Breaking The Fate

Chapter three

When I was eleven, my thirteen-year-old brother, Logan, got himself into trouble with the cops—again. It wasn't anything new; stealing cigarettes from the corner store was practically a habit for him. But that day was different. That day changed everything.

There was some big event happening in town. Important people were there, including August and his family. Logan, as usual, wasn't thinking that far ahead. He snuck into the store, grabbed a pack of cigarettes, and slipped out like he always did. But this time, the cops were right there, stationed near the event.

When Logan stepped into the alley to light one up, the police spotted him. They shouted, and Logan panicked. He dropped the cigarette and took off, running as fast as his legs could carry him. But he didn't see the rock in his path. He tripped, fell hard, and hit his head.

For a moment, he didn't move, and the officers were closing in. Then Logan, being Logan, scrambled to his feet and started running again, his head bleeding, his face pale. That's when he crashed straight into fourteen-year-old August.

Now, August had nothing to do with any of this. He wasn't even supposed to be there. But August, being August, had gotten bored and decided to sneak out of the stuffy event. When Logan slammed into him, August barely flinched. He looked at the pack of cigarettes in Logan's hand, then at the cops barreling down the alley, and he made a decision.

He took the cigarettes from Logan and turned to face the police. "It was me," he said, his voice calm, even amused. "I told him to steal them. I'm the one you're looking for."

The officers froze, their expressions shifting the moment they realized who he was. August wasn't just any kid—he was the heir to the throne. His next words sealed the deal: "I was bored. Life's stressful, you know? Get used to it. This is how things are going to be when I'm king."

The police didn't know what to do. They couldn't arrest him, not with his status. So they let it go, and Logan disappeared into the shadows, August followed him. Logan clutching his head, probably too shocked to even say thank you.

But August's parents weren't so forgiving. When they found out what he'd done, they were furious. Public humiliation was unacceptable, even for their golden boy. They decided he needed a punishment fitting of the disgrace he'd brought upon the family.

Their punishment? They would choose his future wife.

And for reasons I still don't fully understand, they chose me.

It wasn't because of my charm, that's for sure. I didn't try to impress them. In fact, when they came to discuss the proposal, I sat there with a scowl the entire time. I didn't smile once. I'm not exactly what you'd call a picture-perfect princess. I'm beautiful, sure, but I'm also moody, stubborn, and short-tempered. I have a knack for being cold and, honestly, a little rude when I feel like it.

But somehow, they looked past all that and decided I was the one for their son. Or maybe they thought I'd be the perfect punishment for him. Who knows?

What I do know is that August and I were tied together by a strange twist of fate, starting with that pack of cigarettes and ending in a life neither of us asked for.

*

The day started off miserably.

Normally, when I'm furious with him, I channel all my anger into video games. It's my way of escaping reality, but lately, even that's been stripped away from me. Now I'm stuck in this suffocating house with no outlet for my frustration.

I pace the room endlessly, sighing every two minutes, each breath heavier than the last. It's only eleven in the morning, and I haven't even managed to eat breakfast. The thought of sitting at the same table as August makes me nauseous. I know one wrong word could trigger an argument, and with him, it's never a fair fight. August is allowed to be angry, but I'm not. His emotions are valid, while mine are dismissed.

I feel trapped, not just in this castle but in this life. The loneliness eats at me more than anything else. How ironic is it that I'm surrounded by bodyguards and staff in one of the largest castles in the world, yet I feel completely isolated?

Desperate for some sense of freedom, I open my walk-in closet. I stare at the endless rows of long, elegant dresses—each more extravagant than the last. They're beautiful, but they're not me. I'm not about to parade into a store dressed like royalty; I just want to blend in. I finally spot a red tie-front bikini tucked away, and suddenly, an idea sparks.

I'll go to the beach. Alone.

Pairing the bikini with denim shorts and a pink crop top, I grab a bag and pack a spare outfit. I glance at myself in the mirror. I feel good—confident, even. The thought crosses my mind: I deserve better than August. Someone who treats me like an equal, not an accessory.

With my mind made up, I storm out of the room.

As I make my way to the door, one of the guards, Damon, stops me. "Ma'am, where are we going?"

"To the beach," I reply firmly.

"Does His Highness know about this?" Damon asks, his eyes widening.

I roll my eyes. "I'm the queen. I don't need his permission. Now, let's go before he catches wind of it."

The beach is quiet, almost serene. The waves crash gently against the shore, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe. Swimming alone is lonely, yes, but it's still better than being trapped in the castle.

As I float in the water, I mumble to myself, "Just wait until I tell my brother what August did to me."

"You always talk to yourself, or is today special?"

Startled, I turn to see a man swimming nearby. He's tall and well-built, with brown hair slicked back from the water and eyes the color of wet sand. His presence is annoyingly confident, almost arrogant.

"Good for you," I say dismissively, swimming further away.

He follows, a smirk playing on his lips. "Stop running. I don't bite—unless you want me to."

"Excuse me?" I glare at him, my patience wearing thin. "Stay away from me."

"Sure thing," he says, his tone dripping with mockery.

I ignore him and head back to shore. As I lay on my towel, I sense him standing over me.

"It's cute that you think you can just walk away from me," he says, tilting his head.

I sigh, staring at the blue sky and closing my eyes, hoping he'll take the hint and leave.

"Step away from her. Now."

I recognize the voice instantly—Benjamin, one of my guards.

The man, clearly unimpressed, raises an eyebrow. "And who are you?"

Before Benjamin can respond, a younger boy runs over. "Leo, come on!"

The resemblance is uncanny—they must be brothers. The younger one pulls Leo away, but not before he throws me a smug look. "See you around, beach girl."

Benjamin and I watch them leave. "That was... strange," I mumble.

Benjamin shakes his head. "How did he not recognize you?"

I shrug. "That's not the strange part. The strange part is how comfortable he was making me uncomfortable."

Benjamin sighs. "It's all about how they're raised. Some boys never learn respect."

"True," I say, grabbing my towel. "Let's go. I've had enough of this place for one day."

On the way to the car, I catch sight of the one parked in front of us. Leo and his younger brother are leaning casually against it, looking like they're waiting for someone—or just trying to look cool. The moment Leo spots me, his posture shifts. His face lights up, and he stands straighter, brushing his hands over his jeans like that's going to make him look less scruffy.

"So, a bodyguard, huh?" Leo teases, a crooked smirk spreading across his face.

Before I can even react, the younger boy rolls his eyes and jabs him hard in the arm. "You i***t, that's the queen!" he hisses, wide-eyed, like I'm some untouchable deity who might strike them down for a bad joke.

Leo pauses for half a second, then grins at me, completely unfazed. "She is a queen," he says smoothly, as if he's known it all along and just wanted to say it out loud.

I don't bother responding. What's the point? Instead, I push past them and climb into the backseat of the car without a glance back. Once I'm settled, I catch Benjamin's nervous expression in the rearview mirror as he slides into the driver's seat. His hand lingers on the steering wheel like he's bracing himself for whatever I'm about to say.

"Take me to a diner nearby," I tell him, my voice steady, but there's an edge to it that even I can hear.

Benjamin hesitates for a split second, his jaw tightening. He looks like he's weighing the consequences in his head, but then he nods quickly. "Of course, your majesty," he says, his tone stiff and overly formal.

I hate that. I hate how August has managed to twist all of us into these tightly wound puppets, afraid to make a single move without checking if the strings are still attached. No one breathes without his permission. No one lives freely, and God forbid anyone has an opinion that doesn't align with his vision of absolute control.

Because that's all it is—control. He doesn't rule; he manipulates. He doesn't lead; he commands, no questions allowed. August isn't a king; he's a tyrant wrapped in royal robes, using his power to crush anyone who dares stand too tall.

And I'm tired of it.