Chapter 1
Dude, Where My Princess? 🌸💗🤌
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Rain dripped in a hush against the cracked glass of the bus stop shelter as Ava sat curled up, hoodie drawn tight over her hair, sneakers soaked, phone clenched in her hand like a lifeline — but no texts came. It was 11:46 p.m. He was supposed to be here by now. And not just here — in her life, in her arms, in the dream they had built on voice notes and poetry sent across midnight. His name was Milo, and to her, he wasn’t just a boy she loved; he was a lighthouse in a sea of gray days. But right now, her world felt fogged in confusion. Where was he? Where was her prince?
Ava wasn’t the impulsive type. But she’d bought a one-way ticket to a city she’d never seen because of him. They’d met in an online art community, bonded over a shared love of surreal oil paintings and Lana Del Rey lyrics, and somewhere between laughter and lingering voice messages that always ended in whispered “goodnights,” she fell. Not in the silly kind of way, not in a digital crush kind of way — she fell in the kind of way that made her soul ache for his presence, that made her fingers twitch to touch the side of his face, to look into his amber eyes and say, “You’re real.”
But as the rain soaked deeper and the last bus rolled past without stopping, reality became colder than the wind biting her cheeks. She checked her phone again — one tick on the message. Not delivered.
She stood, heart sinking, and finally walked. Her suitcase clunked behind her on the uneven cobblestones of this unfamiliar city. Streetlights buzzed in a flicker, and shadows stretched far too long. She told herself not to cry, but tears always disobeyed. Her feet carried her toward the cafe where they were supposed to meet — La Rêverie. He called it their "someday spot." But tonight, it was shuttered and empty, the inside dim but for a blinking EXIT sign.
She stared at the window, foggy from the inside, as though it had wept too. She pressed her hand to the glass, wishing she could step into the dream they’d spoken of, the one where he’d be waiting at a candle-lit corner table, sketchbook in hand, rose tucked behind his ear.
Suddenly — a flicker of motion. A figure down the alley.
Her heart seized.
She stepped back.
The figure paused, hooded. Silent.
“Milo?” she whispered, voice trembling.
The figure didn’t answer. Just turned and walked swiftly away.
“Wait!” she called, breaking into a run, dragging the suitcase until it tipped. She let it fall and chased after the shadow. Her lungs burned as she turned the corner, but the alley was empty.
Gone.
Just like that.
Gone — like a dream fading upon waking.
Her chest heaved, not from the running, but from the sharp ache of heartbreak. This was supposed to be magic. This was supposed to be the night.
She stumbled back to the suitcase, knelt in the rain, and finally let herself sob.
But then — her phone buzzed.
One message.
From Milo.
> “Ava. Don’t trust anyone looking for me. Please. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I’ll find you. Promise.”
Her hands shook.
Another buzz.
> “Also… they’re watching. Don’t reply.”
She stared at the messages.
What did he mean? Watching? Who? Her heart raced. This wasn’t just a no-show. Something was wrong.
Suddenly, a sleek black car rounded the corner of the block. Headlights swept across her like a spotlight. She scrambled up, wiping her face.
The window rolled down slowly. A man in a dark suit and glasses leaned out.
“Miss Ava Collins?” he asked smoothly. “We’ve been looking for you. You’re not safe here.”
Every survival instinct screamed at her to run.
“I don’t know you,” she said, backing up.
“We’re friends of Milo’s. He sent us to get you somewhere secure.”
“Where is he?”
The man smiled too slowly.
“He’s… nearby. Come with us.”
She ran.
Darted down a side street. Vaulted a low fence. Heart pounding in her throat. She ducked behind dumpsters, phone clutched tight.
Who were they?
Why was Milo hiding?
She scrolled back through their messages. A voice note from three days ago. She pressed play.
> “If anything happens… go to the Old Observatory. Fourth floor. You’ll know why.”
Ava didn’t hesitate. She hailed a cab, lied about where she was going, and got out two blocks early. The observatory loomed ahead — a forgotten dome against the skyline, worn by time, locked to the public.
She scaled the side gate, heart racing, and pushed open the door with a creak that sounded too loud in the silence.
Dust filled the air like ghosts.
She climbed the winding stairs.
First floor.
Second.
Third.
Each level echoed with the whisper of danger.
Then the fourth.
The door was marked “PRIVATE.” She pushed it open.
Inside, moonlight filtered through a shattered dome. Telescopes stood like forgotten sentries. And in the center — a spiral of paper sketches, photos, red-thread maps, and newspaper clippings pinned to boards.
It was a conspiracy.
All of it centered around one man: Milo Asher.
Her Milo.
But the clippings weren’t about art. They were about whistleblowers. Exposed corporations. Hidden identities. A rogue digital artist turned anonymous truth-teller, hunted by the very agency he once worked for.
She gasped.
“Milo… what have you done?”
“Only what had to be done,” said a voice behind her.
She spun.
There he was.
Soaked, disheveled, breathing hard — but beautiful.
“Milo…” she whispered.
He crossed the room and crushed her into his arms before she could blink. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you everything, but they would’ve tracked the message. I had to go dark.”
She held onto him like he was gravity. “I thought you left me. I thought I was crazy.”
“Never,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re the only reason I didn’t vanish completely.”
They stood in the broken observatory, the city lights far below, hearts beating like war drums.
“But you’re in danger,” she said, pulling back.
“I know. And now… so are you.”
Outside, the sound of tires screeched against the gravel.
Flashlights.
Voices.
They were found.
Milo grabbed a duffel bag from the floor, handed her a flash drive.
“This has everything. All the names. All the files. If anything happens to me, take it to the press. Don’t trust anyone.”
She nodded, trembling.
They ran.
Down dark corridors. Across rooftops slick with rain. Heartbeats syncing in adrenaline and love and fear.
They didn’t stop until dawn began to bleed over the skyline.
In a cheap motel outside the city, they huddled in silence, watching the news on mute. A breaking story flashed across the ticker — a leak had gone live. Someone had uploaded the files. The very ones Milo had collected.
She looked at him in shock.
“You sent them?”
He shook his head.
“No. You did.”
She opened the flash drive again — and saw the auto-upload script.
He’d known she would come.
That she would unlock it.
That she would save him — even when he couldn’t be there.
“Dude,” she whispered, tears slipping down her face, “where have you been?”
Milo smiled, fingers brushing hers gently.
“Waiting for you to believe in me.”
And in that moment — in that tiny motel room with the whole world hunting them, with love barely stitched between survival and chaos — Ava finally felt it:
Her prince wasn’t in a castle.
He was in the storm with her.
Running.
Fighting.
Loving.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the truest fairy tale of all.
🌸💗🤌
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