During our royal engagement broadcast, Arthur abandoned me to catch the swooning commoner, Clara. Instead of crowning me, my fiancé whispered a cold command, ordering me to surrender my billion-dollar trust fund to her for royal charity. I smiled, signed a legal declaration voluntarily renouncing my title on camera, and walked away. To escape his absolute control, I faked my death in an asylum fire. My price was permanent: I destroyed my real identity, forever exiled from the civilized homeland. When MI6 restored a secret recording proving Clara intentionally smashed the national treasure, a frantic Arthur tracked me to a lawless warzone. He expected me to beg for his pardon, but instead found me beside a black-market arms dealer, aiming my g*n directly at his head.