'm in on it."
She looked down at her phone screen,
tapped "Replay," and listened again. The men's voices echoed… every sentence, every tone.
But no faces. No visual proof.
Bella (closing her eyes):
"Just words. Just sound. Not enough."
Then she looked up at the large mirror across from her, stared at her own reflection.
"If William Moriarty were here…"
Her whisper was almost like a charm.
She straightened her posture,
pulled a small notebook from the drawer, and flipped to a blank page.
Bella (writing):
"Rule number one: Don't strike from the shadows… let the light expose the prey itself."
"Rule number two: A recording without a face is like a sword without a blade."
She stood up,
walked toward the small table near the window, where she'd left a glass of water and a mystery novel she'd started that morning.
Bella (pacing, thinking):
"The solution? Simple… I need them to say those words again. But this time… in front of someone else. Someone with power. Or…"
She stopped suddenly,
then smiled.
"…Make them believe the plan's been uncovered. Let them panic, and start exposing themselves to each other."
She sat back down, took a deep breath,
then looked up at the ceiling, as if she were replaying the night in her mind —
The moment she had her first dangerous idea in a long while.
Bella (softly, half-smiling):
"Step by step, Bella… You're among royals now, but you need to be the queen on the chessboard — not the piece they sacrifice."
She opened her notebook again,
and wrote in elegant handwriting:
"Objective: Expose the conspiracy in front of the Queen and King… with undeniable evidence."
"Method: Still unclear… but it will be elegant. And painful."**
She looked up one last time,
and whispered to herself:
"This time… I'll be William Moriarty."
•••
Time: The following morning
Place: Bella's private room – Palace of Versailles
Sunlight filtered softly through the white curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow —
as if unaware of the kind of plans this aristocrat was brewing… plans that had nothing to do with warmth.
Bella stood in front of a tall mirror,
wearing a silky white blouse with slightly rolled-up sleeves, topped with a sleek gray blazer with copper buttons. High-waisted dark trousers, and low-heeled leather shoes completed the look.
Her black hair was tied neatly back in a ponytail, with two strands framing her forehead in perfectly calculated asymmetry.
On the armchair nearby,
Emily sat leaning on her elbow, dressed practically for the first time in days: a brown leather jacket, black pants, and small gold earrings. She looked less like a pampered heiress and more like a field investigator.
Emily (gesturing toward Bella with her teacup, puzzled tone):
"Bella… you're talking like you're William Moriarty himself. Threats? Psychological pressure? Blackmail?"
She gave her a firm look.
Emily:
"Why not just give the recording to the king and be done with it?"
Bella (without turning, adjusting a button on her blazer):
"Because this is Versailles, not a courtroom. Everyone here holds power… but not everyone knows how to use it."
She turned toward Emily and raised her phone.
Bella:
"This recording? They'll say it's doctored.
They'll call it a staged threat.
They might even accuse me of orchestrating the whole drama.
You know what it's missing? A face. Fear. Panic.
A word said in front of the wrong eyes."
Emily crossed her arms, unconvinced.
Emily:
"But you said we needed five days. We only have one left!"
Bella (calmly, confidently, walking to the table):
"Don't worry. I'll handle it."
Just as she finished speaking —
a knock at the door.
Bella (without looking, with steady tone):
"Come in, Renier."
The door opened, and a tall man entered. Broad-shouldered, with a posture that hinted at strength.
He wore the sharp, tailored black uniform of the Leclair family's private security.
His black hair was slicked back with precision, and his gray eyes resembled surveillance cameras.
Emily (raising an eyebrow):
"…Is he always with you?"
Bella (smiling slightly):
"He's my eyes… when I can't afford to blink."
Renier (deep, quiet voice):
"Both phones are ready. Encrypted SIMs. Untraceable. One of them is linked to the number you requested from the palace's internal network."
He placed the phones on the table.
Emily picked one up, inspecting it with suspicious curiosity.
Emily:
"What is this? Spying? Wiretapping? Are we the MI6 now?"
Bella (seating herself at her desk, motioning to the phone):
"I'll send each of the two men a different message, from an anonymous number.
To the first: I'll make him believe the second confessed to the king.
To the second: I'll suggest the first plans to betray him."
She lifted her gaze toward Emily.
Bella:
"In simple terms… I'll make them devour each other."
Emily (raising an eyebrow):
"You're playing with fire."
Bella (smirking):
"Fully aware. And fully willing."
She pointed to an open notebook beside her — its page filled with neat handwriting.
Bella (reading):
"Plan One: Obtain additional proof today. If necessary… infiltrate."
Renier (quietly, with a cryptic tone):
"And then… there's a second plan.
One that's not written down."
Silence.
The room froze — as if something unspoken had been exposed.
Emily (hesitant, staring at Bella):
"Bella… what's the second plan?"
Bella looked up but said nothing.
Renier (bowing his head slightly, voice low):
"…To eliminate the threat at its root."
Emily (suddenly standing, shocked):
"No! No, no, no! This is a royal palace, not a torture chamber from a dark manga!"
Bella (smiling faintly, raising her hand to hide a half-sarcastic grin):
"Relax. I'm not William... but sometimes, I think like him. That's all."
Then she stood up, picked up one of the phones,
looked at it calmly—
and then smiled, a sideways grin full of intent.
Bella (in a voice tinged with amusement, low and sharp):
"Let the game begin."
•••
Bella sat at the edge of the large table in the center of her suite, holding a cup of dark coffee, slowly swirling it as she read through notes written in a small leather-bound notebook.
Amélie was still seated where she had been, staring at Bella with a mix of disbelief and suspicion, while Renier stood silently by the door—like a shadow born to endure this madness.
Amélie (raising an eyebrow, incredulous):
"Just one logical question... Why did you say we needed five days? We literally only have one day left. What gave you all this confidence?"
Bella (calmly, looking up):
"Because today... I'm going to ask the Queen to extend the visit."
Amélie (staring):
"...You're asking for an extension? And why? What's Bella's graceful excuse this time?"
Bella (taking a sip of coffee, then speaking with dry sarcasm):
"Because… I enjoy the company."
She chuckled softly, like an actress delivering a punchline in a dry scene.
Amélie (blinking):
"Are you serious? That's all you've got?"
Bella (putting the cup down and straightening up):
"Amélie, the Queen is smart enough to ask this: Why would a famous, wealthy, busy woman like me request to stay longer?
And I'll answer plainly: because I'm enjoying myself. And that's rare."
She added, in a measured tone:
"But of course… I won't ask without offering something in return."
Renier (stepping forward slightly, analyzing):
"So you'll offer her something in exchange?"
Bella (with a slight smile):
"Naturally. The Queen never says no to something that benefits her.
I'll propose a small cultural collaboration between my brand and the royal heritage foundation.
Or maybe a symbolic donation from the profits of my recent campaign to support a cultural event under their patronage.
Anything that makes her feel like she came out ahead."
Amélie (mocking):
"And what if she insists on marrying you off to her precious son?"
Bella (laughs):
"Then that'll be the one request I submit to the UN as a clear violation of human rights."
They all laughed briefly, before Renier returned to his usual serious tone:
Renier:
"Back to what matters… How will you get their phone numbers?"
Bella (placing the cup aside, adjusting her posture):
"Simple… I'll be social over the next two days. Talk to them, appear friendly—not as a friend, but as a colleague.
Laughter, small talk, light debates, compliments… and then at the right moment, I'll say: 'Oh, I forgot to ask for your number to continue this later.'
And boom… the numbers are in my hands."
Amélie:
"All this just to send encrypted messages later?"
Bella (shaking her head calmly):
"Not just that. Once you have the number… you've entered their personal space.
I'll watch every message, every move, and maybe even a single call… could be enough to expose them."
Renier (leaning in slightly, curious):
"And what about the day you skipped? You haven't explained what that's for."
Bella (nodding, like she just remembered):
"Oh… that day? Simple. We'll try to install monitoring software on their phones."
Amélie (gasping):
"What? Hacking?!"
Bella:
"Not hacking in the violent sense.
Renier has clean… subtle methods.
If he can get close to one of them and get them to use a tiny Wi-Fi hub with a simple open file... we're in."
Amélie (raising a sarcastic brow):
"That's still hacking."
Renier (softly):
"It can be done during a break… or when someone asks to connect to the network."
Bella (nodding):
"Perfect. As for the next two days… Amélie will sneak into their rooms. Quietly, of course.
I want photos from specific angles… documents, letters—anything that hints at a plan."
Amélie (sighing, rubbing her forehead):
"We're in Versailles, Bella. Not on a secret mission from some dark manga."
Bella (smiling, winking playfully):
"But sometimes… palaces hide the dirtiest crimes."
Silence fell across the room for a moment, then Amélie broke it:
Amélie (leaning on the armrest, looking seriously at Bella):
"But Bella… why all of this?
I mean, even if you expose them… what happens to you? Nothing.
You won't get hurt, and no one will blame you.
You could stay quiet and live your life in peace…
So why exhaust yourself with all this?"
Bella stopped laughing. She placed the phone back on the table in a quiet, deliberate motion.
A moment of silence followed. She didn't answer right away, instead lifting her eyes toward the glass balcony door—as if searching for an answer that couldn't be spoken.
Then she slowly walked toward the balcony.
Her steps were light, but each one felt like it carried an invisible weight.
Renier (lifting his head slightly, whispering):
"What's wrong with her?"
Amélie (getting up quietly, replying in a soft tone):
"I don't know… but she looks like she's about to say something important."
The two followed her quietly.
Bella now stood at the railing of the balcony, resting her hands on it. The morning breeze gently moved strands of her long hair.
Above her, the sky was a pale, clear blue. Below, the palace gardens shimmered with dew, like a living painting.
Bella (in a soft, deep voice):
"I hate injustice… I've hated it since I was a child."
Her voice was quiet, but it carried a heavy kind of honesty—the kind you can't fake.
Bella (continuing, eyes fixed on the horizon):
"I'm not a heroine… and I'm not pretending to be one.
But I always ask myself…
If I were the one being wronged,
Would anyone stand up for me?
Or would they all just look away?
And the answer… unfortunately, is yes.
That's why… I don't want anyone else to feel that way.
That harsh feeling… like poison a mother feeds her children—or worse."
She gripped the railing tighter and took a deep breath of the morning air.
Bella:
"What we're planning… its chances of success don't exceed sixty percent. Maybe even less.
But if we succeed… innocent people will be saved.
People… who might not even know they were targets in the first place."
She turned slowly, as if stepping out of her world of thoughts and back into their shared reality.
Bella (with a faint smile):
"And to be honest…
Maybe it's because this royal family is kinder than I expected.
Maybe… they're actually good people.
And maybe… we do share a distant bloodline. I won't deny that either."
The morning sun spilled gently across her face, its light reflected in her blue eyes like a calm flicker.
Bella (chuckling lightly):
"But, more than anything else…
I love peace.
And I hate those who ruin it."
She looked directly at them, her smile honest… and clear.
Renier and Amélie exchanged a quick glance—part pride, part quiet gratitude—then looked back at her.
Amélie (smiling, shaking her head):
"I never thought I'd say this,
but honestly… it seems you were born to make villains uncomfortable."
Renier (with a soft smile and his usual calm):
"Or born to make this world a little lighter… but in your own complicated way."
Bella (laughing, placing a hand dramatically on her chest):
"Complicated? Me?! No, no, no…
I'm simpler than a cupcake recipe on Streamix!"
The three of them laughed together—
a quiet, gentle laugh.
But it wasn't just a moment of lightness…
It was the true beginning of a plan that would change everything.
To be continued...