Page 46 of Maid for the Alien Prince

Usually, I sat in my office and did very little, wasting the precious time I had. Now, I felt a burning passion in my heart, knowing what I needed to do.

The question was: How? How did I go about helping people?

I began by researching the donations the royal family had made over the years and noticed something very strange…

Every credit they had ever spent had gone towards non-profit organizations that they themselves owned. Although much fanfare was made on how the money had gone to benefit the people, once I began to really look, I found precious little had actually filtered down. So, not only were they only pretending to help the people, they were enriching themselves as they did it!

Their greed truly knew no bounds.

In that case, I would do what the royal family had only pretended to do—I would set up real organizations and fund them with my own wealth, to somehow create a way for the charities to pay for themselves, which could then be used to fund other charities and organizations…

It would grow and expand exponentially.

I grew excited just thinking about it!

The name of the organization sprang to mind immediately. The James Florian Foundation, named after my father.

I would not include any hint of the royal name in it, as I would not want any of the positive reputation to accidentally spill over onto them.

In fact, I might just use my original name rather than my royal name to make it clear to the people that none of this goodwill came from the royal family. And I would make it very clear about how I was self-funding it too, with not a single credit from those cretinous swine.

Then I would also fund investigations into where the royal family’s funds actually went, how it was actually used. The news organizations were owned by the elites, of course, so I could expect no support from them.

But there were other ways of getting the word out via independent sources. I reached out to dozens of lawyers, many of whom shot back a response almost instantly, refusing to undertake such a task.

Still, there were a couple that were interested, who no doubt wanted to create a name for themselves. Already, I began to feel excited, inflamed by my sense of justice rather than revenge—although revenge would be a sweet side effect!

And it was all thanks to my tasty little human female mate.

I would have to thank her. I grinned broadly about how I would go about doing that.

A knock came at the door. “Come,” I said.

I was pleased to see Camila, already dressed in her maid’s outfit. She could wear the most unflattering things and I would still find her irresistible.

I imagined bending her over my desk now, hiking up her skirt, and going to town… Then I noticed the expression on her face.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

I feared it was something to do with last night, that somehow I had displeased her—although with her constant cries of joy and her body tightening around my cock, I found that hard to believe.

“This,” she said, stepping to one side and revealing another figure behind her. “This is what’s wrong.”

Standing in the doorway, staring at the floor as was her custom, was Emma.

I barely recognized her. Her face was swollen, beaten black and blue, blood stained her uniform, and an unmistakable trail of tears lined each of her cheeks.

“What happened?” I asked.

“That is what we need to talk about.”

She whispered in Emma’s ear, and the sweet girl nodded once and glanced at me, before lowering her eyes once more and shuffling away painfully.

Camila shut the door, strode across the room with a determined set in her eye, and took a seat across from me. This was not going to be a session of lovemaking, I realized, but something far more businesslike.

I lowered back onto my seat.

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