How to Love a Prince

TEN

Alistair

Izabelle Laurent. Of course, she always had a knack for impeccable, infuriating timing.

“I’m sorry for coming here unannounced. Did I disturb anything?” Her voice, refined and melodic, spoke as we walked towards the elevator to go to the rooftop, three floors above my space.

“No.”

The hallway was brightly lit, stark and unforgiving. Izabelle is beside me, a vision of understated elegance in a shimmering black dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her dark hair, perfectly coiffed, framed a face that was still breathtakingly beautiful, but her eyes, those dark, expressive eyes, held a profound sadness that belied her composed posture.

…I can’t fall for this again. She’s a past—much different from my present wife.

When we entered the elevator, I intended to spark no conversation, but she initiated one.

“Alistair, darling,” she murmured, her voice a low, almost wistful caress, as she stepped forward, her hand gracefully extending towards my arm. Her touch was familiar, a memory of a past I’d desperately tried to forget, carrying with it the faint scent of her signature jasmine perfume.

“Times have truly changed, huh? You want me far from your home where we used to….” She trailed off, followed by a short sigh.

I stepped back, pulling my arm away from her after letting her warmth surround me for a few moments. “Izabelle. It’s late, my wife is waiting for me.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion, a deliberate barrier to make sure she knew her place.

Her smile was soft, a melancholic curve of her lips, but a hint of something sharper flickered in her eyes. “So cold, darling.”

“Don’t call me that.” I snapped, hating how she can still use that name towards the same man whom she left on her own accord.

Taken aback by my words, she looked up, sadness with a hint of fear evident in her onyx orbs. “Is that how you greet your…oldest friend? After such a momentous occasion?”

“Oldest friend?” I scoffed, and as if on cue, the elevator doors opened, ging me space to walk out and have her follow me to the rooftop where no one can see us.

The view above us is a few stars in disarray, mirroring the chaos between us as the darkness persistently wraps the city despite the numerous lights from every open place and skyscraper.

“I heard about the wedding, Alistair. Such a surprise,” she paused, laughing softly as she walked past me to stop by the railing, her hands holding on as her bangles let out a soft click.

“I always thought we would be the ones standing at that altar.” Her words were laced with a bitter sweetness, a gentle lament that still managed to sting. “When I was watching the wedding on my phone, I felt,” speechless, she just laughed humorlessly as she faced me with her usual kind charms.

“Our time is long past, Izabelle,” I stated, my gaze unwavering. “There is nothing left to discuss between us, so if that’s all you wanted to say, then this talk’s over.”

She sighed, a soft, almost imperceptible sound that seemed to carry the weight of old regrets. “Oh, but there is, Alistair. There’s always something. Especially when you make such… unexpected choices.”

“What?”

Her eyes narrowed, their sadness deepening into a more pointed scrutiny. “After everything we built, everything we planned… you chose her? Someone so… unknown?” The question was framed with a delicate disbelief, a subtle jab rather than outright disdain, as if she genuinely couldn’t comprehend my decision.

My jaw clenched. Her casual dismissal of Roselia, her subtle questioning of my judgment, ignited a flicker of unexpected anger within me. Roselia might be a pawn, a means to an end, but she was my pawn.

“Roselia is my wife,” I said, my voice dangerously low, a warning note in its depths. “And she is hardly ‘unknown’ now.”

Izabelle’s eyes widened and she hid her left hand behind her back—a habit she has whenever she is holding back herself to say or do something. “What exactly are you trying to achieve with a marriage like that?” Her gaze was piercing, trying to strip away my composure, to find the cracks in my carefully constructed facade.

“If this isn’t because of us, then you got married because of them, didn’t you?” She knew me too well, knew how to push my buttons, how to find the hidden vulnerabilities, even cloaked in sorrow.

“My marriage is my business, Izabelle,” I retorted, my voice barely above a whisper, but laced with a threat that was unmistakable. “And I suggest you keep your counsel to yourself. Your presence here is unwelcome and I’m just tolerating you for the sake of what we used to be.”

She took a step closer, her eyes glittering with unshed tears, yet a dangerous amusement still dancing within them. “This world is a dangerous place for innocents, darling. You told me that yourself.” She gently reached out to hold my hand, but I pulled away before she could ever reach.

Hurt, she flinched and stepped back, trying to keep herself calm by smiling. “Especially those who stumble into the wrong family’s secrets. I am worried for her, Alistair.”

“Unless, of course, she’s not so innocent after all. For example,” she paused, tilting her head as she continued—another habit she have whenever she is trying to prove her point. “She’s playing a game of her own.”

“Stay away from my wife, Izabelle.” I growled, my hands clenching at my sides, fighting the urge to use them irrationally.

She offered a soft, melancholic laugh. “This is the second time now that you’ve gotten this angry at me.” She tucked a few locks of her hair at the back of her ear, showing her signature diamond earrings—she was wearing those too when we broke up.

How ironic.

“If I have already answered all your questions, then we can end this stupid little talk.” I bit out, my voice tight with suppressed rage.

“This isn’t just small talk, darling, I can tell.” she murmured, her voice soft, almost sympathetic, yet her smile widened. “And I’m going to find out what drove you to this, Alistair, and when I do…”

Her eyes gleamed with a cold, determined resolve. “I will happily watch you come crawling back to me.”

The sheer audacity, the unshakeable confidence in her threat, made my blood boil. I took a step forward, my hand instinctively reaching out, wanting to silence her, to physically remove her from my life, to wipe that knowing, sorrowful smile from her face.

“You will regret this, Izabelle,” I snarled, my voice barely recognizable, stripped bare of all pretense.

Just as the tension reached its breaking point, a soft click echoed from behind me, followed by a voice that oddly soothed all my nerves.

“Darling? Hello? Are you here?”

I turned around and saw her looking for us with her phone’s flashlight.

“I’m over here, wife,” I called her attention, making her phone turn to us, smiling gently as she walked over. Roselia came at the right timing—10 minutes flew by fast, huh?

Before she could reach us, I met her midway and pulled her by her waist, kissing her forehead. “Let’s go?”

“But, your friend is-” she stopped to look at Izabelle behind me, and then back at me. With a smile, she nodded and followed my lead.

When we left Izabelle on the rooftop, it gave me an unsettling feeling—Damian Deveraux came to the gala, and now she came here. They came on the same day, targeting the same woman…how fascinating.