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Jilted By Prince, Claimed By King

Chapter 7 No.7

Word Count: 482    |    Released on: 22/01/2026

ntation had felt good-too good. It was intoxicating to finally wield power o

is!

ter her. He had abando

secluded stone path lined

to talk,"

I think you've done enough

... she was upset. She needed comfort. On

"That is your defense? That betraying your

he script. "Always busy with charity, with the wedding planning. B

erstands the pressure? She's never worked a day in her

" Clement snapped. "She loves yo

she wouldn't be

Clement lied. The lie was

usiness arrangement. Nothing more. You do not call me. You do

do that. Ou

her," Edris cut him off. "I am

path entrance. She was running toward th

Edris muttere

s arm. "Clement, is she angry? Tell her I'm s

wrapping an arm around her. He looked at Edris

hem. The Prince and the Paup

ts you. You're both cheap fakes

ve, her phone buz

ext from her father, S

te.

e real trial was about to begi

Clement. If I see that foundation on you again, I won't ju

t went

y, heading towar

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Jilted By Prince, Claimed By King
Jilted By Prince, Claimed By King
“It was the night of the Winter Chalet Gala, the most prestigious event of the year and the night my life was officially supposed to begin. I was the perfect socialite, a Senator's golden daughter, and the fiancée of Prince Clement. Then my sister, Bailee, handed me a glass of champagne with a sweet, innocent smile. "Just a sip for luck, big sister." Within minutes, my blood turned into liquid fire. In my past life, I didn't realize that "luck" was a drug designed to strip me of my dignity. I had stumbled into a hallway where a planted stranger waited for the paparazzi to catch us. The scandal was the first nail in my coffin. My family disowned me, my fiancé abandoned me for my sister, and I eventually ended the nightmare by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. I died in the freezing bay, realizing too late that my sister's love was a death sentence and my parents had already replaced me. The betrayal felt like swallowing broken glass, a pain more suffocating than the salt water that eventually claimed my lungs. Why did the people I loved want me dismantled? Why was my suicide their only version of mercy? Opening my eyes again, I was back on that snowy balcony three years ago. The iridescent pearl manicure was back on my fingers, and the drug was already screaming in my veins. But I won't be the carcass for the vultures this time. I kicked off my heels and climbed the stone railing, looking toward the forbidden Royal Wing. I'm not going back to the trap. I'm going to the only man powerful enough to burn them all: King Ignatius Fisher.”