Chapter 1: Collision

The courtyard was alive with laughter.

Someone had remembered her birthday—Zaya, of course. A small cake, uneven candles, and a handful of maids singing off key between chores.

"Make a wish, Layla!" Zaya grinned, balancing the cake in both hands. The frosting slid a little to one side, but the twenty candles burned bravely anyway.

Layla laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You will get us all in trouble if Mrs. Evelyn catches us”

"Then blow fast" another maid whispered.

Layla leaned closer. Warm candlelight brushed her face. She closed her eyes….

"Layla, the chicken!"

Her eyes flew open.

The palace chef's prized white rooster escaped again—was bolting straight for the gardens.

"Not again..!"

The cake wobbled dangerously in Zaya's hands.

"Catch it before Chef sees!" someone yelled.

Without thinking, Layla gathered her skirts and chased after it. Her bare feet slapped against the stone path as she darted past startled guards, laughter and shouting chasing her.

The rooster zigzagged wildly through the rose bushes, feathers flying.

"Stop! Please, stop!" she called

breathlessly.

It didn't.

Layla pushed through the final hedge and crashed hard into someone.

The impact sent them both sprawling. Her knees hit the grass first, then her palms, straight onto a man's chest as he landed beneath her.

For one stunned moment, there was only the sound of rustling leaves and her own breath.

Layla blinked. Her fingers were spread against a dark coat—expensive fabric now smeared with mud. Beneath her palms, she felt the weight of muscle, the unmistakable presence of someone very much not a fellow servant.

A low breath escaped him. " Don’t you watch where you're going?”

The voice was cold, controlled and dangerous.

She froze.

Her gaze lifted, and her heart stopped.

Silver grey eyes met hers.

Corvin Vellor. The President.

Layla's body went rigid. Heat rushed up her neck. She scrambled off him so fast she almost slipped again, her skirts twisting around her legs.

Corvin rose, brushing dirt from his sleeve.

Marcus, his chief of staff, rushed forward, wide eyed "Sir! Are you hurt?" He quickly offered a handkerchief, fussing over the stains. "Your jacket, let me…"

Corvin lifted a hand, silencing him.

Layla bowed low, words tumbling out in a rush. "I—I'm so sorry, Mr. President. The chicken, it escaped and I was just trying…"

The rooster itself walked proudly past her ankles, its white feathers shining against the dirt.

Corvin's gaze flicked to it, then back to her "I see." His tone was mild, but his eyes were unreadable. "The palace appears to have an issue with discipline."

Marcus’s face went pale. "Shall I have her dismissed, sir? Or punished?"

Corvin said nothing for a long moment. His eyes lingered on the girl before him—Mud clung to her skirt, to her hands, even to the edge of her cheek. Her golden hair in wild disarray. She couldn't have looked more out of place among the roses.

Finally, he said quietly "No. That won't be necessary."

Marcus blinked. "Sir?"

Corvin brushed the last of the dirt from his coat. "See that the staff learn to keep their poultry contained. And their servant don’t go falling on people”

He turned to leave, but something, perhaps the memory of her startled eyes, made him glance back once more.

Layla stood, her hands clasped tight, mud drying on her palms.

Corvin said nothing more. He simply turned and walked away, Marcus trailing behind him, still muttering about ruined fabric and schedules.

Only when they were gone did Layla finally exhale. She stared down at her feet and whispered to herself

"Happy birthday, Layla"