Page 137 of The Royal Art of Revenge

I stare at my phone until her name pops up on the screen with an incoming call about thirty seconds later. “Hey.”

“Helloooo,” she sings into my ear. “So. Do I have news for you!”

“I hope so,” I reply, grabbing the remote control to tell Netflix that yes, I am still watching, thank you.

Valentina laughs. “I do. I do. Okay, hold on.”

There’s some rummaging and crackling from her end, and I frown. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes. I just got home. Ooft.” Thump. “Okay, I’m good. So, I met Sinead and asked her about the car crash Stella was in with Hugo. Turns out they’re both in Cyprus right now, but her leg broke so badly that she’s still undergoing some physical therapy. Your dad paid them a shit ton—and I mean a shit ton, almost three quarters of a million—on top of covering her medical bills.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “That much? Really?”

“Yeah. He fixed Hugo’s car, too. Anyway, the real news is that both Hugo and Stella knew from the get-go that it was Jasmine who crashed into his car. They recognised her behind the wheel, and Stella was adamant that the driver wasn’t blonde like the media was reporting.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They just never said anything because as far as they were concerned, the driver was never officially named and matter was basically settled. Stella will make a full recovery, and all the financials were sorted. I still would have pushed it, but I think her mother talked her out of it. She’s friends with Rosalyn.”

“Of course she is.” I sigh as I swing my legs up on the coffee table. “I never made that connection.”

“You wouldn’t. You avoided them at all costs, and I don’t blame you,” she replies. “Anyway, Sinead said that Stella and Hugo never bought the whole ‘distant relative’ spiel from your dad because of how much he paid out to bury it all. They didn’t even think someone existed, but when you showed up at the ball, they realised you were the so-called scapegoat. Sinead told me that Stella floated the idea of trying to get in contact with you because she was worried that the media might make the same connection and wrongly blame you, especially with the doctored photos being published at the time.”

I press my lips together. Sure, that’s pretty likely—it’s exactly the kind of thing Jasmine would do. Not to mention that if she’s going to, she’ll do it quickly given the heat on her right now. If she can name me for that crash...

“Is there a way we can leak it was Jasmine?” I ask, staring up at the ceiling. “Or find the original photos? Send the photoshopped ones to an expert or something?”

“Do you think she’ll actually try it?”

“To name me? Absolutely. Her reputation is in bits right now, and Hugo’s mum is one of the most famous actresses in the country. It’s probably the easiest means she has of attacking me right now.”

“Hmm. I don’t know. The originals might be hard to trace eight months after the event, but I can try. We might have better luck with someone who can point out the photoshopping on the hair. You’re right that she’s struggling with her online perception right now. It makes sense that someone might dig up past incidents she’s connected with. I’d just be wary that anyone we contact might already work with your family.”

“I know someone who can help with that if we’re avoiding an expert.” I catch my thumbnail between my teeth and bite down for a second.

“Put them in contact with me,” she says immediately. “I don’t want anything linked directly to you or the palace. If you know someone who can prove the falsification of the photos, I can handle the leaking of it.”

I rest my forearm over my eyes and let out another sigh. “I wish I could just go on the news and do a full exposé of them. Just scream and shout and show everyone who they really are.”

“Well, you could, but you might have to give up that fancy palace of yours.”

I snort. “If only. No. I can’t. Even if I weren’t here and engaged to Finn, I couldn’t. Unfortunately, people trust my father and Rosalyn, and Jasmine does have enough of a good reputation that I’m fairly sure she’ll come out of this whole debacle not half as injured as she should. As for me, if I do it, I’ll merely look like the jealous daughter who gets to marry a prince and still not be happy with my lot in life.”

“I suppose.” Her tone darkens slightly. “If only they knew what we—what you—went through.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can sit on live television and tell everyone what happened out there when we were kids, and there will still be people who insist it’s all lies. Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Mm. You’re right. You know, when you actually succeed in exacting a bit of your revenge, it makes me feel hopeful that I could do the same.”

My stomach does a little flip. This isn’t the first time she’s referenced wanting to follow my path and wrong those who have hurt her, but it’s about all she says.

No details.

No explanation beyond the one she gave me at the ball.

Just… leaves me wondering what she’s been through and reminds me that not even privilege means you’re free from pain.

“When you’re ready, I’ll do whatever I can to help you,” I promise her, sliding down onto my side so I’m lying down. “And if you never are, that’s fine, too.”