It was while she contemplated the prince's next move that her doorbell rang.
This was followed by frantic knocking.
"Ms. Jen! Ms. Jen!"
Jennifer froze. The last time a boy idol group banged on her apartment door, there had been werewolves fighting in her lobby. Not that she wanted a repeat of that.
She opened the door to five bright, handsome, expectant faces.
"Ms. Jen, you'd never believe it!" the redhead yelled, even though he was literally right in front of her.
Jennifer winced at the loudness and brightness of the voice. "Are the wolves fighting again?" she hazarded. If it were, these boys were enjoying it way too much.
"No, no! A horse!" one teen tried to explain.
"A white horse!" another shouted, practically bouncing from the back.
The boys were so excited they were talking over each other.
"And it—uh—it pooped."
Jennifer blinked. It almost sounded like there was a white horse in her lobby.
Before she could think better of it, she found herself going down the stairs, surrounded by oversized kindergarteners with cool haircuts and way too many accessories. They chattered like they were about to witness history.
And then she saw it.
A mirage of a white horse, majestic and absurd, standing in the middle of the lobby. Except the mirage had pooped—a very smelly, impressive one.
There was what appeared to be a golden-haired fairy prince holding its rein. He looked regally displeased, though his true frustration was not the poop so much as the men in his path.
Adrian was standing nearby, arms crossed, looking perfectly nonchalant.
(What was he doing here?)
The new werewolf warrior—Jennifer still wasn't sure if he was a doorman, bodyguard, or urban legend—was blocking the lift. He sniffed, growled low in his throat, and stared down the fairy prince like he had just trespassed into sacred territory.
"I demand to see your landlady!" the fairy prince protested, his voice clipped and cold. Now this was a prince well-versed in talking down to those clearly below his status.
Jennifer pinched the bridge of her nose. It wasn't like she could pretend not to know him. It was unbelievable. There was no way she could explain it. She wasn't even going to try.
"I'm glad you're here, Jen," Adrian murmured as he took her side. "The boys don't have time for this. They have an early shoot tomorrow."
She could feel his breath hot on her neck. Keep breathing, girl. Her own breath hitched. Why did every time he came near feel like a heated scene from a romance novel?
Jennifer swallowed.
"Oh. My. God." The teens were gawking, whispering among themselves, "This is… unreal."
But they were talking about the horse, not Adrian.
One of them—Jennifer didn't even know who—was live-streaming.
"Go, Ms. Jen!" the redhead cheered.
What was she supposed to do? Then she remembered—she was the landlady. So it was probably her job to do something.
She stepped forward, putting distance between herself and Adrian, allowing her brain to regain functionality.
Actually, Jennifer had never trained to be a landlady, but she was a very good kindergarten teacher. Most of that was just teaching common sense to little humans who needed life experience to grow.
So first things first.
"Prince Angus, please leave your horse outside."
The fairy prince turned imperiously to face her. He was very young. Jennifer realized that if he was at the age of Chapter 58, then he was eighteen.
"Who are you? Do you know my godmother?"
Jennifer remembered immediately. "Your fairy godmother?"
Yes, of course he had one of those.
But the young man laughed. "Of course not. There's no such thing. But now I know you must know her, because she is the only person who would claim to be one."
"Maybe she really is!" Jennifer argued.
"Then you're as mad as she is," the golden-haired prince decided.
Jennifer shrugged. She couldn't deny it. And it wasn't like she could argue further—not that she needed to. After all, she had written this webnovel herself.
The fairy godmother had appeared to Prince Angus, and when he asked, "Who are you?" she had answered, "I am your fairy godmother."
Word for word. Jennifer typed those words herself.
And here she was in the middle of her lobby, talking to a golden-haired prince she had named after a type of beef.
"I'm probably madder," Jennifer admitted honestly. At least that was the only logical explanation of the things that had been happening in her life.
The prince heard the words as confirmation though. He nodded and produced a folded letter.
"Then I will trust you can handle this."