In just a moment, the guards burst into the unit, armed with electric stunners and rifles loaded with rubber bullets—designed to incapacitate, not kill.
"There he is! Seize him! He's a pervert—he's been stalking me!" Aurelia's voice rang out with shocking accusation.
Dragan froze, stunned. What?
His heart pounded. Why would she say that? Why is she calling for my arrest? This is insane!
The guards closed in fast.
"Move it, you pervert!" one barked from behind, shoving him roughly as others surrounded him with tense precision.
Dragan slowly stood, raising one hand in the air like he was admitting guilt. His face said it all—regret, confusion, and a whole lot of "what just happened?"
"A lady... for the prince?" one of the guards muttered, surprise flickering in his eyes.
"Seize him. Let's go," the senior guard barked.
As one guard stepped forward and patted Dragan's shoulder, things went downhill fast—for them.
Dragan moved. Fast.
He twisted sharply, grabbed the guard's arm, and flipped him straight to the floor. The man hit the ground hard with a grunt.
Then Dragan did something clever. He reached down and pressed a hidden button on the guard's armor—a special feature built into their high-tech suits. It was meant to auto-inflate during accidents or impacts to protect the wearer.
FWOOMP! The suit inflated like a giant airbag, puffing up awkwardly and pinning the guard in place like a bloated turtle.
The other four guards turned in shock.
Dragan didn't wait.
Using his speed and some slick acrobatics, he dropped low, swiped one guard's leg, and hit the inflate button on another's suit mid-fall, making him puff up too and roll backward like a helpless balloon.
Now only two were left. They moved in cautiously, unsure if they were fighting a man or a malfunctioning gym mat.
Meanwhile, the senior guard just stood back, arms crossed, convinced his boys would handle it.
Dragan cracked a grin.
"Still think this is going your way?"
The fight was still raging.
Suddenly, one of the guards raised his electric stunner—and fired. The bolt hit Dragan square in the chest. He jerked back and collapsed to the floor with a grunt.
They weren't supposed to use stunners.l, buh however it can't kill just a bit pain to get you obedient. No permission had been given. And even if it had, Dragan would've found a way out. He always did.
Now he lay there, face down, unmoving.
Aurelia stood nearby, arms folded, her face unreadable. She watched quietly. Not a single word.
She didn't think about the night he made her laugh. The night he made her feel something again.
That version of him… she had pushed far out of her mind.
She believed—no, she wanted to believe—he'd be captured. That it was the right thing.
So she stayed there. Waiting.
One of the guards grabbed Dragan's arm and yanked him up.
"You're done, man. Now move it, you pervert," the guard snapped.
But as Dragan stood, he looked him straight in the eyes—and that look?
It burned with fire.
"I'm no pervert," Dragan said coldly—then punched the guard straight in the face.
The man's eyes went wide and blurry. Before he could even react, Dragan reached for his chest plate and hit the inflate button.
WHOOSH!
The suit puffed up instantly, swallowing the guard's limbs and rolling him onto the floor like a half-filled balloon.
Only one guard remained now. Big. Tough. Angry.
He rushed Dragan, and the two of them clashed in a messy fight—punches, elbows, knees, grunts.
Dragan managed to pin him down, but just as he was about to breathe, the guard grabbed Dragan's leg and yanked him hard.
They both hit the floor.
The guard climbed on top, one hand tightening around Dragan's neck. Dragan struggled, reaching, clawing.
His fingers stretched farther… farther...
Click.
PEW!
The last guard's suit inflated with a loud hiss, lifting him slightly off Dragan.
That was all he needed.
Dragan shoved him off, gasping, bruised, but alive.
All around him, the elite guards were lying there—puffed up, confused, and defeated.
Aurelia watched it all—every blow, every twist, every ridiculous poof as the guards inflated one by one. Her arms slowly dropped to her sides.
For a second, she couldn't move. Then instinct took over. She began to step backward—quietly, carefully—like prey realizing the predator wasn't quite dead yet.
Dragan turned.
Their eyes locked.
No words. Just silence and that strange weight between them.
Aurelia quickly looked away, her eyes darting toward the door. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she made a run for it.
But she didn't make it far.
Just before she reached the exit, she felt a gentle but firm grip on her wrist.
She spun around.
It was Dragan.
His face was tired, bruised, breathless—but calm. There was no anger. No force.
Just… truth.
His voice was low. Honest. Raw.
"It's me. My honesty's brutal.
But it's me… the one you can't recall."
Dragan tried to keep a calm expression, doing his best to look harmless—anything to win back a bit of her trust.
"Oh… sorry," Aurelia said suddenly, her voice soft. "I remember now.
He blinked. "What's your name again?"
"It's Rex," he replied. "Dragan Rex."
Aurelia nodded, stepping closer. "Yeah… it's been a long time."
Then she hugged him.
Just like that.
Dragan's eyes widened slightly. He didn't move, didn't speak. Something felt off. The hug felt… staged. Too easy. Too soon.
And he was right.
Aurelia wasn't hugging him out of love or warmth. She was just buying time—long enough to grab his attention, to get close enough, and to activate the hidden command on her wristwatch.
All part of the act.
"Long time?" Dragan thought. What is she talking about? It was literally the day before yesterday… He narrowed his eyes. What is she planning?
Unknown to him, the message had already reached the royal guards—the elite special forces trained to protect the kingdom and its future leaders.
The moment they received it, they were confused—and furious.
"Who's this man trying to harass the prince-to-be's bride?"
"Who dares lay hands on her?"
Back at the scene, during the hug, Aurelia pressed the buttons on her watch quickly and discreetly.
When she pulled away, Dragan was already looking into her eyes.
"You called them, didn't you?" he said quietly.
She said nothing.
Dragan could've run. The exit was still open. But instead, he stood there—still. Maybe out of pride. Maybe out of pain. Or maybe… just tired of running.
Moments later, the royal guards stormed in, surrounding him in formation.
"Seize him," the general ordered without hesitation.
And this time, they didn't miss.
Two guards grabbed him, slammed his arms behind his back, and snapped cold metal cuffs around his wrists.
Dragan didn't fight back.
He just stared at Aurelia.
The cuffs clicked shut with a quiet hum.
These weren't ordinary restraints—they were Xintha-Lockers. Sleek, futuristic handcuffs laced with high-end tech: voice-activated, fingerprint-coded, and embedded with motion sensors. No one escaped them. Not unless the system said so.
The guards knew better than to make noise.
They didn't want to stir up attention from other units. Especially since they were currently inside the library wing—a quiet zone of the facility.
So, without a word, they led Dragan down a hidden corridor and into a private elevator, descending several levels beneath the surface.
At the bottom, the doors opened into something unexpected:
A beautiful, high-tech prison.
Smooth glass walls, ambient lighting, and automated security that felt more like a futuristic clinic than a cell block.
But make no mistake;there was no way out.
Dragan Rex had been caught.
Across the complex, Aurelia walked silently through the halls, exiting through the lab's back passage. Her face was unreadable.
She made her way home.
In her bedroom, she slipped into bed and tapped a button on her nightstand. The bed hummed softly, switching into floating phase.
She rose gently a few inches off the ground, cradled by invisible energy, drifting as though weightless.
But her mind wasn't resting.
Meanwhile…
Down below, Dragan lay on his prison bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleek lights glowed gently overhead.
He wasn't alone—but he wasn't with people either.
A few prison bots moved silently in the corners, delivering food, monitoring vitals, keeping things in order.
A small speaker above his bed played calming music—selected by the AI assistant assigned to prisoner entertainment. Smooth jazz fused with ambient sounds, designed to keep inmates stable and sedated.
But it didn't work on Dragan.
Not tonight.
He was in prison for something he didn't do. And worst of all?
Dr. Emerin—his only possible ally—had no idea he'd been taken.
Dragan clenched his jaw, staring at the glowing Xintha-Lockers still fastened around his wrists.
The prison was clean. Controlled. Safe.
And completely inescapable.