Page 16 of Royal Secret

The room is quiet as I open my eyes and sit up, my heart a flutter of wings against my rib cage as I scan the room. The other side of the bed is empty, a dent in the pillow where Jakob’s head was.

“Jakob?” I rub sleep from my eyes and lean over to peer through the open bathroom door. It’s empty.

I frown. Where did he get to?

I crane my head, listening. There are the sounds of footsteps in the hall, but they approach and then pass right by my room. As they slowly fade away, my heart sinks, the truth a heavy stone.

He left. Without saying goodbye.

And without leaving his number, a quick glance at all the surfaces of the room tells me.

I bite my lip, pushing back the disappointment. I knew this might happen, of course, but living through it is another matter entirely now that I’m here, Jakob’s absence a silent echo bouncing off the walls of the hotel suite.

I tell myself it’s foolish to feel this sting of abandonment; after all, what were the chances? He’s from here, and I’m just passing through, a visitor with a return ticket already burning a hole in my pocket. We’re worlds apart, Jakob and I.

“Get a grip, Courtney,” I mutter under my breath as I push back the covers.

My feet touch the plush rug, and I shuffle towards the suitcase perched on the luggage rack. It’s time to get dressed and face the day, even if it means doing so without the charming stranger who swept me off my feet last night.

I flip open the clasps of my suitcase, rummaging for something to wear. As I pull out a soft cotton dress, I frown. Something’s not right. I dig deeper, tossing aside scarves and skirts, a growing sense of dread twisting in my stomach. And then it hits me — the hollow emptiness where my grandmother’s necklace should be, its delicate gold chain and the tiny sapphire pendant passed down through generations, now missing.

My hands freeze, and I feel the blood drain from my face. “No, no,no…”

The words are screams of disbelief as the truth dawns on me: Jakob. He’s taken it. That’s the only explanation.

Panic swells, and my thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind. I trusted him, let him charm me with his smile and his soft touches. How could I have been such an easy mark?

“He scammed me,” I breathe, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

All at once, the memories of last night — his laughter, his warm hand enveloping mine — twist into something sinister. He musthave planned this from the moment he laid eyes on me. The realization is a slap, a betrayal that stings more than the loss of the heirloom itself.

How many times has he done this before? Picked up a woman and gone to her hotel room only to rob her? For all I know, I’m the hundredth person he’s done this to — and I can’t decide if that makes me feel better or worse.

Fury replaces the shock, heating my veins as I stand here amid the chaos of my belongings. This was no chance encounter. I was targeted, not special like he made me think. Jakob wasn’t just a thief; he was a master at his game.

But I’m not leaving Bergovia — not yet. Not without my grandmother’s necklace. I’ll find Jakob, and when I do, he’ll wish he’d never crossed paths with Courtney Fuller.

I march down to the hotel lobby, my resolve firming with each step, the anger, sense of betrayal, and determination building as I go. I reach the front desk, where a young woman with a polite smile greets me.

“Good morning. How may I assist you?” Her voice is sweet, but it grates against the turmoil inside me.

I lean in, trying to keep my voice steady. “I need to report a theft. Last night, someone— I mean, something very valuable was taken from my room.”

Her smile fades as she listens, nodding sympathetically. She motions for the security guard standing by the entrance. “Let’s check the cameras,” she says.

Together, we watch the grainy footage, scanning for any sign of Jakob’s departure. But the lobby is a ballet of guests andstaff, nothing out of place. No Jakob. No evidence. It’s as if he’s vanished into thin air, a ghost among the living.

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing here that can help us,” the guard says apologetically, his face etched with genuine regret.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my heart sinking further. I should have known better than to hope for easy answers.

“You should report it to the authorities.” He writes down a number and address for me. “The closest station is just down the street.”

It’s something, at least. The hotel can’t help me, but maybe the police can. My feet carry me through the cobblestone streets, past the buildings and gardens that yesterday made me feel like I was in heaven and that this morning only remind me of the trick I fell for.

The police station is an austere building that feels unwelcoming despite its open doors. Inside, officers move about with purpose, their attention on matters far greater than a tourist’s lost jewelry.

“May I help you?” A stern-faced officer looks up from his desk, his eyes skeptical as I approach.

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