A Morning That Gave No Mercy

Nine-thirty in the morning should have been the most ordinary hour for a hospital.

The hour when people arrived with minor complaints—headaches from lack of sleep, fevers that refused to subside, or simply the need to reassure themselves that their bodies were still functioning as they should. The queues were long but orderly. Nurses moved briskly along the corridors with folders in their hands, their shoes squeaking softly against the polished floors. The scent of antiseptic mingled with instant coffee from an old machine in the corner, creating that unmistakable hospital smell—cold, sterile, and never quite welcoming.

A busy morning, yet still humane.

But that morning, the Emergency Unit became a stage.

The automatic sliding doors opened with a soft hiss, and in that instant, the entire rhythm of the room shifted.

Prince Isac stepped inside, carrying a young woman in his arms.

And the world—stopped.

For a fraction of a second, an uncanny silence lingered. Then cameras flashed faster than people could process what they were seeing.

Click. Click. Click.

The sound of shutters tore through the air, followed by startled murmurs, frantic whispers, and hurried footsteps colliding with one another. 

The royal bodyguards moved swiftly, forming an instant barrier around the prince, but it all felt futile. Too many eyes. Too many lenses. Even the hospital security—usually firm and unyielding—looked overwhelmed by the wave of reporters who seemed to have been waiting for this moment since dawn.

There were simply too many of them.
Sera instinctively covered her face with one hand. Shame struck faster than pain. Her head felt light, as though the blood in her body refused to flow properly. And her abdomen—God—felt as if it were being crushed by an invisible hand from the inside. The pain came in waves, sharp and merciless, stealing her breath and tightening her chest.

“Your Highness, please put me down,” she whispered, clinging to the last shred of dignity she had left. “I still have legs.”

“You almost fainted,” Isac replied coldly, without even looking at her. 

“Be still.”

That tone—absolute, unyielding, leaving no room for argument—made several reporters lift their heads with gleaming eyes. They didn’t hear Sera’s plea. They didn’t care about her pain. All they heard was one thing: a prince giving an order.

And that alone was enough to create a story.

---

A nurse from the ER ran toward them. “A stretcher! Now!” she shouted, her voice nearly drowned by the chaos.
Isac stopped directly in front of the triage desk. “Emergency care. Now.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a command—one that was accustomed to being obeyed.

Sera was finally placed onto a stretcher. Pain twisted her features, her jaw clenched to suppress the groan threatening to escape. Yet she was still conscious enough to look around. Mika stood a few steps behind, her face deathly pale, clutching a small pillow she had inexplicably brought from the boarding house—like a foolish talisman amid chaos of national scale.

The ER doors slid shut with a soft sound, cutting them off from the sea of reporters outside.

But the story—had already escaped.

Headlines were waiting, wild and uncontrollable.---

The observation room felt cold.

Too bright. Too white. Too quiet to soothe anyone.

Sera lay beneath a thin blanket, her breathing not yet steady. The pain in her abdomen lingered, rolling in and out like waves that asked no permission. A nurse checked her blood pressure. Normal. Slightly low, but still within safe limits.

“When did the pain start?” the nurse asked professionally.

“Earlier at the boarding house,” Sera answered honestly. “I think… I’m just about to get my period.”

The nurse nodded, jotting notes down. “Any history of fainting?”

“No.”

Isac stood beside the bed, arms crossed, jaw tight. His gaze never left Sera’s face. “Run a full examination.”
The nurse hesitated. “Your Highness, for menstrual pain—”

“Full,” Isac cut in without hesitation. “Blood work. Ultrasound. Everything.”

Sera lifted her head, glaring at him despite the tears welling in her eyes. “You’re overreacting! Menstrual pain is normal, Your Highness!”

“You’re in pain,” Isac shot back.

“I’m a woman. That’s normal.”

“Normal doesn’t make someone collapse.”

“You’re not a doctor!”

Isac stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “And you’re not objective about your own body. So be quiet when someone is actually concerned about you.”

His voice rose—not a shout, but sharp enough to silence the room. The nurses exchanged glances. Mika swallowed hard in the corner.

And truthfully, Sera herself was taken aback.

The prince known for being problematic, arrogant, and cold… was worried.

About someone else.

About her.

Still, it was infuriating.

Because she knew exactly what she was feeling. This was just menstrual pain. Nothing severe. Nothing deserving of this level of panic.
This prince was overreacting—and it irritated her beyond reason.

“Your Highness,” Sera drew a deep breath, holding back both pain and emotion. “I know my body. I’m not pregnant. I’m not dying. I’m not seriously ill. I’m just—”

“You don’t know anything,” Isac cut in coldly. “And I will not sit back and wait for the worst to happen.”

“This is my body!” Sera raised her voice. “Not the property of your kingdom!”

Isac bent slightly, locking his gaze onto hers. His voice was low, firm, icy. “I don’t care. You will be examined.”

The words fell like a judge’s gavel.

Short. Final.

And behind the glass wall of the observation room, cameras began flashing again.

Sera lost.

She turned her face away, bit her lip, and finally nodded weakly.

---

News traveled far faster than any medical diagnosis.

Outside the ER, headlines began to emerge, crafted from silent images and reckless assumptions:
PRINCE ISAC RUSHES MYSTERIOUS GIRLFRIEND TO ERINSIDE SOURCE: WOMAN SUSPECTED TO BE PREGNANTWHO IS SERAPHINA ANGELA SMITH?

Some praised. Some condemned. Others speculated without shame.

“Look at how he carried her. So romantic.”

“Romantic? That’s possessive.”

“They say he yelled at her.”

“He must be forcing her to get an abortion.”

Inside the overly bright white room, Sera clenched her teeth against the pain.

“Do you know what’s most infuriating?” she said softly, her voice trembling not from fear, but from anger. “All of this happened because you couldn’t control yourself one night.”

Isac stiffened. “Watch your words.”

“No.” Sera met his gaze without flinching. “I lost my job. My name is dragged everywhere. My body is treated like public gossip. And now—I’m forced to undergo examinations I never consented to.”

“This is for your safety.”

“No.” Sera smiled bitterly. “This is for your peace of mind.”

Silence fell between them.

A few seconds that felt far longer than they should have.

Isac turned away. “Do you think this is easy for me?”

“I don’t care.”

The words struck hard.

The doctor finally entered with a file. “Severe pain caused by uterine contractions. Menstrual cycle. No signs of pregnancy.”

A simple sentence. It should have been the end.

But the world outside was already too loud.

Isac stepped back in. “How is she?”

“Not pregnant,” the doctor said firmly.

His shoulders dropped. Relief—clear and undeniable.

Sera saw it, and her chest tightened.

“Satisfied?” she asked coldly.

Isac fell silent.

His phone vibrated. An aide whispered something. His expression hardened.

“They say I forced you to terminate a pregnancy.”

Sera let out a short, hollow laugh.
“Of course they do.”

The morning wasn’t over yet.

“I understand,” Isac said at last. “I will take responsibility for you.”

Sera laughed softly—fragile, almost like a sob forced through her lips.

“How?” she whispered.

Isac met her gaze, unwavering. “As I said before. Come with me to the palace.”

The words fell like a hammer.
Sera stared at the white, cold ceiling of the ER, as though answers to her overturned life might be written there.

“Is that the only way?” she finally asked, her voice barely audible.

Isac drew a deep breath. “You’re involved with me now, Sera. Like it or not. Want it or not… you will always be involved with me.”

It wasn’t a threat.

Which made it even more terrifying.
Sera slowly turned to him. “Do you know what that means for me?”

Isac nodded once. “I do.”

“No,” Sera shook her head. “You don’t. My life isn’t something you can just relocate. I’m not a royal chess piece.”

“I don’t see you as one.”

“Then what?” Sera smiled bitterly. “A palace captive labeled ‘responsibility’?”

Isac fell silent.

Outside, the reporters grew louder. Sera’s name was shouted like a cursed spell. There was no safe place left. No true way home.

Sera closed her eyes. Tears flowed freely now.

“I’m tired,” she whispered. “I just want a normal life. To work. To go home. To be sick without being photographed. To cry without becoming a headline.”

Isac stepped closer. His voice lowered, truly gentle for the first time. “And I can’t give you that.”

An honest confession. Too honest.

“But I can protect you,” he continued. “In my way.”

Sera laughed through her tears. “A prince’s way.”

“Yes,” Isac nodded. “Because that’s all I have.”

Silence fell once more.

A few seconds that felt like a lifetime’s decision.

Sera wiped her tears roughly, then looked at Isac with red eyes filled with resolve.

“If I go to the palace,” she said softly but firmly, “it won’t be because I need you.”

Isac watched her closely.

“It’s because I have no other choice.”

He nodded slowly. “I know.”

Outside, camera flashes erupted again.

That morning truly showed no mercy.
And for Sera, the world she knew had ended—replaced by one bitter truth:
She had just stepped into the very center of the storm.