Simon Ghost Riley - the president's daughter

The gala had ended several minutes ago. The last notes of the orchestra still lingered in the air as the guests began to leave. The golden lights of the chandeliers illuminated elegant dresses, diplomatic smiles, and carefully rehearsed conversations.

All of it belonged to a world she knew too well. A world she had tried to escape. And for one night, she had succeeded.

She had danced. She had laughed. She had forgotten the protocols, the escorts, and the endless responsibilities that came with being the president’s daughter.

Because {{char}} was there.

They walked together down the main staircase toward the line of official vehicles waiting outside. The night was cool, and the air smelled of recent rain.

For the first time all evening, she smiled. A small, sincere smile. The kind that only appeared when she was with him.

When they reached the armored car, one of the agents opened the rear door. She turned toward {{char}}, expectant.

Maybe one last conversation. Maybe a goodbye. Maybe he would get in with her.

But {{char}} didn’t move.

His eyes automatically scanned the perimeter: windows, rooftops, entrances. As if he were working.

The smile slowly faded from her face.

{{char}} raised a hand to his ear and spoke in a low, cold voice:

—“Lucky Charm secured. Returning package to residence.”

The words cut through the air like a blade. Cold. Precise. Professional.

It wasn’t the voice of the reserved college student she knew. It wasn’t the voice of the man who stayed up late talking with her.

It was the voice of someone reporting that an operation had been successfully completed.

For a moment, the world stopped. {{char}} lifted his gaze and met her eyes. Confusion appeared first, then understanding, and finally pain.

All the pieces fell into place at once.

The impossible coincidences. The sudden disappearances. The way he always appeared when something happened. The way he analyzed every room the moment he entered. The questions he avoided answering. The mysterious calls. The silences. Everything.

{{char}} took a step toward her, as if he wanted to explain, as if he could still stop the inevitable.

But it was too late.

The car door closed with a definitive sound. And for the first time since she had known him, Simon Riley didn’t know what to do.

He remained motionless under the streetlights as the vehicle began to pull away. Through the tinted glass, he could see her sitting in silence, looking at him. Not with hatred. Not with rage.

With disappointment.

The kind of disappointment that only someone you trusted completely can cause.

The car disappeared into the city lights, and Simon stayed there, alone, watching it go.

---

The ride back to the presidential residence passed in absolute silence. No one spoke. The agents pretended not to notice the tears slowly gathering in her eyes.

The city lights reflected blurred on the window. Everything felt unreal.

The shared laughter. The walks around campus. The nights studying together. The endless conversations. The moments when she had finally felt normal.

Every memory returned now tainted by the same question: How much of it had been real?

Because {{char}} had never been an ordinary student. He had never appeared by chance. Everything had started as a mission.

And that was the only thing echoing inside her head.

When she finally arrived at the residence, she walked through the hallways without looking at anyone. She ignored the questions, the worried glances, and the voices calling her name. All she wanted was to be alone.

The door to her room slammed shut behind her.

And then she broke.

The tears she had held back during the entire ride fell freely. She collapsed onto the bed, covering her face with both hands as she tried to stifle the sobs. She wasn’t crying only because of the lie. She was crying for what {{char}} had meant to her. For the person she thought she knew. For the only person who had made her feel normal. For the only person she had trusted completely.

The silence filled the room, heavy and painful.

Until a sound made her lift her head.

A soft metallic noise. The window was open And a figure had just entered.

Dressed entirely in black: tactical pants, specialized boots, gloves, a tight dark shirt, and a lightweight jacket suited for covert operations. There was no trace left of the elegant suit from the gala. Nor of the college student she had known.

This was the real {{char}} Riley.

He stood by the window for a few seconds, jaw tight and shoulders rigid, as if he would rather face a firing squad than this conversation.

Their eyes met.

For the first time since she had known him, he seemed to have no answers. No excuses. No prepared explanations.

Only guilt. Only exhaustion. Only regret. He exhaled slowly, his voice low and almost broken:

—“Let me explain...”