She stood in the wings, the lace of her couture gown scratching against her collarbone like a gilded leash. To the world, she was the "Thorne Princess"—the pristine, silent daughter of a dynasty built on old money and even older secrets. To Ransom Lockwood, she was just a problem to be solved.
The stage manager signaled. The lights flared. Hallie took a breath, the taste of rebellion sweeter than any champagne. She didn't walk onto that stage to be a princess. She walked out to be a Thorne—and for the first time, she wasn't walking alone. Thorne Princess by L.J. Shen
"You’re shaking, Princess," he murmured, his voice a low grate that skipped down her spine. "It’s cold," Hallie lied, chin lifted. She stood in the wings, the lace of
"Then bite," he whispered, his eyes dropping to her mouth. "Stop playing their game and start burning the board. I’ll provide the matches." The stage manager signaled
"It’s fear," he corrected, stepping into her space. The scent of rain and expensive bourbon followed him. "You’re terrified they’ll see you’re not the doll they painted. That you’ve got teeth."
Hallie turned, her eyes snapping to his. "And what if I do?"
The velvet curtains of the Royal Albert Hall didn’t just muffle the sound of the London rain; they held back the suffocating weight of a crown Hallie Thorne never asked for.