Page 1 of Sweet Betrayal

CHAPTER 1

The folder that would change her life looked like any other piece of official correspondence. Made of heavy cream card stock, it bore the royal falcon embossed in gold on the front, the emblem gleaming under the fluorescent office light. Tucked neatly inside was a single sheet of paper. Across the front of the folder, printed in bold block letters, was the warning:

FOR H.H. PRINCE HAKEEM’S EYES ONLY

After six months as the Crown Prince of Syman’s personal assistant, Hannah barely noticed the admonition. Everything bound for His Highness carried a similar stamp.

She collected the folder from her glass-topped desk, tucked it under her arm, and set off for the prince’s private quarters. It wasn’t yet 0700. He would still be in the dressing suite, and protocol demanded that critical documents reach him immediately.

Hannah enjoyed her job at the royal compound. Syman, an island monarchy perched in the Gulf, marketed itself as a cosmopolitan playground. Turquoise coves, glittering casinos, five-star hotels that lured celebrities, billionaires and influencers every long weekend.

As the prince’s PA, she often accompanied him to charity galas on the marble terraces of the Miraj Resort, impromptu shopping sprees in air-conditioned malls the size of small towns. In many ways itwasa dream job.

But glamour wasn’t the only reason Hannah had taken the position. After the blow-up with her father, Walter Evans—fourth-generation owner of Evans & Son Accountancy in Savannah—she was cut off.

With what the prince was paying her, she could save enough in two years to return to the States and open up her own boutique PR agency. That was her real goal.

She could still hear her father’s disapproving voice.

Evans & Son is one of the most prestigious accounting firms in the county, Hannah Leigh. It’s your duty to come home and take your place.

The only problem was she had no interest in the family firm. Ledgers suffocated her. She was a people person like her late mother. A future in public relations was what she wanted, and this job was a giant step in the right direction. Shaping the prince’s image was exactly the kind of high-pressure brand work that would electrify her résumé.

Rounding a corner, she slammed straight into a housekeeping attendant whose arms overflowed with linen. Sheets scattered across the brocade runner.

“Ma’ as-salaama—sorry!” Hannah blurted in fluent Arabic. She’d learned it from her grandparents as a child. It was the chief reason why the Prince had hired her over the other English-speaking applicants.

The attendant knelt to gather up the discarded linen. Hannah crouched to help her—then froze. Her official folder lay open exposing the heading on the letter inside. She couldn’t help but see it.

URGENT: MEASURES FOR CIVIL UNREST

Unrest?

There had been rumors, but nothing concrete. Her mind struggled to make sense of the heading. Confused, she read on.

Due to unrest in neighboring countries like Egypt and Syria, we need to prepare a plan for the immediate evacuation of the royal family and take steps to stop similar uprisings from spreading inside Syman.

Hannah glanced around, but apart from the maid scurrying away, the hallway was deserted. The plush carpets made no sound as she snatched up the letter, shoved it back inside the folder, and ran to the nearest restroom.

She didn’t want to think about what would happen if anyone found her, but this was too shocking to ignore. Locking a stall, she read the four-page memorandum in one breathless sweep.

Protests in the southern seaport of Hamabad had turned violent. If the unrest spread north, civil war could ignite in hours.

Security chief Abdul Anwar had outlined a response plan that read more like a crackdown than a strategy. It included the immediate imposition of strict curfews across the capital and surrounding cities, along with a total blackout of all news outlets, mobile networks, and internet access to prevent the spread of information. Most chilling of all was the authorization for military forces to use live ammunition against civilians if protests escalated. No warning shots. No rubber bullets. Just real rounds fired into real crowds.

The memorandum also detailed a series of coordinated escape routes for the royal family. Two private coastal villas with direct access to the Gulf were prepped for rapid evacuation by boat, and three safe houses in neighboring countries were already stocked and staffed. It wasn’t just a plan—it was a blueprint for survival at the cost of civilian lives.

By the time she’d finished reading, she was trembling. But thanks to the memory that had served her so well in school and through years of high-pressure admin work, the contents were already locked in—word for word. She couldn’t unsee it now, even if she wanted to.

Footsteps entered, then left. Hannah remained motionless, the lines of text still floating before her eyes.

Move!

She’d been gone too long. Someone would come looking for her. Then what? How could she explain she’d seen the confidential document by accident?

They’d never believe her.

Somehow, she managed to get to her feet and stumble from the cubicle. She splashed cold water over her face, then stared at her reflection in the mirror. A shocked, pale woman gazed back at her, made even paler by the blond curls that she’d pulled back into her signature chignon, the way the Prince liked it.

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