Chapter 626

Jasmine and Damien had been trying for their second child for two years, but so far, there was no luck. At this point, Jasmine was starting to lose hope, and she just wasn’t interested in anything intimate anymore. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Damien’s lips brushed against her ear. “What if it works this time?”

Jasmine pouted, clearly unimpressed. “Two years, Damien. If it hasn’t happened by now, why would it happen this time?”

Damien wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easily. “You never know,” he said, his voice teasing as he pressed a little more. Her hands were pinned under his, her body still unwilling. But Damien was getting better at this, knowing exactly where to touch and tease. Before long, she felt her cheeks heat up.

Jasmine bit her lip, clearly frustrated. “You’re so annoying,” she muttered.

Damien just smiled, a soft, affectionate smile, and kissed her on the lips.

In Norham City, Shirley stepped out, dressed in a stunning gown. Henry’s eyes immediately locked onto her. Her chest seemed fuller than usual, and her makeup had been done so perfectly that she almost looked like a different person. She looked exactly like the real Shirley but with something extra. He couldn’t help but be curious about what kind of magic made Vivianus suddenly look like he had a chest. Shirley’s waist was cinched with a tight belt, her body slender enough that Henry could almost grab it with one hand. Her golden hair and red lips were nothing short of dazzling, and with each step, her heels clicked sharply against the floor like the sound of the wind itself.

She caught him staring. “What are you looking at?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Henry grinned. “That’s some really convincing work.”

Shirley looked down at herself, noticing her chest. She touched it lightly, feeling the softness of whatever material it was made of, which blended so well with her skin that it was practically impossible to tell it was fake. “It’s soft,” she said, almost amused.

Henry laughed and checked the time. “Alright, enough with the jokes. Let’s go.”

Shirley said nothing, but the hyper-realism of the material left her deeply impressed.

In Summerbank, the election for the proxy president was underway, and it was a grand event. Hundreds of Summerbank’s citizens had gathered, eagerly waiting for the results. The sun was shining, a gentle breeze brushing through the air, and the hibiscus flowers were in full bloom. There were cheers from supporters, but there were also protests. However, the military quickly intervened, shutting down the protests before they could gain momentum.

There was a traitor within the empire’s government, a man who held great power over internal affairs. With Shirley absent, this man had taken the reins and strongly backed the election. Several candidates for the proxy president took to the stage to speak. The huge screen above them kept flashing their vote counts, rising steadily as the speeches went on.

The final speaker was Martin. He straightened his suit, stepped onto the stage with confidence, and began speaking. In the corner of the crowd, a man was sipping on a soda, wearing a hat. His eyes were locked on Martin with an unreadable intensity.

Suddenly, someone bumped into him, knocking off his hat. It was Rhys, who had returned to take Malcolm’s place. His return was quiet and unnoticed by anyone. Rhys calmly picked up his hat and put it back on. This proxy president idea was his, designed to help Martin infiltrate the government and stir things up, causing chaos within the empire. Martin was executing the plan perfectly. If all went well, he’d take Shirley’s place as the proxy president. Once Martin took control of the empire and won the people’s support, it would be easy for Rhys to take over from him because Martin wasn’t exactly known for his finesse.

On stage, Martin was giving his usual passionate speech. He was a natural speaker, and when he finished, his vote count soared. The other candidates watched, their faces darkening with frustration. There was little they could do.

Next, Warwick Wolfe, the Chief of Internal Affairs, took the stage. He was older, a bit round in the middle, and when he took the microphone, he began speaking in a measured tone. “The election results are in.”

“With Her Highness Shirley absent, the people have longed for a strong leader to guide us through this crisis. That’s why I organized this proxy president election. Now, let’s see who you’ve chosen as the strongest leader. Please take a look at the big screen.”

The countdown began, and when it hit zero, Martin’s face appeared on the screen. He smiled broadly.

Warwick, with a knowing smile of his own, spoke into the microphone. “Let’s welcome Mr. Perez to say a few words.”

As Martin walked to the stage to give his victory speech, something unusual happened. Bright golden light flashed across the sky, and a golden mecha descended, landing right on the stage.

The crowd, initially stunned, erupted into wild cheers.

“Is it really Her Highness Shirley?”

“Could it be?”

“Oh my God!”

Warwick and Martin were both frozen in shock. The golden mecha was so unexpected, so unsettling. Everyone knew that Shirley had been imprisoned by Edison, and there was no way she could have appeared here. So, who was behind the controls of the golden mech?

As confusion rippled through the crowd, the golden mecha hissed open, and out stepped Shirley. The moment they saw her, their expressions turned grim, almost stricken. She locked eyes with Warwick and Martin, her gaze sharp and unwavering. A suffocating pressure swept over them like a crashing wave, undeniable and familiar. If she were an imposter, there was no way she could carry this kind of presence. But if she were real, she shouldn’t even be here.

Shirley strode forward, stopping just three feet from them. Her voice was cold and cutting. “Still haven’t bowed to your princess?”

Warwick dropped into a bow without thinking, instinct taking over. The others quickly followed suit, voices rising in unison. “Welcome home, Your Highness!”

The sound was thunderous.

From inside the mecha, Henry watched it all unfold. He could tell Shirley had earned the hearts of her people. In just two years, she had turned their loyalty into something fierce and unshakable.

Martin hesitated, then bowed too, clearly against his will. Warwick risked a glance up at Shirley, anxiety flickering across his face. But the second their eyes met, a chill ran down his spine. That feeling was undeniable. It could only be her.

Shirley’s voice cut through the air. “So this is how you’ve been running things while I was gone?”

“Your Highness, everything I did was for the Empire. We needed leadership in your absence. I simply did what had to be done to move us forward.”

A sly smile tugged at her lips. “Oh, I know exactly what you did. Don’t bother lying. We’ll settle this in private.” Then her gaze shifted to Martin. “Well, well. Still alive, Mr. Perez?”

Martin’s face twitched. He looked like he was swallowing glass. “Your Highness… I’m genuinely thrilled to see you back.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me,” Shirley replied smoothly. “You look like I just ruined your perfect little plan.”

“I… That’s not what this is.”

She stepped closer, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Shame. You were so close.”

Martin said nothing, and Shirley didn’t press him further. Instead, she turned to her people. “I know these past weeks have been hard on you. But with me here, the Empire can weather anything. And even if I fall, I’ll rise again. A thousand times, if that’s what it takes.”

Her words struck deep. Many were already in tears. The crowd erupted, chanting her name like a battle cry. Those who had opposed the proxy election screamed with joy, flipping Martin off as loud boos echoed across the square. They were Shirley’s loyalists, fierce, unshakable, and ready to burn down anyone who dared challenge her throne.

The election collapsed before it even began. Martin and the city lords had no choice but to retreat, humiliated.

Still, Martin was desperate to know who that woman was. She looked too much like Shirley to be anything else.

Back at the hotel, Martin’s face was grim as he snapped at his aide, “Find Edison. I need answers. Now.” He was seething, as he never imagined the election would blow up like this.

Across town, Rhys had just arrived at Martin’s hotel. He took off his hat slowly, expression cold. He didn’t expect that kind of twist either.

Martin looked completely defeated. “Mr. Ford… I can’t apologize enough. You gave me a solid plan. I just… what now?”

Rhys didn’t mince words. “You told me Shirley was never coming back.”

“I know. That’s what we all thought,” Martin said, rubbing his temples. “But what happened today… I didn’t see it coming. I’m working on it. I’ve got people digging.”

About half an hour later, he finally got Edison on the line. Shirley had escaped. She’d fallen into the ocean and vanished during a storm. Her survival chances had been next to none; Edison had searched everywhere but found nothing.

After hearing the report, Rhys said flatly, “Then prove this Shirley’s a fake. Expose her. And if that fails… we take her down by force.”

Martin hesitated. He didn’t like that option. Using force against someone protected by the Eagle Assassins was suicide. Their killers were monsters, deadly and loyal. If he was going to take the throne, he had to do it clean, expose the imposter and take this rightful place.

Meanwhile, in the Summerbank palace, Shirley had finally finished her day’s duties. She was exhausted and didn’t want to move. Henry walked in to find her sprawled on the couch, completely still. He sighed. “Why is your shirt open like that? Button it up.”

Shirley cracked one eye open. “Too tired.”

“Then shower and get to bed.”

“Still gotta take off my makeup. And my shoes,” she groaned, never realizing how high-maintenance she’d become. “Help me?” she added, without even looking at him.

Henry said nothing. He just went to grab the makeup remover. With practiced hands, he wiped the lipstick and foundation off her face.

Shirley murmured, “It’s itchy. Scratch it.”

“Where?”

“My chest.”

Henry hesitated as the fake bust she was wearing looked disturbingly realistic.

“Hurry up,” she ordered.

When a queen gives orders, there’s no room for hesitation.

Henry’s lips twitched. He narrowed his eyes. “Vivianus, don’t push it.”