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

Age eighteen.

The first thing I lost was my Harvard acceptance.

“We cannot afford it,” my mother announced one evening, not bothering to glance up from the Caprese salad she was making. “It’s simply impossible.”

It would be just my luck that my parents had finally managed to make it to Lake Geneva, only to crush my hopes and dreams.

She stacked basil leaves over tomatoes and fresh slices of mozzarella.

I drizzled olive oil all over. “What do you mean, we can’t afford it?”

I already knew they couldn’t afford much of the accommodations and living arrangements. Two years ago, Dad got sacked from his job for embezzlement and sank his savings into legal fees to fight his victims that sued him. Luckily, Surval Montreux had offered me scholarships.

But for college, I thought I at least had tuition covered.

“Exactly what I said.” My mother slammed a drawer shut with her hip, waltzing over to the wine fridge and yanking a bottle of white by its neck. “The senator’s summer house was a last-ditch effort to get some financing going on, but he’s bed-ridden with some sort of illness. He wouldn’t even greet us. So rude.”

“But I’ve already been accepted.”

Dad stole to cover his gambling problem. That was why he hopped from one country to the next. Apparently, casinos all over the world had blacklisted him for his poor behavior whenever he lost.

“We have no money.” She poured herself a generous glass, gesturing around us. “In fact, we’re going to have to sell this summerhouse, too.”

At her words, I tried not to keel over.

All my memories with Oliver – lost.

I’d met him for the first time in this very house. Told him I loved him on the steps near the swings. Promised to marry him upstairs on the balcony.

Keep it together, Briar Rose. School is more important. Oliver would tell you that, too.

I turned to my mother, planting a hand on my hip. “This is huge for me, Mom.”

The word mom felt wrong in my mouth whenever I said it, but I still did, hoping if I used it enough times, it would start to feel true.

She pushed her hair back, screwing her mouth at the taste of the wine. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Well, I guess I can take out some loans …”

“You have no credit,” she pointed out, almost teasing. “And hell knows our credit is awful these days.”

“Mom.” I gasped. “I can’t give up Harvard. It’s my dream.”

Well, being next to Oliver was my dream. Harvard was just a bonus.

“Go get a scholarship or something.”

“It’s too late to apply.”

“What do you want me to say?” She banged her fist on the counter. “Go to another school, then.”

“I want Harvard.”

“And I want a husband who won’t lose all our money in the casino, sweetie. Mick Jagger wasn’t kidding when he said you can’t always get what you want.”

This was what she had to say to me?

I couldn’t believe it, and yet, I found it completely on brand.

Fine. Whatever. I wouldn’t be able to change her mind – or his.

I ran up to my room, yanked my phone from its charger, and called Ollie. He would know what to do. Maybe he could even give me a loan. I would pay him back, of course. Every last penny.

As the phone rung, I threw myself on my futon and sniffled, brushing my tears away from my cheeks.

Three rings. Four rings. Five rings.

I glanced at the time. It was early on the East Coast. Why wasn’t he answering? Oliver always answered. Even if it was just to tell me he’d call me back in an hour or two. He’d done that a lot in the two weeks since Paris. With his hectic internship schedule, he showed up with dark bags under his eyes whenever we FaceTimed.

I killed the call and shot him a text to get back to me. Then, I propped my head against the backrest and scrolled through Ollie’s Instagram. The sight of his face always soothed me. We didn’t post pictures together online. I was extremely private, and Ollie was … well, not.

I noticed a new picture I hadn’t seen before, of him and Seb at a steakhouse, clinking iced tea glasses and grinning at the camera. I immediately liked it and began to scroll further when I noticed a comment from someone I didn’t recognize.

LindseyBorneXO: LOOKING HOT OLLIE.

My heart skipped a beat. I ran the pad of my finger down the screen and found another comment from her on a picture of Oliver, alone, sunbathing by the lake.

LindseyBorneXO: When are you inviting me to the lake house??? DM’d you something naughty …

Swallowing hard, I clicked on her profile and gasped.

He liked her bikini pic.

He liked her bikini pic.

It felt like passing a car crash. Sirens, and scraps of metal, and blood, and I couldn’t look away.

Don’t freak out. It’s Oliver. Maybe it was an accident.

Nope. He liked all her half-naked Cancun Spring Break pictures. All thirty of them in a row. And the comments. The comments. They burned right into my retinas. I could never unsee them.

OlivervonBismarck: JFC you are hottttttttt

OlivervonBismarck: Beer, bikini, and BBQ? Say less.

OlivervonBismarck: So, when are you coming over so I can show you a good time?

I’d never had doubts when it came to Ollie’s faithfulness … until now.

My cheeks flamed. The tips of my ears burned. I called him again. No answer. Then again. And again. I told myself there was a perfectly good explanation for this – the comments, the flirting, the lack of communication – and forced myself to hide my phone and go for a walk.

But when I returned, he still didn’t answer.

So, I lost it.

I wasn’t proud of my next move. I was usually a poised, well-behaved girl. Not right now. I wrote him a chain of scathing text messages.

Briar Rose: You aren’t answering, and I’m not sure why, but honestly, your behavior is uncalled for.

Briar Rose: You are publicly flirting with another girl, while I’m sitting here planning our entire future together. What the hell, Oliver?

Briar Rose: Call me back.

Briar Rose: HELLO?

Briar Rose: You better be dead, because any other excuse is going to fall short.

But Oliver wasn’t dead.

I found out four days later when he posted a picture on his Instagram, of him and Sebastian grinning from ear to ear with the caption: Little bro moving to India. Alavida, motherfucker!

Ollie hadn’t returned any of my calls and texts. Yet, he found time to post this.

I studied every pixel in the picture. He seemed happy. Carefree. Tanned and smiling ear-to-ear. How could he disappear on me and go on with his life?

The rest of the summer deteriorated at an alarming pace. My deadline to pay the Harvard tuition came and went. I tried to secure a private student loan, but I lacked a credit history, and my parents refused to cosign.

Harvard was officially off the table.noveldrama

I might have been more upset about it if I weren’t so laser focused on the fact that Oliver dumped me without a word. He hadn’t updated his social media since that airport post with Sebastian, but that didn’t stop me from obsessively checking a few times a day.

Jason’s embezzlement trial would begin in Argentina soon, so he and my mother flew there. They sold the summer house in Geneva, and when I’d begged for them to let me tag along, my mother had huffed, slapping her thigh.

“Briar Rose, you are eighteen. Way too old to hide behind your mother’s skirt. We can barely afford our own tickets. We’re flying economy, for goodness’ sake.”

They left me behind, without as much as an offhanded good luck. Left me broken, broke, and terrified. I was all alone in the world.

I spent the first couple days couch surfing at an old tutor’s house before renting out a studio apartment in Zurich. I figured I could work there for a year, save up some money, and go to college in America.

Since real estate in Zurich was outrageously expensive, I managed to get a discount by taking a side-job cleaning the entire four-story building and penthouse basement once a week. On top of that, I got a job as a barista at a small café on Bahnhofstrasse and busted tables at a gentleman’s club over the weekend.

I worked, and I worked, and then I worked some more, trying to push away Ollie’s betrayal. But the more I thought about how we parted ways – without a breakup conversation, without a valid reason, without a proper goodbye – the more I started to resent him.

He knew my situation.

He took my virginity and bailed to America, leaving me without clothing to go home in.

The boy I gave my heart and soul to turned out to be nothing but a hedonistic bastard.

And yet, there was still a tiny, idiotic sliver of hope inside me that there was a good explanation for all of this. That Ollie wasn’t really the bad guy.

When I wasn’t working, I applied to scholarships and grants. Since I had good grades and plenty of recommendation letters, I managed to get a full ride at Baylor.

The first time I read the acceptance letter, I felt nothing but emptiness. I’d read it in my kitchenette, which was also my bedroom, bathroom, and closet. I sipped my weak tea – the filth I made with a reused teabag – and nodded to myself.

I’d come to terms with the fact that I would never be happy and fulfilled.

So, I settled for surviving.