I Escaped My Royal Wedding to Work at a Burger King, But My Best Friend Betrayed Me to Save My Brother’s Life
The Art of the Deal (High School Edition)
The fluorescent lights of Mr. Henderson’s classroom hummed with a headache-inducing frequency, a stark contrast to the crystal chandeliers I was accustomed to. But the game was the same. Whether it was the gilded halls of my father’s court or Room 204’s Mock UN, power was a currency, and I was currently the wealthiest person in the room.
“Your proposal regarding the grain tariffs is adorable, really,” I said, smoothing the paper on my desk. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t have to. “But you’ve overlooked Article 14, Section C of the bylaws we agreed upon last Tuesday. By sanctioning the southern ports, Mallerie, you’ve effectively embargoed your own allies.”
Mallerie blinked, her perfectly applied mascara failing to hide the panic. “That’s not—we didn’t agree to that.”
“We did. You signed it right here.” I tapped the document. “In blue ink. Which means your economy just collapsed. I’ll accept your surrender now, or I can petition the committee to dissolve your fictional sovereignty entirely.”
The room went silent. It wasn’t the respectful silence of a court acknowledging a monarch; it was the uncomfortable, shifting silence of teenagers watching a predator toy with its food. I felt a surge of adrenaline, familiar and intoxicating. This was what I was bred for. The intricate dance of leverage and law.
Mr. Henderson cleared his throat, looking unsettled. “Well, uh, Alex… that is technically correct. Mallerie’s team is… out.”
Mallerie shoved her chair back, the screech of metal on linoleum sounding like a scream. She stormed out, her entourage scrambling to follow. I sat back, satisfied, waiting for the applause that usually followed my victories back home.
Instead, Jack turned his chair around. He wasn’t smiling.
“What?” I asked, the thrill dampening slightly.
“You enjoyed that,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“I won. That’s the point of the assignment, Jack. Strategy.”
“Strategy is finding a solution where people don’t starve,” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You just nuked her entire team on a technicality because she was mean to you in the cafeteria. Is that how you handle everything? People are just pieces on a board to you?”
My defensive walls slammed up instantly. “I handle things efficiently. In the real world, weakness gets you annexed.”
“This isn’t the real world, Alex. It’s high school. And you just humiliated her for sport.” He stood up, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. The disappointment in his eyes stung worse than any diplomatic censure. “I thought you were different. Turns out you’re just a different kind of bully.”
He walked away, leaving me sitting alone in my victory. The silence wasn’t powerful anymore; it was isolating. I looked down at my hands. They weren’t trembling, but they felt cold. Was he right? Had I become my father without even noticing?
I needed air. I grabbed my bag and headed for the restroom, needing to splash water on my face to wash away the sudden, creeping shame.
I pushed open the heavy door to the girls’ bathroom and froze. Victoria was there, leaning over the sink, gripping the porcelain so hard her knuckles were white. Her reflection was a wreck—red-rimmed eyes, the terrifying composure of the Royal Guard completely shattered.
“Victoria?” I stepped forward, the ice in my chest melting into concern. “What happened? Did father call?”
She snapped upright, wiping her face with a rough, frantic motion. She turned to me, and for a second, I saw something in her eyes I didn’t recognize. Fear? Guilt? It was gone before I could place it.
“Just… allergies,” she lied. The lie was clumsy, unworthy of her training. “The pollen count here is dreadful.”
“You don’t have allergies,” I said, stepping closer. “Is it Callen? Is he okay?”
Victoria flinched. She reached into her pocket, her hand lingering over her phone before she pulled it back empty. “He’s fine, Your Highness. Everything is fine. We just… we need to be careful. The King is becoming impatient.”
She forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked at me not as her charge, but as something fragile she was about to break. I didn’t know it then, but the message encrypted on her phone wasn’t about patience. It was a ransom note, and my brother was the currency.
