Page 83 of The Royal Art of Revenge

I know I’m nothing more than a job.

Our detour to the shopping centre later, and both Marina and I have our hands full with shopping bags. Some purchases are frivolous, but others are more necessary. Not because I need them, per se, but because they help.

Help me convince the people in my house that I’m making plans for my life after Jasmine becomes the crown prince’s fiancée. That I’m planning for my career long into the future. That I’m not interested in what she has.

That I don’t care that she’s stealing my entire life.

Because... I don’t. I know the truth, after all. Even if I weren’t Finn’s fiancée, I know that nothing has been confirmed. Despite her best efforts, almost everyone in the house has heard Rosalyn’s panicked mutterings to my father over the past several days about how the Royal Family haven’t been in contact.

They’re assuming it’ll be announced. Acting like it is. Telling Jasmine everything is fine, that they’re in negotiations, that they’re handling it.

Maybe that’s why she did this. Maybe that’s the reason she thought to do something as monumentally stupid as set me up with some thugs who would... Honestly, I don’t know what she thought they would do.

Beat me? Rape me? Kill me? Break me beyond belief?

She’s a fool.

A careless, weak fool, blinded by her own insecurities.

As she should be.

She knows that everything she has should be mine. If I were her, I might want to get rid of me, too, if I’m being honest.

After all, I know better than anyone what can transpire if you don’t rid yourself of those who threaten you.

She’s about to find out for herself.

Our taxi pulls up outside the gates of the Sinclair estate, and Marina gets out to retrieve our bags from the boot. I pay the driver, adding a tip for good measure, and thank him before I step out to help Marina with the rest of our things.

With them in hand, I use my fob to open the gates, and we walk through the front garden to the main house. Someone is waiting for us when we reach the doors, and the moment we step inside, the maid’s eyes briefly widen.

Ah.

So you’re her little helper, are you?

“M—Miss Sinclair.” Her voice wobbles slightly as she greets me, and she looks down. “You’re back sooner than expected.”

“Is that a problem?” I raise an eyebrow. “Is there a reason I cannot come back before the time I originally stated? I live here.”

“No, of course not. No problem, miss.” She takes a step back, granting us entry to the foyer.

I motion for Marina to follow me, and as soon I step inside, I turn and head towards the living room. Jasmine is lounging on one of the sofas, a steaming cup on the coffee table beside her, with her feet on the back cushions and her phone in front of her face.

She looks up, presumably at the sound of my footsteps, and her brow furrows before she catches herself. “Harriet? What are you doing back so soon?”

“Goodness,” I say, putting my bags on the armchair. “Why is everyone so obsessed with what time I’m home? It’s like there’s something going on I don’t know about. If it were my birthday, I might think you’re planning a surprise party.”

“In your dreams.” She puts her phone down and shuffles into a seated position. “You said you would be back later, that’s all.” Her blue gaze, as icy as ever, roves over me, as if she’s examining me for any bumps or scrapes. “Didn’t you have a shoot today?”

“Mm, I did. I was a bit late leaving thanks to Marie.” I cock my thumb over my shoulder in Marina’s direction, deliberately giving her the wrong name. “So, I made her come with me.”

Panic twitches across her features. “You never take anyone to your shoots.”

“Yes, well, I was late, as I said.” I sigh dramatically. “She came to help me set up, but when we got there, the clients never showed up. We waited for an hour, and I called, but nothing.” I shrug a shoulder as if it’s no big deal and pat my bags. “So, she ran errands with me instead. I need some new equipment.”

“Right.” Jasmine looks between us, her shoulders tense. “Clients didn’t show up, huh? Maybe they found out how much of a fraud you are.”

“Maybe,” I reply brightly, picking up my bags again. I turn and hand them to Marina, then flag down another maid. “Please take these things to my room.”