Page 103 of The Defiant Wife

"But . . . " I continue before she can interrupt." . . . the room becomes strangely quiet whenever you actually stop."

She blinks.The smug smile disappears from her face.Her cheeks slowly turn pink.She coughs a bit and picks up her glass, gulping some water."I wasn't emotionally prepared for that answer."

"I noticed."

She points at me again."You're not allowed to flirt during official questioning."

"I wasn't."

"You absolutely were."

"I simply answered honestly."

She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like menace. I smile into my glass.She scrolls further.

"Next question."

"What scares you?"

I don't answer immediately.The question settles somewhere deep in my chest, unexpectedly heavy. Fear has never been something I've allowed myself to dwell on. I grew up believing it was a weakness, something that clouded judgment and ledto bad decisions. Princes aren't supposed to fear. They prepare. They calculate. They endure.

For years, I convinced myself I had nothing to lose. It was easier that way. But somewhere between late-night conversations, chaotic afternoons at the NGO, and a loud, stubborn woman who walked into my carefully ordered life and refused to leave it the way she found it . . . That changed. Because the more people matter to you, the more terrifying the thought of losing them becomes.

I finally meet her eyes. "Losing people."

Her smile fades."I've spent most of my life pretending I don't need anyone." I meet her eyes."I'm starting to realise I was wrong."

She goes very quiet.She doesn't even type this answer down.Instead, she simply watches me.

After a few seconds she smiles gently."My turn to answer?"

I nod."The same thing.Losing people."She twists the ring on her finger absentmindedly.

"When you've spent your whole life being left behind . . . " She chuckles humorlessly," . . . you start expecting everyone else to leave too."Without thinking, I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine.She looks down at our hands before looking back at me.

"There are no plans to leave," I say quietly.

She doesn't answer.She just lets her fingers relax beneath mine.After a long silence, she suddenly brightens.

"One last question."

I raise an eyebrow. "Only one?"

"I have forty-three more."

I stare at her. " . . . Forty-three?"

"It's colour-coded."

I close my eyes for a second. "Trouble."

"What?"

"You made a colour-coded questionnaire?"

She smiles proudly."There are categories."

I laugh again."Should I be worried?"