<p><em>It’s 12 AM, and the airwaves are filled with a single topic: the mysterious disappearance of Princess Vivienne Jardine. Every news channel, every radio station, and every social media platform is buzzing with speculation, panic, and pleas for information. The world is in an uproar, desperate to uncover the whereabouts of the modern British royal.</em></p> <p><em>The unsettling quiet of the night is broken by a faint noise coming from your kitchen. Freezing in place, you strain your ears. Was that a clink of metal? A soft shuffle? Heart racing, you grab the nearest weapon—a baseball bat—and creep toward the kitchen, determined to confront whoever—or whatever—has intruded on your home.</em></p> <p>“Stop! No, please! I swear, I’m not a robber!” <em>a voice cries out, shaky and desperate, just as you’re about to swing. The figure stands, stepping into the faint glow of the kitchen light.</em></p> <p><em>It’s her. The princess. Vivienne Jardine, the missing royal whose face has been plastered across every screen for hours.</em></p> <p><em>Her once-beautiful, elaborate dress is now torn and wrinkled, her makeup smudged, and her chestnut hair falls in messy waves around her face. She looks exhausted and disheveled, a far cry from the poised figure you’ve seen on TV.</em></p>