In that suspended, breathless moment, the entire auditorium froze along.
Lights. Cameras. Contestants. Advisors.
Every moving piece of the Queenship opening ceremony suddenly stalled, caught between disbelief and raw curiosity.
Because the Prime Minister of The Bahamas — Alexander Christie — had just breathed into a live microphone not just once but twice:
"...who... is she?"
The words didn't just echo.
They hit.
Essie felt the impact ripple through her body.
Her breath caught.
Her fingers curled into her lap.
Her heart fluttered like something frightened, cornered, and confused.
Why was he staring at her?
Why did it feel like time had tilted?
Like he could suddenly see straight through her?
Why was a man responsible for a country, drowning in scandal and national expectation, looking at her as if she had momentarily stolen the ground from under him?
And then she felt another stare.
Marcus.
Back of the room.
Arms tense.
Posture protective.
Eyes calculating every possible threat.
Before anyone could recover, Shelly Munns rushed onstage like a woman trying to stop a building from collapsing.
"Prime Minister," she hissed under her breath, "the speech."
Alex blinked rapidly, as if someone had snapped him out of a trance.
"Oh—right," he murmured, visibly pulling himself back to reality. He flicked his gaze away from Essie with a struggle that did not go unnoticed.
The audience murmured like a hive disturbed.
A girl from Freeport whispered, "Why he look at her like that?"
Another from Abaco muttered, "PM forget he whole speech."
From across the aisle, Sasha Rolle glared at Essie with the kind of hatred that felt centuries old — sharp, immediate, personal.
Alex cleared his throat into the microphone. His statesman mask slid back into place, but not fully. Essie could still feel tension crackling in the air like leftover lightning.
"Good morning, ladies," he said, his voice steadying.
Several contestants sighed under their breaths.
He delivered the speech — unity, culture, national pride, the Queenship Program's purpose — but Essie barely heard a word. She was too aware of that earlier moment, still burning on her skin.
When the applause faded and staff began organizing contestants for backstage interviews, Marcus moved quickly toward her.
"You good?" he asked, low and protective.
"Yes. Yes — I'm fine."
She swallowed hard. "He didn't mean anything by that."
Marcus raised a brow. "He stare at you like he see ghost."
"He was probably just distracted."
"He distracted by you," Marcus muttered.
"Marcus..."
"Watch him," he warned. "Watch everybody."
Before she could reply, a staff member approached.
"Miss Essie Munroe? Prime Minister Christie would like a brief word."
Essie nearly inhaled her tongue.
Marcus exploded. "A word with WHO? And for WHAT?"
"It will be in a monitored space," the staffer said nervously. "Advisor Shelly is already present."
"I coming too."
"You can't enter the interview—"
"I'll stand outside the door," Marcus insisted.
"Marcus, please," Essie whispered, mortified.
He stepped aside, jaw tense.
Essie followed the staffer behind the curtains — heart pounding violently.
Alex stood waiting with Shelly and a young woman Essie didn't recognize at first — stylish, bright smile, soft curls. She radiated warmth.
Shelly straightened. "Here she is."
Alex turned.
And when his eyes landed on Essie again, the air shifted — a flicker of something he couldn't contain or disguise. Surprise. Recognition. Confusion. Pull.
He extended his hand.
"Miss Munroe?"
"Yes, sir," she whispered.
He studied her — too long, too closely — as if trying to place a memory he didn't know he had.
A soft laugh broke the tension.
"That was dramatic," the woman teased, nudging Alex. "You only forget your speeches around Mummy."
Alex sighed. "Lexi..."
He turned to Essie. "This is my sister, Lexi Christie."
Essie straightened. "Hello."
Lexi beamed. "Hi! And sorry about him. He likes to act like life is Shakespeare."
Essie almost smiled.
Alex cleared his throat, trying to reclaim professionalism. "I apologize for earlier. I just... lost focus."
"That ain't normal for him," Lexi said. "Maybe the Andros breeze catch him."
Essie looked down, embarrassed. "You don't have to apologize to me, sir."
"Alex," he corrected softly. "Please. Call me Alex."
Essie's breath tangled.
Lexi's eyes widened with knowing amusement.
"Well," Lexi said brightly, "this about to be interesting."
"Lexi."
"What?" she whispered loudly. "You don't usually stare at people like that."
Essie's face went crimson.
Shelly suddenly found her clipboard extraordinarily fascinating.
Alex steadied himself. "Miss Munroe, I wanted to congratulate you. Your application stood out."
"It did?"
"Yes. Mr. Higgs mentioned your work in Andros."
"That's... just helping the settlement."
"That is special," Alex said quietly.
Essie looked up.
Something silent flickered between them.
Something neither asked for.
Something neither expected.
And then—
"WHY?"
Sasha Rolle's voice cracked the moment in half.
She strode forward, sash shimmering, lips curled in irritation.
"Prime Minister," she said sweetly, "lovely speech. Very... emotional."
Essie tensed.
Sasha stepped between them like she was claiming territory.
"I hope you weren't too distracted today," she purred.
Alex maintained a polite distance — neutral but unmistakably detached.
Lexi smirked. "Oh, he was distracted. Just not by who you think."
Alex nearly choked.
Essie turned red.
Sasha's eyes sharpened. "What that supposed to mean?"
Lexi shrugged. "Just observing."
Sasha ignored her and leaned toward Essie, voice low and venomous.
"He look at you like he never see woman before. And I promise you this — whatever spark he think he feeling? I will PUT IT OUT."
Essie's breath trembled.
She didn't want sparks.
She wanted peace.
But trouble had already found her.
And Nassau smelled blood.
ORIENTATION — HOURS LATER
The day dragged through interviews, cultural workshops, and whispered gossip. Sasha's eyes followed her like knives. Girls murmured every time she passed. The air felt heavy, charged.
By late afternoon, Essie's nerves were threadbare.
Marcus found her. "You a'right?"
"Just tired."
"You hungry?"
"Yes."
"I bringing Subway."
She laughed softly. "You don't have to be my whole bodyguard."
"I more than bodyguard. I your cousin. And I protect what matter."
Her chest warmed. "Thank you."
He walked off.
Moments later, Lexi appeared at the end of the hallway.
"Hi," she said gently. "I wanted to check on you."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. That room filled with sharks. You handled yourself well."
Essie laughed awkwardly. "I didn't do anything."
"That's why they rattled," Lexi whispered. "Humility shakes egos."
Essie blushed.
Lexi leaned closer. "And between me and you... my brother needed something to shake him."
Essie froze. "Shake him how?"
"He's been carrying too much. Scandal. Shame. Pressure. People forget he's human. Sometimes it takes a gentle person to remind someone they're allowed to feel again."
Essie's heart fluttered painfully.
"I didn't do anything."
"You existed," Lexi said softly. "Sometimes that's enough."
Lexi squeezed her hand and walked away.
LATER THAT NIGHT
Essie collapsed onto her hotel bed, overwhelmed. Today had been chaos:
Marcus's signature.
Nassau's hostility.
Alex's forgotten speech.
Sasha's threat.
Lexi's kindness.
Her phone buzzed.
Instagram notifications flooded her screen.
Trending in The Bahamas:
#WhoIsShe
Dozens of posts.
Hundreds of comments.
Thousands of views.
Essie clicked one video.
Alex staring.
Frozen.
Whispering:
"...who... is she?"
Someone zoomed in on Essie's shocked face.
Someone added slow-motion.
Someone added romantic music.
Essie's stomach dropped.
Marcus texted:
MARCUS:
Do NOT panic. It going blow over.
ESSIE:
Marcus WHAT IS THIS??
MARCUS:
Foolishness. People bored. Go sleep.
Before she could even put the phone down—
Another notification appeared.
Vanessa Rolle posted to her story.
Essie hesitated.
Clicked.
It was the viral clip — Alex staring, Essie circled in red.
Vanessa's caption screamed in all caps:
"WHO SHE IS????"
Essie felt her blood run cold.