Page 159 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“Harriet…”

“Do what I’ve asked. If you have any respect left for Mum or any kind of love for me in your heart, do those few things for me, and I’ll see what I can do to help Sinclair Corp.” I reach for the door handle once more, turning it. “If you don’t, I’ll make sure the entire country sees what kind of person William Sinclair really is, and the state of your business will be the least of your worries.”

Heat flushes his face. “Are you threatening me?”

“Yes,” I reply simply, opening the door. “I’m not a little girl desperate for her father’s love anymore. You sank that ship a long time ago. The only person in the Sinclair family who matters to me, is me.”

“You—”

“If you want to keep the happy, perfect family in the life you’re all so accustomed to, do everything you just agreed to. Which has been recorded, by the way.” I point to the hidden camera on the fireplace. “You’ve got twelve hours, Dad.”

He crosses the room, anger sparking in his eyes. All traces of his earlier humility and pleading have disappeared, and just like me, he’s showing the real him. The one he’d rather nobody else ever saw.

I guess the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.

He stares at me for a moment, then a cold chuckle escapes him as he steps through the door. “You’re more like your mother than you know.”

“Don’t start sweet-talking me now,” I reply dryly, despite the way my heart skips at his words. “Just do what I want, or you’ll realise I’m far more like you than you know.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE – HATTIE

“A statement from the future Crown Princess has been released by the Royal Palace this evening stating that any rumours regarding her parentage are ‘wholly unfounded’ and that she is the daughter of William and the late Francesca Sinclair,” the newsreader on the evening news says to the camera. “The statement reads, ‘I was incredibly distressed to wake this morning to news of my parentage being disputed. These claims are wholly unfounded and defamatory. While I can understand that some may be suspicious given the circumstances, I underwent full paternity testing with my father, William Sinclair, on my return to St Peters a little over two years ago. The testing returned a ninety-nine-point-nine percent match in our DNA, confirming that he is my biological father.’” She shuffles papers on the desk. “This is followed by a statement from the Royal Palace itself: ‘Her Majesty the Queen personally verified Harriet’s identity before granting permission for the engagement of His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Miss Sinclair. The Royal Palace requests that any speculation regarding Harriet Sinclair’s parentage ceases immediately. Anyone that continues spreading this false, defamatory narrative will be subject to legal action. Media personnel wishing to request proof may contact the Palace in the usual manner.’ As a result, the St Peters Herald has withdrawn its original articles and issued both personal and public apologies to Miss Sinclair and the Royal Palace.”

I purse my lips.

“William Sinclair has also just released a statement via Sinclair Corp to follow up which reads, ‘It is extremely upsetting to hear of the discourse surrounding my eldest daughter’s paternity. Having undertaken a test with the most reputable hospital in Askurg upon her miraculous return to St Peters two years ago, I can confirm with one hundred percent confidence that Harriet is my biological daughter. Any further speculation will be swiftly met with legal action.’” The newsreader shuffles a few papers on the table in front of her. “NBAC News has received a copy of the DNA testing, which you can see on screen now. We’ve also reached out to the doctor who signed off the report, and with permission, he has confirmed its validity. This has been the hottest topic on the Internet all day, and…”

Finn reaches for the remote control and turns it down, leaving the newsreaders’ lips moving but no sound coming from them. “I suppose he did as he was told.”

“Only once he realised that I had the actual results,” I point out. “And I threatened him.”

“He folded like a wet piece of paper at that,” Oscar agrees from the corner without looking up from his laptop. “The tide is already turning. Those who were on the fence are now questioning why Rosalyn and Jasmine would be concerned about your parentage if you did a test two years ago. Some are asking if your father just never told them, but others are speculating one of them is behind the story.”

“Push it,” Finn says. “Push that narrative at the same time you deny it.”

“How on Earth is he supposed to do that?” I ask, frowning.

“With one of his twenty aliases.” He snorts. “You don’t think we leave it all to the publicity team, do you?”

“Some things you just have to do on your own,” Oscar agrees, bobbing his head as his fingers fly across the keyboard at breakneck speed.

Hang on.

I must see this.

I get up and walk over to the little sofa he’s sitting on and grip the back, peeking down over his shoulder. “How many windows and tabs do you have open?”

“At least twenty,” he says, his attention still fully focused on the screen.

“Pheobe-Jane-underscore-twenty-six,” I read. “She’s not a fan of Jasmine, is she?”

Finn snorts.

Oscar sighs, briefly pausing his typing. “Don’t get so excited. Sims-Girl-Twenty-Twenty-One loves her.”

“Ugh. Great taste in games, terrible taste in people.” I wave my hand through the air and drop back onto the sofa next to Finn, pressing myself against his side.

He wraps his arm around me and gently trails his fingertip along my upper arm. “We’ve got to keep it balanced. Sometimes he even argues with himself, and that’s quite amusing to watch.”