CHAPTER 1
Sarah Anne McCray’s childhood was nothing short of enchanting. The cherished only child of Prince Philip and Princess Katherine, she was born into a world of gilded halls and wide‑open skies. Her earliest years were spent between the opulent grandeur of Castillo de la Rosas and a sprawling ranch tucked into the rugged Rocky Mountains of Colorado. From the moment she drew her first breath, Sarah was surrounded by privilege, her every need anticipated and met with loving care.
Her days followed a gentle rhythm—structured learning balanced by the freedom of childhood wonder. The finest tutors guided her through languages, history, music, and art, instilling in her a love of knowledge and curiosity that came naturally. Her parents believed education should shape both mind and character, and Sarah thrived under their guidance, her intelligence and imagination evident in every lesson.
Though an only child, Sarah was never lonely. Family was the center of her world, and she shared an unbreakable bond with her cousins, Christina and Jessica. The trio was inseparable, their laughter echoing through palace corridors and ranch house halls alike. Family gatherings were frequent, warm, and full of life—celebrations of a closeness that transcended titles and tradition.
Her upbringing also granted her experiences few children could fathom. Sarah attended grand balls and royal functions, dressed in exquisite gowns and glittering jewels. She met dignitaries and celebrities from across the globe, absorbing languages, cultures, and perspectives that broadened her worldview far beyond her years. These moments quietly shaped her understanding of responsibility and influence.
Yet for all the luxury that surrounded her, Sarah was never allowed to forget what truly mattered. Her parents were determined she remain grounded. They taught her kindness, humility, and empathy, impressing upon her that privilege carried obligation. She accompanied them on charitable visits and community efforts, learning early that compassion was the truest measure of nobility—and that her life, however blessed, was meant to serve a greater good.
Sarah’s childhood was a tapestry woven with love, learning, and adventure. It was a time of innocence and wonder, a foundation carefully laid for the remarkable woman she would one day become. When she later reflected on those early years, she did so with gratitude, cherishing the memories of a privileged upbringing shaped not merely by wealth or title, but by intention, affection, and purpose.
As she grew older, Sarah’s imagination found its voice through storytelling. She spent countless hours filling journals with handwritten tales of adventure and romance, her pen capturing worlds far beyond the palace walls. Writing became her refuge, her joy, and her quiet rebellion against the constraints of formality that often accompanied her rank. Recognizing the depth of her passion, her parents encouraged her wholeheartedly, providing both the freedom and the resources she needed to pursue her creative dreams.
Neither Sarah nor her parents could have known then that those early stories—crafted by candlelight and curiosity—were the first steps toward a future that would place her words in the hands of millions. That the young girl with boundless imagination and a love for stories would one day become a bestselling author was a destiny still unfolding, quietly waiting its moment.
Sarah arrived at Rocky Top Hills just as the first snowflakes began to fall, dusting the estate in a soft, luminous blanket of white. The house—her home for the duration of her stay—glowed with warmth and holiday cheer. Once the residence of her beloved maternal grandmother, Erin McKenzie Williams, the late Duchess of Ashford, it was now the home of her cousin, Christina Morehouse. A roaring fire crackled in the hearth, and the common rooms shimmered with garlands, wreaths, and a towering Christmas tree adorned with lights and ornaments that reflected generations of family tradition.
This visit was a welcome escape from the relentless demands of royal duty and the pressures of her life as a bestselling author. Nestled deep in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, Rocky Top Hills had long been cherished as a sanctuary—a place where time seemed to slow and the outside world faded away. Christmas here was sacred. Ever since her great‑grandmother’s reign as duchess, the family had gathered without exception, a tradition upheld with unwavering devotion.
This year’s celebrations carried even greater meaning with the upcoming wedding of her cousin Christina. Sarah was genuinely happy for her. Christina deserved the love and security she had found, and Sarah took comfort in knowing her cousin’s joy was well earned. Still, as she watched the snow drift quietly beyond the windows, a familiar ache settled in her chest.
She envied Christina’s happiness. And for the first time in a long while, Sarah allowed herself to wonder—quietly, privately—if she would ever find the same.
Sarah was deep in her work when her cousin returned from her honeymoon. The interruption came in the form of a phone call—one she would not soon forget. She gripped the receiver tightly as her agent spoke, each word fueling the slow burn of her rising temper. One of her novels was being adapted for film, a milestone any author should celebrate. Instead, someone had taken it upon themselves to tamper with her screenplay—changes made without her knowledge or consent.
By the time her agent finished explaining the situation, Sarah’s patience was gone.
She issued her instructions with icy precision and ended the call without waiting for a response. Moments later, she lifted the receiver again and dialed the picture studio in Hollywood, California. Enough was enough. If Sun Studios wanted to play hardball, she was more than prepared to meet them on the field.
“This is Sarah Rosington,” she said coolly when the secretary answered. “I would like to speak with the head of Sun Studios.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Rosington,” the woman replied, unfazed. “Our president is currently on vacation and isn’t expected back until after the New Year.”
Sarah didn’t bother leaving a message. She ended the call with a sharp click and began to pace the room, fury simmering just beneath the surface. Her contract was clear. Her authority was nonnegotiable. And if Sun Studios believed they could sidestep her simply because she was unavailable—or worse, because she was a woman—they were gravely mistaken.
She would never work with Sun Studios again. That, she vowed silently, was a promise she fully intended to keep.
“What is the matter, love?” Katherine asked as she caught up with her daughter. As the twin sister of the family’s matriarch, she had seen her share of royal tempers—but Sarah’s rarely surfaced without good reason.
“Those stupid idiots at Sun Studios are tampering with my screenplay,” Sarah snapped. “You know my contract explicitly prohibits it.” Her voice shook with outrage as she stormed past, barely slowing her pace.
Katherine’s eyes widened at the torrent of words pouring from her irate daughter. She followed close behind, biting her lip and fighting the urge to laugh. Sarah’s temper, when it surfaced, was both formidable and—on occasion—entertaining.
“What’s the matter, Sarah?” Tom asked as he encountered the princess in the gardens, clearly sensing the storm before him.
Sarah shot him a lethal glare and answered in a rapid stream of Spanish—quickly followed by Russian—her fury spilling out in every syllable.
“What would Aunt Kate say if she heard you speaking that way?” Christina giggled.
“Kate heard—and she’d say worse,” Katherine replied dryly as she stepped out the same side door Sarah had used moments earlier.
Tom looked from one woman to the next, clearly sensing trouble. “What’s happened?”
“ ‘The president of Sun Studios is currently on vacation, Miss Rosington,’ ” Sarah mimicked in a saccharine tone. “I would very much like to hit that secretary square in the mouth,” she growled.
Christina winced. “What has Sun Studios done now?” She shook her head subtly at Tom, careful not to reveal that her brother‑in‑law just happened to be the studio’s president.
“They rewrote half her screenplay,” Katherine said matter‑of‑factly.
“What?” Tom exclaimed. He was slated to star in the film, which was scheduled to begin shooting in February.
“Only changes I authorize can be made,” Sarah snapped. “And I authorized nothing.” With that, she stalked off, muttering furiously under her breath.
Tom watched her go, rubbing his temples. “My Spanish must be getting rusty.”
“Spanish and Russian,” Katherine corrected calmly. “Sarah was switching between both.” She smiled faintly. “My cousin married a prince—and in his country, Russian is the official language.”
Tom blinked. “Ah.”
Christina smirked. “Someone at Sun Studios is about to have a very bad holiday.”
“Was that Lady Sarah who just blew past me?” Kevin asked as he walked up from the stables, frowning after her retreating figure.
“Yes,” Christina replied dryly. “And if I were you, little brother, I’d give Sarah a wide berth right now.”
Kevin blinked. “Why?”
“Because,” Christina said sweetly, “as president of Sun Studios, you are currently at the very top of Sarah’s hit list.”
“What?” He laughed, clearly convinced this was some sort of joke.
“We start filming in February,” Christina continued. “Someone has been tampering with Sarah’s screenplay. According to her contract, changes can only be made with her explicit approval.”
Kevin’s smile vanished. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I never authorized any changes,” he said flatly.
“You might want to explain that to my daughter,” Katherine advised as she passed him, patting his shoulder with unmistakable amusement. “Though I’d recommend waiting until she calms down first.” With that, she disappeared back into the house, laughing quietly to herself.
“Yes, I would definitely wait,” Tom added with a grimace. “From what I was able to translate, she’s planning to rip you a new one.”
Christina shook her head, almost fondly. “Out of the three of us—Sarah, Jessie, and me—Sarah’s the quiet one. But when she loses her temper…” She winced. “She has one hell of a temper.”
