**Diary Entry 15th July**
*Bloody hell, thats Olivia!* Victor nearly choked on his coffee as he stared at the photo. Five minutes ago, hed settled into a wicker chair at a quaint café on the high street, unfolded the newspaper, and there she wasright on the front page.
*No, it cant be.* He tossed the paper aside, irritation tightening his jaw. Thinking about Olivia always dragged up the pasthis university days, back when hed been hopelessly in love with her while shed twisted him around her finger. Hed been finishing his degree in mathematics at Oxford; shed just started, a fresh-faced undergrad impossible to miss. Shed clocked his glances straight away and cornered him in the library with some innocent question about calculus. And just like that, he was hooked.
Turned out she was rubbish at maths. Hed written every one of her assignments, scribbled cheat sheets before exams, but it was no useher studies became a nightmare. Eventually, he suspected shed only gotten into uni by less academic means. By the end of her first year, shed had enough. Dropped out. Dropped him too.
*»Were too different, Victor. Id only make you miserable.»* Shed said it plainly, no sugar-coating. *»Youre a good bloke. Youll find someone better suited.»*
And that was that.
Now here she was, splashed across the tabloids. *Whats she done this time?* He grabbed the paper again.
The article detailed the scandal of the season: some European royala notorious playboyhad swept a nightclub dancer off her feet. An engagement was announced, set for a ballroom at The Savoy. A proper media frenzy. And in the photo? Olivia. *His* Olivia, about to become a princess.
*»Anything else, love?»* The waitress eyed him expectantly. Right. Hed overstayed his welcome.
Outside, Victors gaze landed on The Savoys grand entrancethe very place where Olivias fairytale was set to unfold. He caught himself thinking *my Olivia* again. Blast it. That old, thorny love of his, buried for years, had erupted like a splinter working its way out. He hadnt forgotten her at all.
Before he knew it, he was marching into the hotel, drawn to the ballroom. A concert was underwaysome pop band blaring, girls in glittery leotards bouncing across the stage. The air buzzed with anticipation. Every table was packed, so Victor shoved forward, elbowing into the front row.
Lights dimmed. A violet haze coiled up from the stage, thickening into a dreamy blue. Drums pounded, and the opening chords of *»Bohemian Rhapsody»* roared through the room. Dancers writhed at the edges, but the centre remained emptyuntil a spotlight flared.
And there she was.
Olivia.
Floating, ethereal, in a teal gown that rippled like ocean waves. Victors breath hitched. *No. Shes about to be a princesswhys she here?*
But it *was* her. Taller, fiercerno longer the girl hed known. A woman now, every movement hypnotic.
Nearby, a seasoned reporter gaped, camera poised. Hed gotten a cryptic text that morning: *»Dont miss this. Youll regret it.»* No details, just a time and place. And nowthere she was. The future princess, *dancing*.
Then the music shifted. The gown slipped.
The crowd gasped.
A champagne bottle hurtled toward the stage. Victors heart lurched*whod throw that?*but before impact, Olivias figure *exploded* in a flash of light. The bottle sailed straight through her, shattering somewhere backstage.
The lights snapped on. Chaos erupted.
*»Knew it was a setup the second I saw you,»* Victor muttered later, flicking ash from his cigarette. Olivia propped her chin on her hands, watching him across the café table. Hed tracked her down that morning, demanded a meeting.
*»Ive got a degree in AI,»* he said. *»Lasers, hologramseasy. They scanned your old club performances, digitised them, and projected you onto that stage. All smoke and mirrors. But I filmed it. That bottle went right through you. Ill post the proof»*
Olivia shook her head. *»Dont.»*
The prince had called off the engagement. His family had intervened. *»They spared me,»* she said wryly. *»Got a lingerie deal out of it, though. Lifes mad, isnt it?»*
Her fingers brushed his cheek. *»Youre a good man, Victor. But wed only wreck each other. Forget me.»*
Then she was gone, vanishing into the London crowd.
**Lesson learned:** Some loves are like fireworksbright, blinding, and gone before you can hold onto them. Best to let them burn out.
