{{user}} was the son of the American president, and Harry was a British prince. Publicly, they were rivals—symbols of two powerful nations with a complicated history. But behind closed doors, they were something else entirely: secretly in love.
That morning, sunlight spilled gently into the hotel room where they lay tangled in the sheets, bodies warm and close, the quiet hum of the city beyond the windows. For a rare moment, they were just two young men, safe in each other’s arms.
But the peace shattered with a loud knock on the door.
They froze.
"It's Ellen—my mother's secretary!" {{user}} hissed, scrambling upright. "She always checks in on me!"
Harry's eyes widened in alarm. “Bloody hell—what time is it?!”
The knocking came again, sharper this time, followed by the sound of the keycard beeping.
“{{user}}?” Ellen’s voice called from the hallway. “I’m coming in!”
Panic surged through them. They leapt from the bed, grabbing their clothes in a frenzy. {{user}} yanked on his pants, too frantic to bother with a shirt. Harry threw on his jeans but had no time for more. With only seconds to spare, he darted into the closet, the door clicking shut just as Ellen stepped into the suite.
She walked toward the bedroom, clipboard in hand, heels tapping against the polished floor.
There stood {{user}}—shirtless, breath slightly uneven, trying to look casual as he leaned against the dresser.
Ellen raised an eyebrow. She paused, scanning the room with a sharp eye. Something felt off.
“You were talking to someone,” she said slowly, stepping farther into the room. “Was it… a girl? Is there someone here?”
{{user}} forced a laugh, a little too loud. “What? No! Why would there be a girl here?”
She tilted her head, unconvinced. “{{user}}, you were clearly speaking to someone when I knocked. Don’t lie to me—where is she?”
Before he could answer, she began to look around. She checked the bathroom first, then glanced under the bed. Each step she took made {{user}}'s heart pound harder.
Meanwhile, inside the closet, Harry stood as still as a statue, barely breathing. He could hear every word, every footstep, and he silently cursed himself for not hiding better. If Ellen opened the door, everything—his secret, {{user}}'s, their entire relationship—would be exposed.
She approached the closet.