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back.” Her voice broke at the end. “He’s coming back, Jeremy. He loves me. He’ll listen to me.”
    “I’m sorry, Saffi. But you don’t seem to understand either.” His voice was pained. “Your university’s going to kick you out. They can’t have the press descending on them. You must leave.”
                She shook her head. Her head ached. Her heart hurt. And her---
                Saffi looked down at herself in horror.
                “Jeremy,” she whispered. “Take me to the doctor. I don’t want to lose my baby.”
     
    ****
     
    “You need to go back to Saffi’s dorm,” Constantijin said implacably the moment Staffan answered his call. When his friend didn’t answer, he said quietly, “Give her a chance to explain. You didn’t give her one before, and look at how well that turned out.”
    Staffan squeezed his eyes shut, Constantijin’s words hitting a raw spot.
    “I made sure none of the newspapers or agencies I own carry this shit, but I can’t control the others. They’re going to Saffi because she’s more vulnerable than you are. If you still love her, then get your ass over there and give her a fucking hand.”
    Staffan ended the call.
    “Go back to Saffi’s uni, Bob.”
    Bob nodded, turning the car around so fast the wheels squeaked underneath them. The sight that greeted them there was horrendous, a mob of reporters that seemed more like vultures than humans as they pestered university students for news about Saffi.
    Staffan was about to get out of the car when he saw the crowd parting, double rows of liveried men creating a path that led to a waiting limousine.
                And then…
                Saffi.
                A tall dark man walked beside to her, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.
                Damn you to hell, Saffi March.
                Damn you to hell.
     
     

Chapter Three
     
     
    Saffi March set her Facebook account to private.
     
                Saffi’s father stood and immediately went around his desk the moment the door to his office opened. At the senator’s nod, the secretary reluctantly closed the door behind Staffan Aehrenthal, a still-dazed look on her face. She could not believe she had just seen the famous rock star in her boss’ office. Most times, his guests were boring old farts and snooty women from his old hometown. None of them certainly deserved the title ‘sex god’, even if they were to walk in here naked.
                Maybe, she mused, this had to do with the scandal poor Sapphire March had become recently embroiled in – maybe the very same reason that the men of the March family were now here en masse.
                Senator Samuel March was tall and distinguished looking, his patrician features only made more handsome by age. At the other side of the expansive office stood three men. They had a look of privilege to them, and even the youngest of them appeared immensely self-assured.
                Staffan despised them all on sight, especially the fucking prince whose name was still being linked to her . The man was too handsome for his own good, and he even had a fucking princely air about him, as if it was part of his day job to rescue damsels in distress.
                Did that fucking include knocking up a girl who already belonged to another man?
                Senator March moved forward, asking politely, “Staffan Aehrenthal?”
                Staffan forced himself to look away from the royal asshole. He took the hand offered to him and shook it, answering mockingly, “Senator March?” If the old man thought he’d fucking kowtow to him just because he had a seat in the fucking government, then he would be fucking mistaken. The old man should be thankful Staffan retained enough of his manners to call him by his title when he wasn’t even