Andria locked her bedroom door and turned to her mother.
Elta was sitting on the edge of Andria's bed, wringing her hands. Her face was pale, etched with years of anxiety and emotional abuse.
"You can't marry him, Andria," she sobbed. "The Prince... they say he's cursed. They say he coughs blood. You'll be trapped in that palace."
Andria sat beside her and took her hands. They were cold.
"Mom, look at me."
Elta raised her teary eyes.
"I'm not trapped. I'm free. And so are you."
Andria pulled the papers she had just signed out of her pocket. "I got the dowry. I control the money now. Dad can't touch it."
Elta gasped. "He... he gave it to you?"
"He thinks he's getting a good deal," Andria said grimly. "But we need to secure it. Mom, I know about the NDA."
Elta froze. Her pupils dilated in terror. "What? How?"
"I know he set you up," Andria said, her voice low and urgent. "I know about the photos he faked twenty years ago. I know he forced Grandfather to sign over the business to keep you out of jail."
"Stop," Elta whispered, covering her ears. "He'll hear you."
"He can't hurt us anymore," Andria said, pulling her hands away from her ears. "I'm going to be a Princess. The Royal laws supersede civil contracts. But I need the original documents. The ones you hid."
Elta stared at Andria. She looked at the daughter who had suddenly become a stranger. A protector.
Slowly, she got up. She walked to the old armchair in the corner. She flipped it over and tore at the lining underneath.
She pulled out a rusted tin box.
Andria's heart hammered. This was it. The smoking gun.
She opened the box. Inside were yellowed papers, photos, and a cassette tape.
"I kept them," Elta whispered. "Just in case."
"You did good, Mom."
Andria took photos of every page with her phone and uploaded them to an encrypted cloud server. Then she put the box in her bag.
"I'm going out," Andria said. "I have an appointment."
The law office of Thompson & Associates was located in a strip mall, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a vape shop.
It was humble. Gritty.
Andria walked in. The bell above the door jingled.
Arthur Thompson looked up from his desk. He was young, messy-haired, with coffee stains on his tie. He had no idea that in ten years, he would be the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.
"Can I help you, miss?" he asked, looking confused by Andria's expensive clothes.
Andria placed the tin box on his desk. Then, she placed a check for fifty thousand dollars next to it.
Thompson's eyes bulged.
"I want to hire you on a retainer," Andria said. "My name is Andria Dawson. I'm the fiancée of Prince Cameron."
Thompson choked on his coffee. "The... the Prince?"
"I need you to investigate the tax records of the Dawson Corporation," Andria said calmly. "And I need you to prepare a lawsuit to void a Non-Disclosure Agreement signed under duress twenty years ago."
Thompson looked at the check, then at Andria. He saw the seriousness in her eyes. He straightened his tie.
"I'm listening," he said.
When Andria returned to the manor, chaos had erupted.
Blossom was in the hallway, directing two maids who were carrying Andria's antique vanity table out of her room.
"Careful with that!" she barked.
"Put it down," Andria said.
Blossom turned. "Oh, you're back. I'm taking this. It matches the decor in the Sears estate better."
"It's part of the dowry," Andria said, stepping over the threshold. "It's mine."
"You don't need it," Blossom sneered. "You're going to a palace. They have plenty of furniture."
"Put. It. Down."
Andria didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to.
"Or what?" Blossom challenged. "You'll tell Daddy?"
"No," Andria said. "I'll tell the Royal Comptroller that the Dawson family is embezzling assets designated for the Crown. Theft from a Royal fiancée is a federal crime, Blossom. Minimum sentence, five years."
The maids froze. The word "prison" hung in the air.
Blossom's face went pale. She knew nothing about the law, but she feared the Royals.
"You're bluffing," she said, but her voice wavered.
"Try me," Andria said. "Take the table. See who comes knocking tomorrow."
Blossom stared at Andria, hate radiating off her. Then, she stomped her foot.
"Put it back!" she screamed at the maids. "It's ugly anyway!"
She stormed off to her room, slamming the door.
Andria watched the maids carry the table back in. She walked into her room and closed the door.
She leaned against the wood, her legs trembling slightly.
One battle down. A war to go.
