Chapter 21
Twenty-One
The car speeds down Whitehall, weaving in and out of traffic. The cameras and shouting are far behind us. Inside the car, it’s just silence.
My fingers tremble as I pull my phone from my bag. I tap Theo’s name. I need to know he’s okay. I wasn’t there when the world collapsed on him. You don’t leave the person you love like that. Not when they’re hurting, and certainly not when they’re angry enough to never want to see you again.
The call rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth, it cuts straight to the clinical tone of his voicemail.
“Come on, Theo,” I mutter, pressing the phone to my ear as if I could force him to hear me. “Please. Just pick up. You can shout at me, you can tell me to go to hell. Any answer is better than this.”
I hang up and immediately redial. Same result.
Fine. Time for plan B. I open our text chain. My fingers hover for a moment before typing.
Kaori
Please let me know you’re okay.
I send it, then immediately start typing again.
Kaori
I didn’t want to leave like that. I’m sorry. Please call or text when you get this.
I hesitate, then write another message.
Kaori
You’re my person. If I’m Meredith, you’re my Cristina. Or the other way around.
I wince. Bad reference. He’s probably never seen Grey’s Anatomy.
Kaori
Correction. We’re Jim and Pam. Or Dwight and Angela. Your choice.
I drop the phone into my lap and lean my head back against the seat.
“Everything all right, ma’am?” Yamada-san asks from the driver’s seat.
“I don’t know.”
The phone buzzes against my leg. I jolt upright, hope surging so violently, it’s painful—but it isn’t a text. It’s a news alert.
brEAKING: PRINCESS KAORI ESCORTED FROM EXCELSIOR PARKS HQ IN LONDON. COO HINTS AT AN INTERNAL INVESTIGATION.
Below the headline is a photo of me being hustled into the car, hair disheveled and expression sheer, unadulterated panic. The caption is even worse—Sources suggest internal misconduct or a significant breach of protocol.
He didn’t waste any time, did he?
Another alert follows.
LIVE UPDATE: EXCELSIOR COO CLAIMS “THE COMPANY WAS BLINDSIDED.” INSIDERS QUESTION PRINCESS’ INTENTIONS.
Intentions? To do what? Be too meticulous with my stress-strain calculations? Actually fix the design flaws his team ignored? I know better than to click it. I know it’s a trap designed to paint me as a villain. I tap it anyway.
The article loads.
Unnamed employees have expressed concerns about the Japanese Princess Kaori’s unusual presence in the attraction-design division.
One insider claims she “withheld key information” on one of the engineering firm’s projects, known as Vortex Rise.
Another insists she was “stealing trade secrets” for Excelsior Park’s top Japanese rival, the Tanaka Group.
I feel a wave of nausea.
Chief Operating Officer Cuthbert Harris stated that he “acted swiftly to protect the company.”
Another line follows.
As for how the princess was able to gain a spot on the project team, a source close to the COO hinted at “unprofessional entanglements.”
Early reports suggest the princess will face several criminal charges.
He’s better at this game than I gave him credit for.
Theo’s father isn’t just deflecting blame—he’s rewriting the story.
He’s turning me into a spy and a liability.
And by tying me to “unprofessional entanglements,” he’s found the perfect way to finish Theo off.
If Theo defends me, he’s a traitor to the company. If he doesn’t, he loses me.
Outside, the scenery shifts from the gray stone of government buildings to the quiet, tree-lined streets of Kensington. We pass through tall iron gates into the embassy’s underground car park. My phone rings. Imperial Household Agency flashes across the screen.
I exhale slowly and swipe to answer.
Things are about to get much worse.
Inside the Japanese embassy, I leave behind my identity as Kaori Minami and transform into Her Imperial Highness Kaori, the Princess Sorahino.
Marble floors gleam beneath soft recessed lights. Traditional wood latticework frames the walls. Portraits of my parents hang in a place of honor. The faint scent of hinoki drifts through the entry hall, a subtle reminder of home.
Yamada-san and Sato-san flank me as we bypass the public reception area and head straight toward a private elevator. Staff members bow as we pass, but their eyes flicker with recognition at the emperor’s eldest daughter.
Normally, I would stop and acknowledge each one with a nod, a smile, a moment of the grace I was raised to project. But today, I can’t muster up the energy to do so.
When the doors open, Ambassador Shimada stands waiting for me. He bows deeply. “Your Imperial Highness. It is an honor to welcome you here. I only wish it were under more fortunate circumstances.”
“Thank you,” I reply. I follow the ambassador down a hushed corridor for a debriefing, even though all I want to do is retreat to my hotel, curl in on myself, and keep calling Theo until he answers.
He gestures for me to enter a room. A hand-brushed calligraphy scroll hangs on the far wall.
A single white orchid rests in a narrow porcelain vase.
There are no tatami mats, but the wooden floor gleams. A long table occupies the center of the room, set neatly with a tea service and a plate of light refreshments.
The two people inside rise and bow deeply to me, then to the ambassador. I recognize them as one of his assistants and the head of the embassy’s security.
We take our seats. Ambassador Shimada pours a cup of tea and sets it gently before me. “Please,” he says softly. “I know you enjoy oolong. This one is from my private supply.”
“You’re very kind.” I wrap my hands around the cup but don’t drink. My fingers are trembling, and the last thing I need is to spill scalding tea down my lap. Or onto the priceless table.
I look at the dark, swirling liquid and see my own reflection. It’s a jarring contrast to the perfection of this room. Only an hour ago, I was an engineer fighting for my job and the man I love. Now I’m a princess inside a gilded cage.
“Your Highness,” he begins, “while you were en route, we received multiple inquiries from the Foreign Ministry in Tokyo and the Home Office here in London. Furthermore, given your residency in the United States, the State Department has reached out to confirm your status.”
“I didn’t realize so many agencies would get involved,” I murmur. “So quickly.”
“Unfortunately,” the ambassador replies, “in the age of social media, news travels at the speed of a bullet train. And in your case”—he inclines his head respectfully—“your family’s profile acts as an accelerant.”
The aide leans forward, angling her tablet toward me. “Ambassador. Your Highness. We’ve analyzed the digital footprint of the initial reports. We’ve discovered that the first articles were published before you even reached the car in the Excelsior lobby.”
“I’m not surprised,” I say, the tea sitting forgotten in my hands.
“I’m sure Mr. Harris had the stories prewritten and queued for release the moment a photo hit the wires.
” My eyelashes flutter as a cold realization settles in.
“I should have known he’d have an insurance policy ready if I gave him an answer he didn’t like. ”
The room goes still. The ambassador’s polite composure fractures. “Mr. Harris threatened you?” he asks, voice crisp. “Explain.”
So I do. I strip away the emotion and give him the engineering version—just the raw data. The blackmail folder. The threats against Theo’s career. The manufactured narrative of misconduct. The staged ambush in the lobby.
When I finish, the ambassador is vibrating with fury. “One does not threaten a member of the imperial family,” he says, each word clipped and precise, like he’s hammering nails into the table. “Not under any circumstances.”
Across the table, the aide and the head of security exchange wide-eyed, startled looks.
I’ve seen Ambassador Shimada at state functions for years; he is famous for his jovial, unshakable calm.
Seeing him this angry is like holding a winning lottery ticket—you have better odds of being struck by lightning than witnessing the jackpot of his temper.
“This behavior will be addressed. And swiftly.” Ambassador Shimada inhales slowly, regaining control. “But for now, the priority is your safety and protecting your family’s honor.”
His assistant types rapidly, the quiet staccato filling the small briefing room.
“We’re drafting a preliminary report for Tokyo,” she says.
“The Imperial Household Agency confirms they’ve begun internal coordination.
Their directive is firm—You are to refrain from any public statement while the situation is evolving. ”
“Yes, that’s what they mentioned on the phone.”
The imperial family stays above the fray. We don’t comment on personal business because we aren’t supposed to have any. We are symbols, and symbols don’t have messy breakups or blackmailing bosses.
I can see it now . . . After this, the IHA is going to lobby for me to quit my job and strongly urge my father to have me move home. Which, honestly, may be an option I should consider. Will I even have anything left when this is all over?
“I’ll monitor online traffic and major outlets,” the aide adds. “If the narrative shifts or escalates further, we’ll adjust our approach.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Ambassador Shimada turns back to me. “You’ll remain here at the embassy tonight. A secure suite is being prepared.” His gaze softens. “I know this is distressing, Your Highness. Is there anyone you’d like us to contact on your behalf?”