The flight into Nassau was quicker than Essie expected, but the emotional shift felt like crossing worlds.
Andros had the kind of silence that healed the soul.
Nassau had noise — nervous, electric, restless — a constant charge that crawled under the skin whether you welcomed it or not.
As Essie stepped off the small plane, she inhaled a sharp mix of exhaust, city breeze, expensive perfume, and tension. Marcus walked ahead of her, suitcase gripped in one hand, scanning the airport like a man on high alert.
"Marcus... nobody waiting to assassinate me," Essie whispered.
"You don't know that," he muttered. "Nassau different."
He wasn't wrong. The city tightened her senses, stretched her nerves, stirred something uneasy in her chest.
Up ahead, the Queenship contestants gathered in a buzzing knot. Their turquoise-and-gold sashes gleamed under the airport lights. Some squealed in excitement. Some recorded TikToks. Others huddled in tight formation with the kind of quiet intensity that looked less like pageantry and more like plotting.
Essie paused.
Marcus immediately caught it. "You good?"
She nodded, though her breath betrayed her. "Just... taking it all in."
He stepped closer, lowering his tone. "Listen. You belong here — even if you don't feel it yet."
His words steadied her.
But the calm shattered instantly.
"Well look at this — country come to town."
Essie turned.
A tall girl strutted forward, lashes dramatic, hair flawless, jumpsuit hugging her like she'd been sewn into it. Her smile was thin, pretty, and edged like a blade.
Her sash read:
SASHA ROLLE — NASSAU
Essie blinked. Rolle.
The resemblance was immediate — Vanessa's sharp beauty, Vanessa's glare, Vanessa's confidence bordering on cruelty.
Sasha scanned Essie like she was a discount option in a boutique.
"Andros, right?" Sasha smirked. "Knew it."
Essie tried politeness. "Yes. I'm Essie Munroe."
Sasha didn't offer her hand. Didn't even fake courtesy.
"Cute," she said. "Very... island-girl aesthetic."
Marcus stepped forward, voice low. "That supposed to mean something?"
Sasha flicked her hair with effortless arrogance. "Relax, Island Guard. I'm just saying — this Nassau. Things on a different level."
"Different don't mean better," Marcus snapped.
Sasha's smile sharpened. "Actually... it does."
Essie touched Marcus's arm gently. "Ignore her."
"I ain't ignoring disrespect—"
"Marcus," she whispered, firmer. "Let it go."
He stepped back, but tension clung to his jaw.
Sasha basked in the moment like she'd just won a crown.
"I'm Sasha Rolle," she announced, loud enough for bystanders to hear. "Cousin to Vanessa Rolle — in case you living under a rock."
Essie's stomach dropped.
Vanessa.
The meltdown.
The scandal.
The whole country watching her heartbreak live.
"I'm sorry for what she went through," Essie said softly.
Sasha's face iced over. "Don't be sorry. Be careful."
Essie stiffened. "Careful?"
Sasha leaned in, voice lowering. "People from Nassau don't forget betrayal. My cousin still catching fire because of him. So don't come here thinking this lil' program gon' make you sweetheart of the nation. You ain't winning. Not while I breathing."
Marcus moved forward again. "You threatening her?"
Sasha rolled her eyes. "Boy, hush. I'm just saying — Andros sweetness ain't surviving Nassau heat."
Behind her, a few girls snickered.
"Sasha ain't playing."
"That girl already look scared."
"She too soft. She ain't lasting."
Essie's cheeks burned. She lowered her gaze, fighting the urge to shrink, to disappear.
Marcus glared at the group. "Say one more thing—"
"Marcus!" Essie snapped softly. "Stop before they throw you out."
He backed off, chest rising with controlled anger.
Sasha strutted away, satisfied.
Essie exhaled shakily.
Ten minutes in Nassau and already bruised.
Aunt Beverly's voice drifted through her memory:
Every destiny start with a test, chile.
And this test felt like fire.
The vans arrived to take contestants to the orientation venue — a sleek government building near Goodman's Bay. Essie ended up squeezed between two Freeport girls who spent the ride filming TikToks and adjusting their highlight.
The van buzzed with competition.
Nassau girls dominated — loud, glossy, fearless.
Freeport girls matched their energy.
Other islands tried to keep up.
Essie folded in on herself.
She twirled the end of her braid to calm her nerves. If Marcus had been beside her, she would've felt grounded, but guardians had to ride separately.
Finally, a girl looked her way. "You're the Andros girl?"
Essie nodded.
"Cute," the girl said. "But sweet don't win."
Essie swallowed hard.
Everything inside her whispered:
Wrong place. Wrong world. Wrong decision.
But Marcus's voice held her steady:
You belong here.
She clutched those words like rope as the van pulled into the crowded parking lot.
Media trucks.
Flashing cameras.
Security at every door.
Reporters already setting up.
The program hadn't started, but attention had.
Inside, contestants moved through registration — badges, schedule packets, strict instructions. Essie's packet felt heavier than pages should.
A staff member pointed her to her seat in the auditorium.
She slid into a corner seat, hoping the shadows would swallow her.
No chance.
Sasha dropped into the chair beside her.
"Ugh. Of course she sitting next to me."
Essie forced a greeting. "Hi, Sasha."
"You lost already?" Sasha asked dryly.
"Sasha, I'm not—"
"Don't start," Sasha cut in, adjusting her earrings. "This whole thing —" she swept her hand over the auditorium "— is bigger than you can imagine. And I ain't letting some random island girl take what belong to me."
Essie met her eyes, steady. "I'm not taking anything from you."
"It don't matter," Sasha said. "You breathing? You competition."
Essie turned away, throat tight.
Around her, Eleuthera and Abaco girls chatted easily. Freeport girls laughed loudly. Nassau girls practiced their pageant smiles in the front row.
Essie felt like she'd walked into a battlefield armed with nothing but hope.
God, carry me, she whispered.
On stage, staff adjusted microphones. Reporters found their spots. A low hum of anticipation rose.
Essie inhaled.
Held it.
Released it.
"Breathe," she whispered.
Then — the room shifted.
Voices softened.
Phones lifted.
Heads turned.
The Prime Minister had arrived.
Essie had seen Alex Christie on TV — polished speeches, practiced charm. But in person, the weight on his shoulders was visible: the sleepless eyes, the taut jaw, the exhaustion tucked behind professionalism.
Contestants straightened.
Sasha applied lip gloss like her life depended on it.
A few girls whispered, giggling.
One fanned herself.
Phones angled toward him like sunflowers.
Essie didn't feel dazzled.
She felt reality.
This man is the reason I'm here.
Because of the scandal.
Because of Vanessa.
Because the country needed a distraction — a symbol — a "national woman."
Alex stepped to the podium, adjusting his tie.
He scanned the room.
Routine.
Expected.
Controlled.
Until—
his eyes found her.
Essie.
He froze.
He blinked once.
Again.
He didn't look away.
Essie stared back, confused. She didn't understand the shift in his expression — the subtle tilt of surprise, the flicker of something unguarded.
But everyone else noticed.
Sasha stiffened. "Nah. No way."
At the back, Marcus's jaw locked.
Aunt Beverly's words echoed:
Child... your life just change.
Alex opened his mouth to start the speech.
No words came out.
A ripple moved through the room.
Shelly Munns, his press secretary, hissed from backstage, "Prime Minister — go!"
But Alex wasn't frozen by nerves.
He was distracted.
By her.
The girl from Andros with the quiet presence that cut through noise.
Then the slip happened — soft, stunned, unfiltered, right into the live microphone:
"...who... is she?"
The sound system carried it everywhere.
To the contestants.
To the guardians.
To the reporters.
To the cameras.
Essie's breath stopped.
Sasha whipped toward her. "YOU? He talking about YOU?!"
Marcus surged forward instinctively.
The room erupted.
"Who he talking 'bout?"
"Which one?"
"Zoom in, zoom in!"
"The PM just say that live?"
Essie felt heat rush up her spine. Her pulse roared like surf.
Alex blinked hard, realizing his mistake too late. He cleared his throat and forced himself back into the speech.
But the moment had already escaped.
Into recordings.
Into cameras.
Into the country's hungry mouth.
The Prime Minister of The Bahamas had just forgotten his speech — over the girl from Andros.
And whether she wanted it or not...
Everything had changed.