Chapter Two

When Ivy got home that evening, exhaustion washed over her like a heavy tide.

After Prince Henry had made his unexpected job offer—and left the wedding almost immediately afterward—the rest of the day had been a blur. Her partner, Dave , was over the moon. Even their staff was buzzing with excitement. Well-wishers and impressed guests congratulated them. Several left their business cards, offering future contracts and asking her to call them.

But while everyone else celebrated, Ivy felt like she was falling apart inside.

Trying to calm her nerves, she opted for a quick dinner before heading straight to bed. After taking a long bath, she slipped into her nightwear, hoping sleep would silence her racing thoughts. Just as she was settling under the covers, her phone buzzed.

It was her uncle, Jack Foster.

"Good evening, Uncle Jack," Ivy greeted, trying to sound cheerful.

"Good evening, Ivy. How are you?" he replied warmly. "I saw the news. I was surprised but very proud. I know you may not want to go back to the palace after all these years, but don't you think this is a good opportunity?"

Ivy sighed heavily. "Uncle, I don't want to go back there. I left for a reason. But as you can see, I didn't have a choice. I couldn't reject the prince in front of everyone. It would've caused a scene. For now, I'll accept. Maybe when I get to the palace, I can speak to him privately. If I explain, maybe he'll be reasonable and understand."

"Alright," Uncle Jack said after a pause. "You're an adult. You know what's best for you. Just take care of yourself, Ivy. The kids say hi, and we all miss you."

Ivy smiled faintly. "I miss you all too. Goodnight, Uncle."

"Goodnight, Ivy." The call ended.

Too restless to sleep, Ivy decided to watch a movie. But no matter how hard she tried to distract herself, her mind kept wandering back to the past.

Ten Years Ago

It was a dark, rainy afternoon when Ivy returned from school. She dropped her bag by the door and noticed her uncle sitting silently at the dining table, staring off into space. He didn't even notice her come in.

"Hello, Uncle. Good afternoon," she greeted softly.

No response. Concerned, Ivy walked over and touched his shoulder gently. He flinched, startled out of his thoughts.

"Are you okay, Uncle?" she asked, her brows furrowed.

When he turned to face her, she saw tears streaming down his cheeks.

Her heart clenched. "What happened?"

Jack struggled to find the words. "Ivy… it's your mother. She… she's gone."

Ivy froze. A roaring sound filled her ears. "What? What did you say?"

Her uncle stood and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

It felt like the world had cracked open beneath her feet. Her mother—her best friend, her mentor—was gone. Ivy's knees buckled as sobs tore from her throat.

When she eventually calmed down, Uncle Jack coaxed her into eating something, though every bite tasted like dust. She then retreated to her room and cried until exhaustion finally dragged her into sleep.

But in the middle of the night, someone shook her awake.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gasped. Standing in the moonlight was Prince Henry.

"Henry? What are you doing here?" she whispered, startled.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer and said softly, "Move over."

Confused, she slid aside on the bed. Henry lay down beside her and gently pulled her into his arms. His embrace was warm, steady.

"I heard what happened," he murmured. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Ivy. If you ever need anything—someone to talk to, to scream at, or even to run away with—call me. I'll be there."

Ivy tried to hold back her tears, but his words broke through the dam she had built around her heart. She cried again, this time into his chest, while he held her until she drifted into a restless sleep.

It was one of the worst nights of her life. But with Henry and her uncle's support, Ivy eventually found the strength to move on.

That night also marked the beginning of something she hadn't expected—feelings for Henry.

Feelings she had buried deep… until now.

The sharp chime of the doorbell pulled Ivy Davis out of sleep. She groaned, pressing a pillow over her head, hoping whoever it was would lose interest and leave. But the sound persisted—again and again—until she finally threw back the covers and stumbled groggily to the door.

When she opened it, her breath caught.

Prince Henry stood there, flanked by a sleek, black SUV with tinted windows. Three figures in sharp suits—a woman and two men—stood like silent shadows near the car.

"What are you doing here?" Ivy asked, clutching her robe tighter.

Henry didn't answer. He stepped past her into the house, his commanding presence filling the small living room.

"Wait outside until I call you," he instructed his security team without glancing back.

Ivy shut the door, her pulse thrumming wildly. "Good morning, Your Highness. What brings you to my humble home?" she said, trying to sound calm.

His eyes swept over her like a cold blade, pausing briefly at her silk nightgown, which clung scandalously to her thighs.

"Is this what you wear every time you answer the door?" he asked dryly.

Heat flushed her cheeks. "No," she muttered, darting toward her bedroom to change.

When she emerged a few minutes later, now dressed in jeans and a sweater, she found Henry casually rifling through her fridge as though he owned the place.

"About yesterday…" she began cautiously, but he cut her off.

"I don't know what gave you the impression that you have a choice."

Her jaw tightened. "Are you saying I can't refuse your offer?"

"You won't refuse," he said simply. "Because you owe me. And if you persist, be prepared to face the consequences."

"Owe you? What on earth are you talking about?"

In one smooth motion, he advanced on her. She instinctively backed away until her spine pressed against the wall.

"You left. You abandoned me. Why?"

Her breath hitched. How could she tell him the truth? That she'd fled because she had fallen helplessly in love with him—because staying meant drowning in an impossible longing.

When she stayed silent, Henry's eyes hardened. He exhaled sharply and turned for the door.

"Tia," he called as he opened it. His assistant stepped forward.

"Make sure Ms. Davis packs her essentials. Bring her to the palace immediately."

"Yes, Your Highness," Tia replied crisply.

Without another word, Henry disappeared into the SUV.

Tia and two staff members helped Ivy pack two modest suitcases. As the car pulled out onto the road, anxiety twisted in her stomach like a coiled snake.

Eight years. Eight years since she last set foot in the Ashvalor royal palace.

When they arrived, Ivy's breath caught in her throat.

The palace rose before her like a vision from a dream—no, a fairytale.

Sprawling across acres of manicured grounds, its grand facade glimmered under the early morning sun. Towering gates of wrought iron and gold, adorned with intricate carvings and crest emblems, stood like silent sentinels guarding the estate. Beyond them, an expansive circular driveway curved around a massive illuminated fountain that danced with sparkling water.

The palace itself was breathtaking. Its cream-colored walls were kissed with golden accents, and soaring pillars lined its perimeter. Domed rooftops glinted like polished onyx under the sky, and the surrounding gardens bloomed with meticulously arranged roses, tulips, and cherry blossoms. Lights framed every path and archway, giving the entire estate a celestial glow.

Ivy swallowed hard. She had forgotten how overwhelming this place could be.

Inside, the palace staff greeted her with polite bows as Tia led her through the east wing. Memories assaulted Ivy from every corridor—playing tag with young Henry, stealing pastries from the royal kitchen, whispering secrets in sunlit alcoves.

Finally, they stopped before a pair of double doors. When they opened, Ivy gasped.

Her room was fit for a queen.

A massive canopy bed draped in cream and gold silk sat at its center. A crystal chandelier cast glittering light over marble floors and walls adorned with delicate floral carvings. French doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the lush palace gardens.

"This can't be my room," she whispered.

"It is," Tia confirmed with a small smile. "You're to stay here for the duration of your employment."

Maids placed her suitcases inside and left silently.

"Come along. Your partner is waiting in the kitchen."

"My partner?" Ivy asked, puzzled.

"Mr. Carson. Dave Carson."

In the royal kitchen, Ivy was surprised to find Dave and their staff already assembled.

"Ivy! Christ, I sent you a dozen messages!" Dave exclaimed.

"Sorry," she said, flustered. "I haven't checked my phone. This morning's been… insane."

"Are you okay?"

She forced a small smile. "I'm fine."

"Good. Because this is huge!" he said, nearly bouncing with excitement.

Of course, Ivy reminded herself. This was their dream job.

Tia gathered them for a briefing. "Congratulations on becoming the palace chefs. This is a rare honor, and I trust you will not disappoint.

Three years ago, tragedy struck this household. The king died after his meal was poisoned. Investigations revealed both the food and drink had been tainted. Every servant and guard was replaced. Now, you are here to serve the royal family under strict conditions. You may not discuss palace affairs outside these walls—not even with family. Any breach will result in termination and prosecution."

Ivy's stomach churned. She remembered the news: heart attack, they said. But it had been a lie.

Dave raised a hand. "What about our private clients? Can we still run our business?"

"You may. But if schedules clash, the royal family takes priority," Tia said firmly.

"Will the cooks also live in the palace?" Ivy asked.

"Yes. Lodging and healthcare are provided. But punctuality is non-negotiable. Tomorrow, contracts and uniforms will be ready. For now, the palace tailor will take your measurements."

She handed Ivy a folded paper.

"This is Prince Henry's meal plan. You're to prepare his dinner and deliver it to his quarters personally."

"Me?" Ivy blinked. "Why me?"

"His Highness doesn't trust strangers with his meals yet. Since you're childhood friends, he's requested you serve him directly."

Ivy felt her heart lurch.

Dave raised an eyebrow. "Childhood friends with the prince? That's news."

"It was years ago. We barely speak now," Ivy murmured.

"Sure," Dave said, grinning. "We'll talk later. Right now, let's focus."

Once measurements were taken, Ivy gathered her team.

"Alright, everyone. Tonight's dinner is crucial—it's our first impression. Let's make it perfect."

Her staff nodded eagerly.

"From the meal plan, we'll be preparing steamed lobster tails with saffron butter. Let's make it so good the prince never forgets it."

"Yes, Chef!" her team replied in unison.