Page 78 of Royal Bargain
I open the folder and skim the contents—a short contract, a media plan, some talking points. A glossy mock-up of an Instagram post featuring me holding a pastel green bottle with bold block letters across the bottom.Cleanse. Reset. Thrive.
“Detox tea?” I ask, making a face.
“They have a massive following,” Ingrid says, a sharp look in her eyes. “They’re looking for a fresh face, and I made sure they got one. You’ll do a few soft-launch posts, talk about how you’re balancing motherhood and chasing your dreams. You’llbe compensated, of course, and it’ll raise your profile outside of just music circles.”
I frown. “I’m not an influencer. I’m a musician.”
Ingrid’s eyes cool. “And you’re a smart young woman who agreed to play the game.” She taps the folder. “This is the game.”
I want to argue more, but I can already see the way she’s looking at me—the warning beneath the smile. I’m in her world now. I asked for this.
Still, my voice comes out small. “Won’t it… cheapen things? I mean, people are already going to say I didn’t earn anything, that I’m just some spoiled Mob princess playing pretend?—”
“You’re giving people something to talk about,” Ingrid says, with a dismissive flick of her hand. “That means you’re doing something right.”
The words feel hollow, but I sign the contract anyway.
It’s just a few posts, I tell myself. Just a few pictures, some captions, maybe a video if I have to. It’s not like I’m selling my soul. It’s just detox tea.
But as I hand the folder back and Ingrid gives a crisp nod of approval, my stomach turns.
I gather the folder and slip it into my bag, standing as Shane approaches from his post nearby. Ingrid remains seated, smoothing her napkin over her knee, casual and poised.
As I turn to leave, she speaks—lightly, almost like a throwaway reassurance.
“Relax, Annika. You’re doing great. And Miranda?” Ingrid gives a little smile—not quite kind. “She has a way of making sure people get exactly what they want… even if they didn’t know they wanted it.”
I freeze mid-turn, fingers tightening on my bag strap.
When I glance back, she’s already looking at her phone, like she didn’t just drop a grenade and walk away.
Outside, the wind cuts across my skin. I try to breathe. Shake it off. But the words cling like smoke.
By the time I make it home, the sky’s gone heavy and gray, thick with the promise of rain. Shane trails behind me up the steps, quiet as ever. He gives me a nod, then disappears toward his usual post by the side entrance.
My fingers fumble with the key.
The second I step inside, my phone buzzes.
Sasha: You need to stay out of the spotlight for a few days. Seriously. Keep your head down.
No context. No follow-up. Just dread pooling low in my gut, cold and tight. Like I missed something big. Like something’s already in motion and I’m too late to stop it.
I take the stairs two at a time.
Liam’s on the rug with Lily in his lap, guiding her little hands through the air like he’s helping her conduct an orchestra. She shrieks with laughter. Some cartoon hums softly in the background.
For a split second, I just stand there. Watching them. Letting it hold me still.
A perfect moment—one I’m terrified won’t last.
He glances up when he sees me. “Hey, you’re back. How’d it go?”
I open my mouth. The words are there—Sasha texted me again. She said I need to stay hidden. Something’s coming.
But I don’t say any of it.
Instead, I smile, tight and false. “Fine. Just talked about next steps.”
