Chapter 13 Dominic
The moment I step off the jet, Petrovia feels foreign to me.
The air is crisp, tinged with frost and pine, a stark contrast to the damp sea breeze of Seattle. It’s home, or at least, it’s supposed to be.
The palace looms ahead, its towering spires piercing the overcast sky like sentinels of a history I’ve long tried to escape. Inside, the halls are eerily quiet, except for the clicks of my polished shoes against the marble floors.
“Your Highness.”
Eleanor, my royal liaison, inclines her head in greeting, her expression as unreadable as ever.
“The council expects you in an hour. There are matters of protocol we must discuss.”
Of course, there are.
There always are.
I nod but say nothing, my thoughts elsewhere. It’s been less than a day since I left Seattle, and already, I feel suffocated.
I should be focusing on the upcoming meetings, on the carefully crafted speeches prepared for me.
But instead, my mind is thousands of miles away, fixated on the one thing that still feels real—Amelia.
Her messages are my tether to sanity, each word a reminder that there is still something beyond these walls, something worth fighting for.
I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll through her latest message.
Amelia:
I don’t know what’s happening over there, but I’m here. Don’t let them drown you.
I smirk, a rare break in my usual composure.
Even now, when she’s miles away, she still knows me better than I’d like to admit.
“Sir?” Eleanor prompts, drawing me back to the present.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and straighten my shoulders.
“Let’s get this over with.”
The council chamber is as austere as ever, a grand room lined with portraits of ancestors who spent their lives buried in duty.
As I take my seat at the head of the table, I brace myself for what’s to come.
“Your Highness,” Lord Harrington begins, his voice clipped and formal.
“There is the matter of your prolonged absence. The people are questioning your commitment to the throne.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“I’ve been running an international empire. That, too, is in Petrovia’s best interest.”
“A tech empire,” he corrects. “Not the monarchy.”
I lean back in my chair. “And yet, that ‘tech empire’ generates billions, a good portion of which funds this monarchy.”
Murmurs ripple around the table, but Harrington’s expression remains impassive.
“Be that as it may, the people need reassurance. Your return must be seen as more than a mere formality.”
I knew this was coming, but that doesn’t make it any less infuriating.
“Meaning?”
A softer but equally authoritative voice interjects. Lady Genevieve Milton. Unlike Harrington, she has always been more understanding of my resistance to tradition.
“Meaning you must embrace your role. Attend royal functions. Engage with the press. Present a future that aligns with Petrovia’s traditions.”
I glance toward her. Even she knows there are expectations I cannot ignore.
“And if I refuse?”
A beat of silence.
Then, Harrington clears his throat. “There is the matter of your… engagement.”
My muscles tighten. “Which does not exist.”
“Not officially,” he concedes. “But the rumors persist. An official statement must be made. Either deny it, or…”
He lets the alternative hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.
I exhale slowly. “I’ll handle it.”
They exchange glances, but no one argues.
For now, at least, I’ve bought myself some time.
That night, I retreat to my study, the only place in this palace where I can breathe.
Amelia’s letters sit on the desk, unopened, yet their presence alone steadies me.
I tear one open, her neat handwriting scrawled across the pages.
Dominic,
I don’t know what’s happening over there, but I have a feeling you’re not telling me everything. And that’s fine. I know you.
You’ll shoulder everything yourself before you let anyone see the cracks. But you don’t have to do that with me.
Whatever they’re asking of you, whatever pressure they’re applying—I need you to remember who you are.
Not Prince Dominic.
Not the billionaire CEO.
Just… you.
The man who once told me he hated expectations but loved proving people wrong.
I don’t need you to be a prince.
I just need you to be you.
Come back to me when you’re ready.
—Amelia
I exhale, pressing my fingers against my temples.
She always knows exactly what to say. Exactly how to get under my skin.
I can’t do this anymore.
I can’t sit here, locked away in a gilded cage, pretending this is the life I want.
Before I can second-guess myself, I grab my coat and slip out into the cold night air.
The guards stationed outside hesitate, but I wave them off.
I need space.
I need air.
I need out.
The streets of Petrovia are quiet at this hour, the city cloaked in the hush of midnight.
I keep my head down, avoiding unnecessary attention, and make my way toward a familiar destination.
Kimberly’s bookstore.
She’s the only person outside of Amelia who still sees me as just Dominic—not a title, not a fortune—just a man trying to figure out where he belongs.
The bell above the door chimes softly as I step inside. The warm scent of old books and vanilla greets me, grounding me in a way nothing else has.
Kimberly looks up from behind the counter, her sharp eyes narrowing. “You look like hell.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Nice to see you too.”
She gestures to a chair. “Sit. Tell me what’s eating at you.”
I sink into the chair, running a hand through my hair. “Everything.”
She studies me for a long moment before reaching under the counter and pulling out a sealed envelope.
“I found this a few weeks ago. Thought you might want to see it.”
I frown, taking the envelope from her.
My name is scrawled across the front in familiar handwriting.
My mother’s handwriting.
As I read the letter, her words settle over me, heavier than any crown ever could.
For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I have to do.
I stand abruptly, shoving the letter into my coat pocket.
Kimberly raises an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?”
I nod, determination settling in my bones.
“Yeah. I’m going home.”