There I was, standing in front of a mountain of insanely fresh fruit at the grocery store—felt like a movie scene. My hand hovered dramatically over this perfect mango—juicy, golden, like it had been kissed by the sun and blessed by angels.
Then—ring ring—a phone call.
Unknown Number.
Usually, I'd ignore that instantly. It's either a scammer or someone from high school suddenly trying to sell me essential oils via DM. But this time, something felt different. That weird tingle at the back of your neck. The overly dramatic gut feeling that usually only happens in K-dramas.
"Hello?"
BOOM.
A woman's voice came through. She introduced herself—someone from the HR department of the Commonwealth of Lyndenhold Royal Palace.
I almost dropped the mango.
"Thank you for calling, ma'am!" I replied, way too high-pitched, like I'd just turned into a cartoon chipmunk. My breath caught, and I fought down a squeal that was clawing its way up my throat. My hand balled into a fist, pressed to my lips like I could physically hold back my feelings. My heart? Full-on EDM set, pounding so hard I swear the fruit section guy could hear it. My face flushed—neck to ears, full tomato mode. I looked around, trying to blend in with the kale like a socially anxious avocado.
Because there it was—the news.
The prince was back.
Which meant my dream job—his personal secretary—was no longer just a maybe. It was real. Like, full-on legit. With a badge. Maybe even fancy royal tea on the side.
When I got home, I barged in like a contestant trying to beat the final buzzer on a game show.
"MOM! DAD!" I yelled, nearly tripping over myself in the hallway. "HUGE NEWS! THE PRINCE IS BACK, AND I START WORK TOMORROW!"
Mom gasped and wrapped me in a hug. Her face? A mix of pride and that "finally-you're-off-my-credit-card" kind of relief.
"That's amazing, baby," she said, hugging me tight.
Dad just nodded coolly. "Start packing early, sweetheart. Let us know if you need anything."
I sprinted up the stairs like I had a power-up. Opened my closet like it was a TikTok fashion montage waiting to happen.
I laughed to myself as I started throwing clothes into my suitcase—hanger after hanger, clothes flying like fabric confetti. I was moving fast, slightly chaotic, running purely on adrenaline. I caught my reflection in the mirror—wide eyes, flushed cheeks, a grin I couldn't wipe off.
But then…
I paused.
My fingers brushed against an old blouse—soft, worn, comforting. I folded it slowly, smoothing out creases that probably weren't even there. Suddenly, I was packing differently. More careful. More focused. Like I needed to ground myself somehow.
My brain started to wander. What would it be like there? Would the palace be warm or super stiff? Would the staff be nice? Would the prince even talk to me?
I shook off the thoughts and picked up the pace. No time for spiraling.
That night, the sky outside was full velvet. A sleek black car pulled up outside the house—super royal vibes. I came downstairs, dragging my suitcase, and saw my whole family lined up like I was heading off to war.
"Guys, seriously?" I said. "It's not like I'm flying to Mars."
Mom was smiling through tears. "My baby's going to the palace…"
"If it gets overwhelming, call us," Dad said. "Neven will pick you up right away."
I looked at my older brother. He looked like someone had deleted his save file and his soul.
"Don't cry, dork," I told him. "You look like someone rage-quit your game."
He scowled. "If anyone messes with you, text me. I'll come punch them."
"Sure. Like when you tried to punch that tiny chihuahua down the street?"
He looked away.
Mom hugged me again—tight and warm, like home. "If you miss my cooking, just say the word. I'll send care packages. Don't overwork yourself, okay?"
"I'll be okay, Ma," I said, a little softer now. "Promise I'll take care of myself… and I'll call."
Final hugs. Final kisses. Then I climbed into the car.
I didn't look back. If I did, I'd probably cry too.
The staff member beside me was quiet, just gave a small nod. I smiled politely, trying to stop my hands from fidgeting too much.
---
When we arrived at Lyndenhold Palace, it felt like I'd stepped into a different universe.
Massive. Dreamy. Straight-up intimidating.
The gates were shining. Every window glowed like warm gold. Inside, the staff moved like clockwork—polishing, organizing, cleaning.
Even the spoons were sparkling.
I tried greeting someone, but they just breezed past, laser-focused on a tray of glasses. Fair enough.
The palace smelled like lemon polish, old wood, and money.
Then, someone walked in.
Tall. Polished. Elegant. The kind of guy who could be a cologne ad. He looked like he judged wrinkled socks for fun.
"Ms. Nixie," someone said beside me. "This is Mr. Alev, the head butler."
I turned—and for a second, my brain completely shut down.
If someone fused every K-drama male lead into one perfect human, you'd get Mr. Alev. Tailored suit. Sharp jawline. Voice like silk murder.
"Welcome," he said, smooth as velvet. "Let's begin your tour."
Okay, Nixie. Focus. This is work. Not a dating sim.
But honestly? HR should add a "too handsome" warning to the uniform policy.
He showed me around—the gardens looked like they were filtered in real life, the kitchen was worthy of a cooking show, and the staircases? Straight-up red carpet material.
"Why does everyone here look like they're competing in the Cleaning Olympics?" I whispered.
"Because they are," he said, with the faintest smile. "The prince abhors dust. Cleanliness is non-negotiable."
"Cool. So he's a neat freak. Got it."
We stopped at a set of double doors that practically oozed royalty.
"This is His Highness' room," Alev said.
Even before the door opened, I caught the scent: cedar, leather, and something expensive. The room itself? Perfection. Balanced. Precise. Like no one dared to sit without using a coaster.
Then I saw something weird—a photo frame lying face down on the prince's nightstand.
I stepped closer.
My fingers hovered, just above it. I didn't touch. Just… stared. Curiosity buzzing in my skin.
Alev's voice suddenly cut in, sharper now.
"I wouldn't touch that if I were you. The prince doesn't like anyone touching his belongings. Especially that frame."
I froze.
Carefully pulled my hand back, pretending like I wasn't just caught mid-intrigue. My shoulders tensed. Noted: don't mess with the mystery photo.
"This will be your room," he said, leading me down the hall.
"Thanks, Mr. Alev."
He paused at my door.
"And remember—never touch the prince's things. Unless you want your life to fall apart."
Then he vanished like a well-dressed ghost from a period drama.
I sat on my bed, exhaled slow. The room was warm, cozy, soft. But it still felt like I'd crossed into another reality.
I glanced out toward the hallway.
So many rules. So many secrets.
And so many questions—especially about that photo.
I pulled the blanket over myself and whispered to the ceiling,
"Well, Nixie… welcome to your new reality."