How to Love a Prince

FIVE

Roselia

Today, with everything that happened, we ended this play with a sweet declaration that we will be having our ‘honeymoon’ along the beautiful beach somewhere North—but in reality, Alistair just drove his sleek car off that direction for some snaps and shots before detouring and rerouting to go to his penthouse.

“You can go to any room here but mine, Perignon.”

With that warning, her left me in his spacious home, alone with all my thoughts and questions that will only remain unspoken for a long while.

It was past midnight, hours after the grand illusion of our wedding had dissolved into private cars and hushed goodbyes. Yet, sleep felt like a distant, impossible luxury.

“This feels too odd to be real, too haunting to be a dream, and too gentle to be a nightmare,” I mumbled to myself like some retard poet. “What even is this situation I am in?”

I ran a hand through my hair, dragging it back from my face. Ever since I was left alone with my thoughts, my head began throbbing like cr*azy.

I hugged my arms, a familiar gesture of self-comfort, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The city sprawled beneath me, vibrant and alive, oblivious to the desperate little charade playing out high above its streets.

This place definitely feels…

“Like a different world,” I sighed, remembering my cramped, trashed apartment, the smell of stale beer from my stepfather, the constant fear of the loan sharks knocking.

Suddenly, a, jarring vibration ripped through the silence, making me jump. My old model phone buzzed angrily on the bedside table.

“Who could this be?” I mumbled as I picked up my phone.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

A cold dread seeped into my bones, instantly overshadowing all other anxieties. IThere are a lot of possibilities running in my head—loans sharks? But I’ve paid with Alistair’s money. De*th threats from fans? Stalkers? Haters?

Before I could formulate an answer, I swiped the answer button.

“What do you want?” My voice was sharp, laced with a bitterness I hadn’t known I possessed until now.

“Rosie? Is that you, my little Rosie?”

Copld water splashed all over me. Father. He always used that sickeningly sweet nickname when he wanted something.

“Your old man needs a little help. Just a little bit of cash, little Rosie.” He spoke, a little slurry accompanied with the sound of clinking glass. “I saw the news, Rosie that you tied the knot with some big shot, huh? Alistair Deveraux, was it? Fancy that. My little girl, marrying a superstar. Must be rolling in money now, eh?”

My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. “You think you can just call me in the middle of the night, after leaving me with everything, and ask for money? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through because of you? My home trashed, my life turned upside down, married to a stranger just to pay off your debts!”

A choked, pathetic sob came from his end. “Rosie, please. Don’t talk to your father like that. I’m family. Family helps family, right? Just a few thousands. I’ll pay you back. I swear it.”

Family helps family. The words were a cruel mockery. He had never helped me. He had only ever taken. He had left me to drown while he swam away. The sheer audacity, the unmitigated gall of him, sent a fresh wave of nausea through me.

“I don’t have a few thousands,” I lied, though the truth was I was now married to a man who likely had billions. But not a single cent of that was mine, and even if it were, I wouldn’t give it to him.

“And even if I did, why would I give it to you? You left me for de*d!” My voice cracked, betraying the raw pain beneath the anger.

“Don’t be like that, Rosie,” he whined, his tone shifting to manipulative coaxing. “I’m your father. You owe me. Everything you have, I gave you. Remember all the sacrifices I made? The sacrifices for your… future?”

A cold, hard laugh escaped me. “Sacrifices? You mean abandoning me to a loan shark because you gambled away everything for your selective family? Is that the sacrifice you’re talking about? There is no ‘us’ anymore. You made sure of that when you walked away.” My voice was trembling, but I forced it to remain steady, filled with an unwavering resolve. This was it. This was the final cut.

“Rosie! How dare you talk to me like I’m-”

He began to bluster, to threaten, his words dissolving into an incoherent alcoholic rant. I listened for a few more seconds, letting the ugliness wash over me, cauterizing the last remaining threads of filial loyalty.

Then, with a decisive click, I ended the call.

The silence that descended was heavy, suffocating. My hand was still shaking as I lowered the phone, the screen now dark.

The rage was still there, a burning ember in my chest, but beneath it, a profound sadness settled. He would never change. And I would always be the one left to clean up his messes, or at least, be the one who had to fight her way out of them.

A soft click echoed from the doorway. I spun around, my heart leaping, my carefully constructed emotional walls threatening to crumble.

Alistair stood there, framed by the doorway leading to the living area. He was no longer in his pristine white suit. He wore dark silk pajamas, the fabric clinging to his sculpted frame, and his dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running a hand through it.

“Ah, hello.” I absentmindedly spoke, still feeling overwhelmed.

His gaze drifted to my phone still clutched in my hand, then back to my face, where I knew the remnants of my raw emotion were starkly visible. He said nothing, simply watched me, his expression unreadable as ever, yet strangely... present.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions. I wanted to tell him to leave, to give me my privacy, but the words wouldn’t come.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low, a soft rumble in the vast silence of the penthouse. “Can’t sleep?”

“Uh huh,”I managed to whisper, avoiding his gaze, ashamed of the tears that still pricked at my eyes.

He didn't press for details, didn't offer empty platitudes. Instead, he simply pushed off the doorframe, his gaze still fixed on me. He walked slowly towards the sprawling floor-to-ceiling windows, stopping beside me. He looked out at the city lights, the same indifferent panorama I had just been staring at.

Then, without looking at me, he extended his hand, offering a small, dark blue pill.

"Take this," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "It helps."

I stared at the pill, then at his hand, then back at the city lights. It was a strange, unexpected gesture. No questions, no pity, just a practical solution.

After taking the pill, I grimaced at the bitterness of it. “…Thanks.”

It wasn’t comfort, but it was… something.