Victor and Emily
“So thats Emily!” Victor nearly choked on his coffee as he recognised the face in the photograph. Hed only sat down five minutes ago at a small open-air café on the high street, flipping through the newspaper to pass the time.
“No, it cant be.” He tossed the paper aside irritably and leaned back in his wicker chair. Thinking about her always brought back memories hed rather forgethis university days, when hed been hopelessly in love with her while she strung him along. Hed been finishing his degree in mathematics at Oxford, and shed just started, a fresh-faced first-year impossible to ignore. Shed noticed his lingering glances straight away and, one day in the library, approached him with an innocent question. That was how it all began.
Turned out, she was dreadful at maths. He ended up writing all her coursework, even scribbling last-minute cheat sheets before exams. Nothing helpedher studies quickly became a nightmare. Later, he suspected shed only got into Oxford by pulling strings. Eventually, shed had enough. By the end of her first year, she dropped outand dumped him in the process.
“Were just too different,” shed said bluntly. “Id only make you miserable. Youre a good blokeyoull find someone better suited.”
And that was that.
Now, her face was plastered across the front page of a tabloid. What on earth had happened? Victor snatched the paper back.
The article detailed the most scandalous story of the season. A young European royal, a notorious playboy, had swept into London and taken a fancy to a dancer from a nightclub. The affair moved fastan engagement was announced just a week later, set to take place in the ballroom of a luxury hotel. A continental scandal! And there she was in the photohis Emily, about to become a princess. Shed certainly gone far.
“Can I get you anything else?” The waitresss voice snapped him back to the present. Righthed been lingering too long. They needed the table.
Stepping outside, Victors gaze locked onto the grand entrance of the very hotel hosting Emilys engagement. He caught himself thinking of her as “his” again. Bloody hell. All the old pain, buried like a splinter, had surged back. He hadnt forgotten her after all. Before he knew it, he was marching inside, drawn to the ballroom where it was all meant to happen.
A concert was underwaymusic blared, scantily clad women with flawless figures danced onstage, and the crowd buzzed with energy. Photographers jostled for space. Something was in the air, a tension, like everyone was waiting for the real show to begin. Victor pushed forward, squeezing into the front row.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed. Only the stage remained lit, bathed in a hazy purple glow as thick rings of smoke curled upwards. Drumbeats pounded, and the opening chords of *Crazy in Love* filled the room. Dancers swayed at the edges, but the centre was emptyuntil a spotlight flared, and a translucent figure descended, spinning slowly. A woman with waist-length hair, dressed in a flowing teal gown.
Victor squinted through the hazethen froze. It was her. Emily.
“No way,” he muttered, looking away. She was practically royalty nowwhy would she be here? The music roared on.
He turned back. The woman onstage seemed taller than he remembered, more polished, as if an artist had refined her. But it was definitely her.
A reporter in the crowd gaped, transfixed. Hed covered showbiz for years, but this was something else. That morning, an anonymous tip had promised a sensational spectacleone hed regret missing. No details, just a time and place. Now he understood why. The future princess, the woman every journalist wanted to interview, was dancing right in front of him. And she was stunning.
Then, the performance shifted. The music pulsed on, but she stopped spinninginstead, she arched back, trembling in time with the beat. A belly dance. Flashes erupted as cameras clicked. Not a single moment could be missed.
Thendisaster. Her teal gown slipped, pooling at her feet. She stood there, completely exposed. The crowd gasped.
Out of the corner of his eye, Victor saw someone lunge forward. A champagne bottle hurtled towards the stage, glinting under the lights. Was some unhinged fan losing it?
What happened next was a blur. The bottle flew straight at herthen she exploded in a burst of light. The bottle vanished. A second later, glass shattered somewhere backstage. The curtain dropped, lights came up. Security chased after the thrower, but hed already bolted.
“I knew it was a set-up the second I saw you,” Victor said later, lighting a cigarette. Emily propped her chin on her hands, watching him with interest. Hed tracked down her number that morning and asked to meet. Now they sat at a café on the high street.
“Ive got a degree in AI. I know what this tech can do,” he continued. “Low lighting, smoke, a bright central spotlightthat wasnt you. It was a hologram. They scanned your club performances, digitised them, and programmed the lasers backstage. All they needed was the right atmosphere. Voilàyoure stripping to *Crazy in Love*.”
He smirked. “But weve got them. I filmed the whole thing. Clear proof the bottle went straight through you. Ill upload it, expose the whole scam.”
Emily gave a sad smile. “Dont bother. The prince called off the engagement yesterday. His mother put her foot down, and he folded. Honestly? Good riddance. I never believed in the fairy tale. This was the gentlest way they couldve ruined me.”
She sighed. “But I landed on my feet. A major lingerie brand offered me a contract. Life-changing money. So Im walking away ahead.”
Her fingers brushed his cheek. “Youre a good man. But wed never work. Youll find someone better. Forget about me.”
Before he could reply, she stood and walked away. Victor watched her go, then stubbed out his cigarette.
