Somewhere in New York

It's been a few days since Riley boarded her flight back to New York. Bertrand and Maxwell begged and pleaded with her to stay. In her mind, she felt that she didn't want to hurt anyone else, it wasn't fair to anyone.

She wasn't used to be scrutinised in a country that she did not feel like she belonged. Yes, undoubtedly Cordonia was idyllic; the beautiful architecture, the clear blue seas and seeing stars every night warmed her heart - but she craved the anonymity that New York provided her. No one gave a shit who you were. You are just another number…

As she sat on her bed, back in her apartment she mused. Her apartment was a third of the suite she enjoyed at the Beaumont estate - but that didn't matter, she finally felt safe from the prying eyes of the Court and the media.

She scanned the photos on her pale blue walls. Pictures of friends from the bar she worked in - the friends she distanced herself from when she was in Cordonia. Riley tucked her legs up to her chest, her hands running up her cheeks, into her hairline. Pulling at her hair near her temples, she lowered her head to her knees and screamed.

The short burst of release helped her feel a little better, but not much. Mascara stained her skin as it ran down her face, dropping onto her arms. She felt like a lost child, not knowing where to turn. None of her friends in Cordonia had been in contact. She knew most of the nobles were complete assholes, but what about Hana, Maxwell… what about Drake? He gave her enough of a hard time telling her she was becoming one of them… She kept looking at her phone in hope that someone… even Drake would message her as she kept swiping through photos on her iPhone.

He was her rock, as much as he annoyed her so much… he was always there. She missed him, his disapproving looks… his irritating way of winding her up… his eyes. As she reminisced, she reaches for the bottle of whiskey at the side of her bed, downing a mouthful. The burning sensation didn't help the pain, but at least she could control that.

Meanwhile back in Cordonia

Under Liam's orders, no one was to contact Riley for her safety until something could be done. He knew she was safe in New York from the press -

This would buy them some time to ascertain the situation.

Drake found himself in the evenings since she had left in Liam's bar in the basement of the palace. He mulled over a tumbler of whiskey, swirling it in the glass, staring into the whirlpool it created. This is fucking bullshit… slamming his other hand onto the wooden table, sinking the mouthful of whiskey left in the glass. Yes, she aggravated him to the point of exhaustion; he felt lost as if he had no purpose.

Getting up off the oak chair, he grabbed the tumbler and launched it at the wall. Frustration left his throat, echoing through the room. Drake decided that he had to do something. His stubbornness knew no bounds, but he couldn't sit back and do nothing. Grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, he storms out of the bar and towards the gates of the palace. A night guard attempts to stop him before he leaves.

Anger clouds his judgement, shoving the guard, "Get the fuck out of my way…"