The scene outside was surreal as the royal helicopter descended onto the manicured lawn, kicking up spirals of dust and debris. The rotors slowed to a whisper as the helicopter settled, its grand entrance silencing the raucous laughter like a needle scratching across a record.
The guests, once so full of themselves, now stood frozen, their upturned noses momentarily humbled. Beatrice’s smirk faltered, replaced by a confused frown. She was no longer the queen of the night; she was just another startled spectator.
As the helicopter door opened, a team of sharply dressed bodyguards emerged, their movements brisk and precise. With military efficiency, they approached me—the supposed maid—and with a few deft movements, they stripped away the apron and starched uniform, revealing a gown that shimmered like liquid gold in the moonlight. It clung elegantly to my form, like the night sky drawn close….
