Amelia
Away. I have to get away from here.
That reporter. He was in the car. He’s the one who distracted Philipp so much that he lost control of the vehicle. Him!
The images suddenly appeared before my eyes, and I don’t know whether it was his sneering grin or the devious glint in his eyes.
Suddenly, I could see his face, that exact laugh. The way he raised his camera, the flash of it. It all came rushing back.
My stomach churns dangerously as I hurry through the castle’s hallways and moments later burst into our apartment.
Albert Richardson caused Philipp’s death, but I have no way to prove it. Especially now, after he’s twisted the narrative and branded me a manipulative slut in the public eye.
And Nicolas just sat there in silence.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and when I glance at it, my stomach knots even tighter. The flood of notifications from my social media feels like ice spreading through my veins.
Whore.
Such a slut, she doesn’t deserve Prince Nicolas.
I always knew she was after the crown.
It’s time someone made her leave.
She probably had something to do with Philipp’s death.
The dress Lizzy picked out for me is suddenly far too tight, suffocating me. I tear it off, let it drop to the floor without a second thought, then grab a shirt dress and an oversized dark hoodie, pulling them on in a rush.
Get out of here. Just get out.
All my senses are in flight mode. Everything feels too tight, too heavy, too much.
“Shit, Lia, I’m so sorry.”
Startled, I whirl around and my heart races even faster. I clutch my chest.
“Lizzy, damn it, don’t scare me like that,” I snap sharply, instantly regretting it. It’s not her fault. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair, I… I just… I have to get out of here. Right now.”
Lizzy steps in front of me, looking at me gently. “Where do you want to go? My car’s parked at the back entrance near the park.” She asks just that one question. She’s already prepared, and I love her for it.
“Thank you.” I throw my arms around her and hug her tightly. She’s the only real support I have left.
“That’s what I’m here for, sweetheart. So, where to?” She looks at me expectantly as I slip into my boots.
“To Phil first. Then somewhere far away. Somewhere with coffee and no people around. Anywhere but here.”
She nods and grabs my hand. Less than five minutes later, we’re in the park, heading toward the family crypt.
Lizzy gave me space, asked no questions, and waited patiently until I came to her. I appreciate that more than I can say. My mind is a complete mess, and that’s only the surface. I don’t even want to think about what’s happening inside.
We reach the crypt, and I go to the marble building, leaning against its cool wall.
I drop the bomb after several minutes of silence. “I know who caused the accident.”
“What?” Her head snaps toward me, eyes widening.
“I know who’s responsible. Albert Richardson. He was in the car that overtook us and blinded Phil with the camera flash.” A wave of grief crashes over me, and the pressure in my chest intensifies again.
He could still be alive if it weren’t for that bastard. The same bastard who’s now trying to ruin me, who wants to pin all of this on me.
My emotions spin out of control, threatening to tear me apart. I gasp for breath, desperate to escape my own skin.
Whore.
Slut.
She doesn’t deserve him.
Blows. Hundreds, thousands of blows raining down on my body. Henry. Never good enough for him.
Images and pain flood over me. Smothering me. Freezing me from the inside out. No. No.
I can’t breathe. My throat tightens. Make it stop. Please stop.
“Lia, hey, calm down. We’ll get through this.” Lizzy rubs my back gently, but I am so tired.
A scream rips from my throat, completely uncontrollable. It’s all too much. I can’t hold it in.
“It’s so unfair, so damn unfair.” My fists slam into the wall over and over. I feel the skin on my knuckles split open, the burn, the pain radiating up my hands, but I don’t care.
“Lia! Shit, stop it. Damn it,” Lizzy yells, trying to restrain me, but I fight her off. I want to get these feelings out… no, I have to, and I shove her away.
“LET. ME.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounds foreign. Completely foreign. But no matter how hard I hit the wall, the pain doesn’t go away. No, it cuts deeper and deeper, tormenting me, slashing me open.
“Fuck, Nic, stop her. Do something.” Lizzy again. I hear her, dim and distant. But all I see is Phil, pale and dead beside me.
Whore.
Slut.
I’ll kill you.
Behave.
Pull yourself together.
Words that pound through my head, slowly forcing me to my knees.
A tall body presses up against mine, pins me to the wall, grabs my wrists and holds them above my head. “Everyone. Leave. Now!” Nicolas’s deep voice cuts through the silence and the fog in my mind, making me shudder.
Not him.
No.
“Go away. Leave me alone. All of you, leave me alone.” I don’t want him here. I don’t want to feel him. I don’t want anything from him. It hurts. He hurts me.
“You can fight all you want, but I’m not going anywhere. No chance, Goldilocks,” he growls, dangerously calm, which only enrages me more.
His scent and presence overwhelm me completely. I’m electrified.
I want him. I don’t want him.
“I hate you. I hate you so much,” I hiss, and my blood boils. I want to hurt him. Want him to suffer like I am.
My breathing is ragged, and I feel his breath on my face. His eyes lock onto mine, and I drown in them, dragging him down with me. Desire, raw and unfiltered, flares there just like pain.
Suffering. I want him to suffer.
A tear runs down my cheek as he answers, “I know. Damn it, I know.” And his lips crash onto mine. Not gently. Not tenderly. No. We’re a storm, a tornado tearing everything down.
I bite his lower lip, tasting the blood as he groans. That sound ripples through me to my core, and I press myself closer against him.
He tastes like freedom, like life, and I hate it. My heart races, and though I don’t want him, I want him closer. I clutch his hair as he lets go of my hands and lifts me up. My legs wrap around his hips, and my back crashes against the wall once more.
Doesn’t matter. Closer. More.
His tongue dances with mine. He devours me, and I devour him. It hurts, and it keeps me alive.
My hips press against his, and I feel him, want to get rid of this pressure, this craving between my legs.
He feels it, his hand pulls me tighter to him so I can grind against him.
And, oh God, my body catches fire. It tingles and I moan into his mouth.
Thousands of butterflies erupt in my stomach.
At the same time, a thousand needles prick my skin, slice into it, dig beneath, and I want more. Always more.
Nic gives me what I want as his rough hand glides up my thigh. Eagerly strokes over my skin, making me tremble all over. He traces my lower lip with his tongue, and when his hand reaches its goal, he pushes my panties aside. His fingers slide over my hot, wet flesh.
A whimper escapes me, and I press into his hand. Want to extend this intoxicating feeling, this high.
More. I want more.
“Hmm, so wet for me, Goldilocks. So greedy,” he hums against my lips, catching my moans as he slides two fingers inside me. As he starts to thrust them in, slowly but deliberately.
God. It feels so good.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
My legs tighten around him, and I’m lost in a haze. “Harder. Please. I… Please,” I beg incoherently, and he chuckles softly before kissing me again. Before his thumb circles my clit, teasing it. Before he thrusts harder. I fly, I fall, I’m free.
Nic groans as I clench tightly around his fingers and climax so hard I feel dizzy.
“Fuck,” he curses hoarsely and rests his forehead against mine.
Our breaths are heavy as he slowly withdraws his fingers.
As the haze and fog begin to leave my brain.
As I feel the cold wall of the crypt against my back again.
And as the cruel reality hits like a bomb.
I let Nicolas, Prince of Harlington, finger me at his brother’s grave. My dead friend’s grave.
My stomach twists instantly as a tsunami of regret crashes over me and I feel unbearably sick. Nicolas notices the change right away and leans back slightly, his piercing gray eyes fixed on me, but I can’t meet his gaze. I turn away instead and gently but firmly push him off.
His face goes expressionless in an instant, and his eyes turn cold and hard. And it’s my fault. “So, this is the part where you tell me never to touch you like that again?” His question is fair, but it hits me like a freight train.
Wrong. All of this is wrong.
But Nicolas didn’t do anything wrong this time. I was the one who made the mistake. My hands clench into fists, and I have to stifle a hiss. My gaze drops to my knuckles, and I realize with shock how far I’ve lost control. The pressure on my chest becomes unbearable.
“I… that… no… I’m… I’m sorry,” I stammer, overwhelmed, then give in to my flight instinct. I step aside, nearly tripping over my own feet, and run. I don’t look back as tears stream endlessly down my face.