10 MINUTES AGO — A NATION BREAKS AS CHARLES SPENCER ANNOUNCES HEART-SHREDDING NEWS ON DIANA’S ANNIVERSARY

London had already been steeped in sorrow as the 28th anniversary of Princess Diana’s passing drew to a close. Candles glowed along the palace gates, their flames flickering in the cold evening wind. Mourning crowds stood in silence, holding photographs, flowers, and handwritten letters. The air felt heavy—too still, too expectant.

Then, without warning, the palace bells tolled.

Once.
Twice.
A third time.

A sound reserved only for tragedies of the deepest magnitude.

Moments later, white mourning flags were raised above Buckingham Palace, their solemn fabric fluttering against a sky that had grown unnaturally dim. The courtyard lights were extinguished. Even the guards stood motionless, their normally unwavering composure cracking at the edges.

At exactly 7:58 p.m., a familiar figure stepped out into the palace courtyard.

Charles Spencer, brother of the “People’s Princess,” appeared pale, dazed, and trembling as he approached the podium draped in black velvet. His eyes were red, his breath uneven. The crowd gasped. He was not meant to speak tonight—not during Diana’s memorial, not at this quiet hour.

Something terrible had happened.

He gripped the sides of the podium, swallowed hard, and attempted to steady his voice.

“I… I come before you tonight with news no family should face,” he said, his voice cracking on every syllable. “Especially not on this night… not on Diana’s night…”

His words dissolved into a sudden rush of tears. Cameras shook as reporters struggled to remain composed. Someone in the crowd fainted; another began to sob openly.

Inside the palace, the scene was even more devastating.

Prince William stood frozen in the Great Hall, hands shaking, his face ashen as he stared at the emergency briefing in front of him. Kate held tightly onto his arm, whispering, “William… breathe… please breathe…”

But he couldn’t.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven bursts. The walls around him seemed to close in, muffling the cries of palace staff, the footsteps of panicked advisors, the frantic alarms echoing through the corridors.

And then—
William’s voice tore through the silence, raw and anguished:

“Oh God… Camilla has—”

He broke off, staggering backward as if struck.

Kate caught him, pulling him into her arms as his body trembled. “Don’t say it… please don’t say it…” she whispered desperately, but William could not look away from the sealed report shaking in his hand.

Behind him, Prince Harry, who had just arrived from overseas, stood rigid, jaw clenched, eyes glistening with grief he could barely hide. He turned away, pressing his palms against his face as tears spilled onto the marble floor.

Charles Spencer’s trembling voice continued over the palace broadcast system, echoing through every hallway, every chamber:

“Tonight… tragedy has struck us again. A shadow has fallen on this family… one we are not prepared to face.”

The palace physicians stood together in a tight group, heads bowed. Courtiers exchanged looks of horror. A royal footman quietly dimmed the hallway lanterns until only candlelight remained.

The entire palace felt swallowed by dusk, as if the sun itself had refused to shine.

Finally, Charles Spencer forced out the unfinished announcement that sent shockwaves through the entire nation:

“…Camilla has…”

The transmission cut instantly—
the screens faded to black,
the courtyard lights died,
and darkness swallowed Buckingham whole.

No further details.
No explanations.
Only the echo of that last unfinished sentence drifting across London like a ghost.