Page 143 of Royal Bargain
But…
I blink.
“But wait. Ana. You mentioned Harborview offhand to Miranda. She was the one who seemed to want to know about it in the first place. She passed that info along.”
And suddenly, it wasn’t just a real estate grab.
It was the turning point in the whole damn election.
My stomach drops.
“Do you think it could be Miranda?”
It makes sense. Miranda Voss. The woman who always smiled like she already knew the ending. The woman who inserted herself into Ana’s life at just the right time.
The woman who gave her a new name, a new dream, a stage—and a leash.
I look down at Ana, still bleeding on the floor.
Her eyes are glassy, unfocused—but when I say Miranda’s name, they snap to mine.
She shakes her head, slow at first, then more firmly. “No. Not her.”
I crouch beside her. “Ana, think. She’s the one who asked about Harborview. You said it yourself.”
“She’s not like that,” she whispers. “Miranda’s… She’s good. She helped me when no one else would. She gave me a chance.”
“She gave you more than a chance,” I mutter. “She gave you a label. A manager. A platform. Everything, all at once—like she was waiting for you.”
“She listened to me,” Ana snaps, her voice breaking. “She’s the only person who didn’t treat me like I was broken or stupid or a liability. She believed in me, Liam. You don’t get to take that away.”
A new voice cuts in—harsh and cold.
“Who the hell is Miranda Voss?”
Anatoly’s eyes are locked on his daughter now. His expression is unreadable, but his voice is razor-sharp.
Ana flinches.
“She’s my friend,” she says quietly. “She helped connect me to my manager. She’s the one who gave me support when no one else would. She’s been helping me?—”
“Helping you how, exactly?” Anatoly asks, voice deadly calm. “Helping you run? Helping you hide from me?”
“No! She’s not like that. She doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Ana turns her face away, breathing hard. “She just wanted me to succeed.”
“You said she asked about Harborview,” I remind her gently. “That’s not nothing, Ana. That’s not coincidence.”
“I don’t care,” she whispers. “It wasn’t her. It can’t be.”
And for a second, I see it—that desperate hope in her eyes. She’s clinging to the belief that someone out there is still safe. Still good.
But even as she says it…
She doesn’t sound convinced.
Anatoly goes still.
His brow furrows, lips moving soundlessly at first—then, barely audible, he starts to murmur her name.
