12. Rory Preston

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             "HOW COULD YOU?"

             King William's jaw hardened through the screen of her tablet. "I don't know what you're talking about."

             "How about threatening my fucking doctor?"

             She knew she shouldn't have sworn—shouldn't have raised her voice. But the thought of Paris staring into her father's imperious gaze was enough to make her seethe.

             Nobody had the right to treat Paris like that.

             Not even the king.

            "I did what I had to," said her father simply.

            "You're a bastard."

            She knew she had gone too far the moment he said, "Rory Camille."

            Her first and middle name.

            Only her mother had ever called her that—tickling her as a kid, saying, Miss Rory Camille! I'm going to get you!

            "You want a surgery for iron rods in your leg," said the king stiffly.

            "I want to make it to the . . . I want to heal faster."

            "I've already signed it. Do what you will, Rory. Just know my promise still stands strong, and by the end of the six weeks, you know what I expect."

            A perfect, prim, proper princess. 

           That was what he expected.

           But Rory couldn't stop the feeling of adrenaline as it raced beneath her skin, lighting her up with the sheer electricity of victory. 

            He had agreed.

            He had agreed. 

            At the Charity Gala, she would be able to make a donation to the Joyful Heart Foundation. A crisis center dedicated to helping survivors of rape and sexual assault.

            And maybe it didn't seem like much, but doing this would solidify the rumours. 

            Doing this would confirm the truth.

            Her father might really disinherit her. But she needed it—they needed it. The girls who had been hurt by Declan.

            Even if he was dead, even if it was too late, she had to try.

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           "ARE YOU NERVOUS?" 

           "No," Rory lied.

           "Try again," Paris said, giving her a knowing smile. "What was that talk we had about pride?"

            That I would fight for you? 

            That I will never stop fighting for you?

            "I'm a little nervous," Rory admitted.

            Two days after the call with her father, she was laying back in the hospital bed as it glided through the corridors towards the OR. 

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