My Dark Prince: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Dark Prince Road)

What a shit show.

It dawned on me that my friends were as reliable as one-ply toilet paper. Sure, I trusted them to get me to the hospital during a heart attack. Or bulk up my investment portfolio enough to make the IRS weep.

But I should never have trusted them with Briar – and certainly not when that trust required them to be something they would never be. Normal.

The second I shoved the five of them out of the foyer and onto my driveway, I slammed the door shut, not bothering with the lock. Frankie had, indeed, broken it. Fabulous. My paranoid housemate would kill me if someone waltzed into the house, charged up the stairs, and discovered him moping in the south wing.

“Oliver.”

“So tired.” I yawned, slurring my words, my back still to Briar. “We should sleep early.”

“Why is Sebastian backpacking across Europe?”

“Asia, actually.” I made a show of swaying on our trip to the master bedroom. “Bali, as of two days ago.”

“He should be at the Olympics.”

“Baby, those only happen every four years.”

“I’m serious.” Briar panted, unable to keep up with my purposefully long steps. “What do your parents say about this?”

“Nothing. They love him. He’s the Password Child.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means his name is their password for everything.” I swung open the bedroom door and plopped onto the bed, kicking my shoes off and flinging them wherever gravity sent them. “It’s a miracle their bank accounts haven’t been drained by hackers, really.”

“You’re keeping something from me.”

I am.

Once a bastard, always a bastard.

Instead of answering, I snored loud, groaning in my fake-sleep. She huffed out her frustration and charged away. A minute later, I heard the pitter-patter of the showerhead. By the time she tucked herself into bed and fell asleep, I remained wide awake.noveldrama

The truth was, I wanted to tell her.

I wanted to tell her everything. About my housemate. About my brother. About that night fifteen years ago. About why I’d failed her.

But I couldn’t.

I’d made a promise, and I’d destroyed enough lives already.

As usual, I struggled to find sleep.

I flicked on the noise machine my therapist had gifted me, counted sheep, played footsies with a sleeping Briar, and whistled “The Sleeping Beauty.”

Hours later, sleep settled into my bones, but I knew she would bring with her a nightmare.

She always did.