PART 2: THE AMARANTH CREST
Nicholas turned around,
stepping under the high-intensity inspection lamp at his desk.
He held the heavy necklace up to the light.
The gold shimmered with a deep,
blood-orange hue that only ancient, unrefined gold possessed.
Then,
he flipped the solid gold clasp.
His smile died.
The breath caught in his throat.
Engraved into the hidden underside of the lock was a microscopic insignia.
A crown resting on top of a shield,
flanked by two roaring lions.
The Amaranth Crest.
Nicholas’s eyes went wide.
His vision blurred as his heart began to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He pulled out his iPhone 13,
his fingers trembling so violently he dropped it once onto the desk.
He wiped his sweaty palms against his suit trousers,
unlocked the phone,
and typed into the internal industry database.
The headline popped up immediately,
flashing red across his screen:
SEARCH FOR THE HEIR.
THE MISSING DAUGHTER OF THE AMARANTH JEWELRY EMPIRE.
WORTH $10 BILLION.
Below the headline was a photograph of the artifact that proved the line of succession.
A one-of-a-kind royal necklace,
given by the late patriarch Arthur Amaranth to his only daughter before she vanished during the political coup ten years ago.
The database description matched the weight,
the link count,
and the crest exactly.
Nicholas choked,
air refusing to enter his lungs.
The woman in the tattered coat.
The woman he had just handed twenty euros to.
She wasn’t a beggar.
She was the absolute owner of the very ground he was standing on.
Le Sancy was just a tiny subsidiary of the Amaranth Empire.
Sweat poured down his face,
dripping onto his pristine glass counter.
If the board found out he had attempted to swindle the rightful queen of the company,
he wouldn’t just lose his job.
He would spend the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary.
He hit the speed dial for the chief legal officer,
his voice cracking into a high-pitched scream the moment the call connected.
“Contact our legal team immediately!”
Nicholas shrieked,
tears of pure terror leaking from his eyes.
“The real heir has returned! She was just here!”
CHAPTER 3: THE QUEEN’S RETURN
The rain outside Le Sancy grew heavier,
but Nicholas didn’t care about the weather.
He ran out of the boutique,
his expensive leather shoes soaking through as he scanned the crowded Parisian street.
Security guards flanked him,
holding umbrellas, but they were too late.
Sarah was gone,
swallowed by the gray mist of the city.
Two hours later,
the glass doors of Le Sancy did not just open;
they were practically thrown off their hinges.
A convoy of four black armored Mercedes vans sat idling at the curb,
hazard lights flashing.
A man in a dark charcoal military coat entered first. It was Vanguard,
the Chief Executive Officer of the Amaranth Group.
Behind him were six corporate lawyers,
their faces grim, carrying leather briefcases.
Nicholas stood trembling behind the counter,
holding the necklace in a velvet box like it was a live grenade.
“Mr. Vanguard… I have the artifact. I secured it,”
he stammered,
offering the box.
Vanguard didn’t take it.
He stopped two feet away from Nicholas,
his eyes cold enough to freeze water.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a digital tablet,
turning the screen toward the terrified jeweler.
It was a security playback from twenty minutes ago.
It showed Sarah entering a local pharmacy two blocks away,
paying for baby medication with a crisp, brand-new one-hundred-euro note.
Standing right next to her in the video was Harrison,
the senior personal security advisor to the late Arthur Amaranth.
“You thought she was alone, Nicholas?”
Vanguard’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
“Our tracking team had located Lady Sarah three days ago.
She came to this specific shop to test the integrity of our branch managers.
Her father always said greed is the easiest way to spot a traitor.”
Nicholas felt his knees give out.
He grabbed the edge of the counter to keep from collapsing.
“I… I was going to find her.
I was going to report it.”
“You gave the future owner of this company twenty euros for a piece of her own history,”
Vanguard said,
stepping aside.
From behind the phalanx of lawyers,
Sarah stepped forward.
The tattered coat was gone,
replaced by a tailored wool cloak.
Her face was clean,
her dark hair pinned back, revealing the sharp,
aristocratic jawline of the Amaranth bloodline.
In her arms,
baby Leo was sleeping peacefully,
his fever broken.
She looked at Nicholas.
There was no anger in her eyes.
Only the cold,
absolute finality of a sovereign.
“The lease on this building is terminated, Nicholas,”
Sarah said, her voice echoing with absolute authority through the silent boutique.
“Your assets are frozen pending a full audit of every transaction you’ve made in the last ten years. Security,
remove him from my sight.”
The guards didn’t hesitate.
They grabbed Nicholas by his expensive suit,
dragging him out into the rain,
leaving his glasses smashed on the marble floor.
Sarah walked behind the counter, picking up the gold chain.
She clipped it around her neck,
the Amaranth Crest resting perfectly against her skin.
The throne was hers again.