“Too late,” she sang, already turning away with Tiro and the scotch in tow.“Now go fix your marriage, genius.”
Chapter 25
Azlyn gently laid Griffin in his crib.The little guy had fed like a ravenous bear cub and was now sound asleep, likely down for the count for the next six hours.Lately, his sleep patterns had improved dramatically.Maybe it was the warm air?The quiet?The constant supply of loving arms ready to rock him?
Whatever the reason, she wasn’t going to jinx it by overthinking.The important thing was that her baby boy was thriving.
Here, in the palace.
Surrounded by cooing grandparents, affectionate uncles, and what felt like a never-ending parade of relatives who treated him like he was some kind of chubby-cheeked national treasure.
With a sigh, Azlyn stepped away from the crib and into the main room of the private suite she’d been sharing with Zayn for the past month.They had separate bedrooms—a formality, she suspected—but every morning she emerged to find him tugging on cufflinks or checking his phone as he prepped for whatever royal chaos awaited him that day.
And every night, she watched him return hours later, shedding his jacket with a tired roll of his shoulders and launching into tales of military debates, diplomatic pettiness, and the delicate art of nation-wrangling.
He told her about it all.The generals arguing over strategy.The diplomats needing this or that to soothe someone’s bruised ego.The new hospitals, the roads, the power grid upgrades.
It was his world.Complicated.Important.Constantly evolving.
Meanwhile, her nails had never looked shinier.Her hair gleamed with the help of luxury conditioners and a team of stylists who could tame a lion’s mane with a single comb.She could have a manicure every day if she wanted.And the closet—they’d stocked it with gowns, shoes, and enough lingerie to embarrass a Paris boutique.
She read books.Took long walks.Cared for Griffin.She interviewed nannies but couldn’t bring herself to hire one.
Because the moment she did… what would she have left?
What would shebe?
Just a pretty fixture in a palace, polished and poised.Not even useful enough to rock her own child to sleep.
“Stop it,” she muttered aloud, shaking her head.“You’re here.Make the best of it.”
But the words rang hollow as she moved toward her dressing table.The gleaming surface overflowed with perfumes she couldn’t pronounce and makeup brands she’d never worn until now.Azlyn sat, preparing to take it all off and call it a night.
But when she glanced up… she froze.
The woman in the mirror wasn’t her.
The smoky eyes, the perfectly contoured cheekbones—crafted by a makeup artist earlier that day for some “official” photos—looked more suited to a porcelain mannequin than the girl who used to chase corruption through a digital maze of data leaks and criminal patterns.
And the eyes?
Lifeless.
Azlyn’s throat tightened.She looked like someone who had disappeared quietly into a life that wasn’t her own.
Her first instinct was to call Olivia.
She reached for her phone—then stopped.
Olivia was gone.Really gone.
The official story was “accidental death.”An unsolved hit-and-run.The suspect had escaped custody and vanished, just like a puff of smoke.The police had moved on.The press had moved on.The world had moved on.
Azlyn was convinced her friend had been murdered.And yet, here she was, lounging in a palace dripping with luxury.Her closet overflowed with designer clothes, shoes that cost more than her first apartment's rent, and purses that could send fashion bloggers into cardiac arrest.
But none of it mattered.
She never left the palace.Honestly, she barely left this apartment.The sheer opulence was starting to feel less charming and more…claustrophobic.
