Chapter 2: Saving the Fallen Prince
Three years ago.
A couple he trusted teamed up to screw him over, leaving him flat broke and stranded in a foreign country.
It was the kind of tabloid drama TMZ would eat up, if anyone actually cared. A power couple turning on him, cleaning him out, leaving him to fend for himself in a country where he barely spoke the language.
I stepped out of the car and ran into Sebastian, battered and bleeding.
It was one of those humid New York nights. The kind where the city never really sleeps. I almost missed him in the chaos of valet parking and umbrellas, but then I saw him—slumped over, looking like hell warmed over.
His passport had been stolen. He didn’t have a penny to his name.
No wallet, no phone, not even a subway card. Just the clothes on his back, which were soaked through and torn. He looked like a ghost from another life.
He just slumped by a pile of trash in the pouring rain, looking completely shattered.
There was a flash of lightning—just for a second, the world went silent except for the rain pounding on the concrete. He didn’t even look up when I walked over—just stared at the ground, defeated.
Through the curtain of rain, my heart skipped a beat.
I always had a thing for lost causes, but this felt different. Something about the way he sat there, refusing to ask for help, made me want to save him more than anything.
So I stepped over the mud in high heels, bent down, and held an umbrella over him.
My shoes were ruined, but I didn’t care. I’ll never forget the look he gave me—suspicious, exhausted, but with a flicker of hope. I offered him my hand, and for a second, he hesitated before taking it.
Then I brought him home, stood up to everyone’s objections, and kept him by my side.
My dad thought I was crazy. My friends called it a charity project. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. I moved him into the guest room and made sure he had everything he needed. I wanted him to feel safe, even if he never thanked me for it.













