THE SMIRK GUY

The night was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that seemed to hum with hidden anticipation. A lone figure lay in a bed draped in silken sheets, her breath soft and even as she drifted into the sanctuary of sleep. The only light came from the faint glow of the moon filtering through the grand windows, casting delicate patterns across the room. The air was heavy with the scent of lavender, a scent meant to lull even the most troubled mind into slumber.

But that peace was shattered by the blaring sound of a phone. The princess stirred, her delicate fingers reaching out lazily for the device. The screen was a harsh contrast against the dark, and she squinted as the brightness flooded her sleepy vision. A series of messages awaited her, their notifications relentless.

She sighed, a sense of dread settling in the pit of her stomach as she read the texts. Of course, it was them. Who else could it be at this ungodly hour? Her so-called best friends since high school—Ashley and Abigael. The trio, known for their fiery red hair and matching tempers, had been inseparable for years. Bound not only by friendship but by the chains of their high social status, they were practically sisters. They were her ride-or-die, but sometimes she wondered if it was worth the constant chaos they dragged her into.

Ashley's message was, as usual, brimming with excitement. The wildest of the group, she was always the one to come up with the most outlandish ideas, and tonight was no different.

"Party tonight! Liam's going to be there. You *have* to come," Ashley had texted.

Abigael had, predictably, responded with a string of exclamation marks and emojis, echoing her enthusiasm. The princess, however, felt no such thrill. Parties were never her thing, especially not one where she knew she'd run into Liam, her ex. But with friends like hers, she rarely had a choice.

She glanced at the clock. 11:00 PM. Almost midnight. She groaned inwardly. They were cutting it close, even for them. Her mind wandered back to high school, the days when their friendship was forged. They had always been the queens of mischief, but she had always been the reluctant one, the innocent they often teased.

Her phone buzzed again, snapping her out of her thoughts. Another message from Ashley, no doubt. She rolled her eyes, already imagining the wild night they had planned.

As if on cue, her alarm button rang, and within moments, her butler, Elaine, entered the room, flanked by two maids. The gown Ashley had chosen for her hung delicately in the maid's hands. The princess suppressed a sigh. She knew what this meant—Ashley had picked it out to prevent her from choosing something more modest. "If I didn't, you'd end up wearing some ball gown and tiara," Ashley had joked, though there was truth in her words.

Elaine, ever efficient, directed the maids to prepare her for the night. She was ushered into the bathroom, and as the hot water of the shower poured over her, she let out a deep breath. The warmth was soothing, but it couldn't wash away the unease that crept into her thoughts.

As she stepped out of the shower, the maids hurried to dry her, their hands deft and practised. Her gaze drifted to the television, which she had forgotten to turn off before falling asleep earlier. A rom-com was playing, its cheerful soundtrack a stark contrast to the tension she felt. Romance movies were her guilty pleasure, a secret escape into a world where love was simple and sweet, not tainted by power and politics.

But her attention was quickly drawn to the breaking news flashing across the screen.

**"Another scandal by Lucian Daiuz. The elusive figure and his team have broken into Dysheria City Bank, stealing a staggering $60 billion. Only $20 billion has been recovered, but Lucian remains at large, as always."**

Her heart skipped a beat as she read the headlines. Lucian Daiuz—a name that had haunted her for years. From the age of fifteen, she had heard countless stories about his exploits, each more chilling than the last. Now, at twenty-four, those tales had only grown darker, more terrifying. No one had ever seen him, not a clear image, not a single trace. He was a ghost, a nightmare that lurked in the shadows of every crime in Dysheria and beyond.

And now, he had stolen from her father, King Edward von Dysheria.

Her father was a powerful man, but Lucian Daiuz was beyond power. He was something else, something she couldn't quite grasp, but the thought of him made her blood run cold.

A memory flickered in her mind, unbidden. It was from a secret underground party Abigail had dragged them to a few years back. Rumour had it that Lucian himself was there that night, though no one saw him—except perhaps her. She had spotted a man dressed entirely in black, his face obscured by dark shades. He had exuded an aura of danger, his lips curved in a smirk that sent shivers down her spine. But that couldn't have been him, could it? That smirk, though—it haunted her. She had seen it at almost every party since then, lurking in the corner, watching her. She had dubbed him "the Smirk Guy" in her mind.

It couldn't be him. Could it?

The maids were almost done dressing her, pulling the gown Ashley had chosen tight around her slender frame. She glanced at herself in the mirror and immediately frowned. The dress was everything she hated—revealing, short, and tight. It barely covered her knees, and her breasts were practically spilling out. If her father could see her now, his darling princess dressed like this, it would be the end of her.

But it wasn't her fault. Blame it on the redheads.

Her phone buzzed again, and she quickly replied to the messages, her irritation seeping into the text. She didn't want to go, but she had no choice.

She stepped out of her room, her butler Raphael already waiting in the hall. His expression was neutral, but she could see the question in his eyes. He knew exactly why she was dressed like this and where she was going, even if he didn't approve.

They moved swiftly through the palace, their footsteps echoing in the grand halls. Raphael led her to a secret door hidden behind an ornate tapestry—a door known only to her father, her late mother, and herself. With practised ease, they slipped through, their escape unnoticed by the palace guards, thanks to Raphael's careful planning.

They reached the window of the secret room, where Raphael had already prepared a rope for their descent. It was dangerous, reckless even, but this wasn't the first time they had done this. She felt a thrill of excitement as Raphael secured the rope and helped her climb down. If her father ever found out, she would be grounded until she was old and grey.

They landed softly in the garden, hidden from view by the thick bushes. The princess's heart raced as they made their way to one of the cars she kept for emergencies. They had escaped unnoticed—so far.

The drive to the party was quick, the streets of Dysheria City were deserted at this hour. As they pulled up in front of the grand house, she felt a pang of anxiety. This was it. She was about to face the night, the party, and Liam.

Ashley and Abigael were already there, waiting by the entrance. Ashley's grin was wide and mischievous, her green eyes glittering under the streetlights. She was dressed in a gown identical to the princess's, equally revealing and inappropriate for a royal.

"C'mon, let's go join them," Ashley urged, her voice dripping with excitement.

The princess sighed but followed her friend. Abigael arrived moments later, stepping gracefully out of a sleek black car. The princess of Asteria was the epitome of elegance, her deep red hair cascading down her back, her golden eyes gleaming with mischief. She was also wearing a gown similar to theirs, but on her, it looked like a statement, not a compromise.

The three of them were a sight to behold, three redheads walking into the night with a dangerous glint in their eyes.

As they approached the entrance, the princess spotted him—Liam. Her heart lurched at the sight of him. He was just as she remembered, tall, handsome, and exuding confidence. Memories of their time together flooded her mind, unbidden and unwelcome. They had dated through college, but he had broken up with her, saying he couldn't waste his time on someone he wasn't going to marry. He was right, of course. Her father would never allow it. But the pain of that rejection still stung, a wound that hadn't healed.

Her friends noticed her hesitation and urged her to join them, to make Liam jealous, to have fun. But she couldn't. She wasn't ready to face him, not tonight.

She retreated to her car, her mind racing. Raphael was there, his eyes questioning. He knew something was wrong, but he said nothing, simply watching as she settled back into the driver's seat. She pulled out her phone and began watching a K-drama, trying to lose herself in the fictional world where love was simple and kind.

But her thoughts kept drifting back to Liam, to the memories they had shared, and to the painful truth that they would never be together.

Hours passed, and the laughter and music inside the club showed no signs of dying down. It had been a wild night, but her patience was wearing thin. With a sigh, she checked the time again—long past midnight. It was time to drag her friends out of their revelry. She stepped back inside the crowded, dimly lit space, the bass of the music vibrating through her bones. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for the familiar faces of her friends, only to find them slumped over a table, surrounded by empty glasses and bottles.

Abigail had her head on the table, mumbling something incoherent, while Ashely was laughing uncontrollably at nothing in particular. Their guards, standing discreetly nearby, exchanged helpless glances, unsure of how to handle the situation without causing a scene.

"Come on, guys, time to go," she said, her voice firm as she nudged Ashely, who responded with a groggy giggle.

It took a few minutes of coaxing, but with Raphael's help, she managed to get them on their feet and stumble toward the exit. Abigail leaned heavily on her shoulder, his weight almost too much for her to bear. Raphael took Ashely's arm, guiding her out with surprising gentleness. They weaved through the crowd, earning curious and amused glances from the other patrons who were still very much in party mode.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, she felt a brief moment of relief. At least they were out of the chaos. The guards quickly moved to assist, helping each of her friends into the waiting cars that would take them back to their respective homes.

It was then, in the stillness of the night, that she felt it—that creeping sensation, like eyes boring into the back of her skull. She glanced over her shoulder, and there he was—the figure she had seen countless times before, lurking in the shadows. The Smirk Guy.

Embarking on my writing journey on GoodNovel has been an exhilarating experience. As I put pen to paper—or fingers to keyboard—I felt a surge of creativity and excitement. It’s a platform that inspires me to share my stories with a broader audience and connect with fellow writers and readers. My debut tale, filled with intricate characters and immersive worlds, reflects my passion for storytelling. The supportive community and constructive feedback have motivated me to hone my craft further. Each chapter I write is a step toward realizing my dream, and I can't wait to see where this adventure takes me!