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

Sebastian disappeared.

As soon as Briar left, I went to check on him. The shock at finding all his rooms empty had me reaching for my phone to dial 9-1-1. I stopped myself. Just barely.

Sure, panicking at a missing thirty-two-year-old man could be considered ridiculous. But he was also a thirty-two-year-old man who never left the fucking house.

I ripped through his shit, stalking the corridors like a demon, up and down, inside and out, trying to find him.

Nothing.

I kicked my guests out without bothering to conjure a reason, then stomped my way to the security room to check if he’d left. He had. In the Fiat the staff sometimes used to run errands.

I tried calling. Straight to voicemail.

When all else failed, I treated myself to an overdue mental breakdown, snatched up the rest of my whiskey, and ventured onto the porch to drown my sorrows in booze.

A total fucking cliché, I know. Boots on the wraparound railing, Macallan straight from the bottle. Just me and the night.

But I had never been a stranger to clichés. After all, I marketed myself as the empty-headed playboy to sail through life.

Trio and Geezer’s paws tapped the wooden deck beneath my seat, announcing their arrival.

“Yeah, that’s right.” I shot them a glance, lifting the bottle. “Daddy’s a fuck up. Hey, at least you’re rich and have money for therapy.”

I drank to drown my misery, hoping each sip would bring me closer to forgetting my reality, but it only served as a magnifying glass, thrusting me closer to the truth.

I ruined my brother’s life. I stole his chance at happiness.

Because of me, he was a dead man walking.

The only woman I’d ever loved humiliated me tonight, then proceeded to leave me, but not before making it clear how much she loathed me.

My friends went along with my bullshit story about undergoing a lobotomy because they had their own fucked-up shit going on at the time. They just accepted my personality change – as a complete and utter buffoon who only cared about chasing skirts and partying – in stride. Even as I tried to stitch together some semblance of a life, I refused to show them I possessed any redeeming qualities – that I worked, that I cared for my brother, that I cared, period – because it would make them try to fix me.

And I didn’t deserve happiness.

I deserved to atone for everything I’d done.

“You smell like Jim Beam came in your mouth.” Sebastian flung open the double doors and sauntered outside, plucking the bottle from between my fingers. “Easy there. If you fuck up your kidneys, you won’t be able to donate one to me.”

I didn’t answer.

To be honest, there was a high chance I’d hallucinated him.

“What do we have here?” Fake Seb descended the three steps down the backyard, emptying the rest of the bottle on the grass. “The royal fuckup, Duke von Bitch Ass, is drinking himself into oblivion? Don’t you think you’re a little old for this kind of shit?”

“I’m never too old to be a trainwreck.” My lips twisted around a question with a furious snarl. “Where have you been?”

I was fed up. Fed up with catering to him. With trying to appease him. With begging him to get better.

I’d tried everything.

Right after the accident, I moved from my Harvard dorm to a house off campus. I only got a year of the college experience. The rest of them, I’d spent nursing Sebastian back to health in between classes.

Our entire adult lives, all I did was try to help him.

When I graduated undergrad, I thought maybe if we moved somewhere else, somewhere no one knew us, it’d be easier for him to open up. I got into a master’s program at Cambridge and brought him to England with me. We rented a house in the countryside, far away from civilization. Sebastian enjoyed the outdoors, but he still refused to meet people.

After those two years, I returned home to Dark Prince Road and dragged him with me, kicking and screaming. He wanted to stay in England. To live on his own. To have someone deliver food and supplies to his door and never have a single human interaction for the rest of his life.

I wouldn’t have it.

I insisted he join me.

I was so desperate to save him, I forgot to save myself.

Sebastian ended up resenting me, not only for his tarnished face, but also for dragging him out of England, the only place he managed to tolerate.

It didn’t help that I occasionally threw wild parties in the guest house, just to tempt him with the proximity of people. Maybe convince him to relive his favorite pastime.

Sebastian didn’t answer my question. Instead, he squinted at the lake, gathering a handful of rocks and feeling for the smoothest, flattest one with his thumb before hurling it. It skipped across the water a few times.

I shot up. “I almost lost my fucking mind.” Rage ignited inside of me, spreading across my limbs and chest like a network of tumors.

Seb chuckled, his back to me. “Please. You never had it to begin with.”

“You haven’t left the house in a decade. Not since we got back from Cambridge.” I took the three stairs down, advancing toward him. “Where did you go?”

“We ran out of milk.” Sebastian swung his elbow backward, throwing another rock. It danced across the water in the dark.

“Be serious.” I grabbed his shoulder and swiveled him to me, getting in his face. “Where the fuck were you?”

Sebastian laughed, shoving me away with force. “Fuck off, Ollie. It’s not me you’re mad at. It’s yourself for losing her again. Ever heard of the word accountability?”

He wasn’t wrong, but it felt good to be mad at him. To show him an emotion that wasn’t pity. More than anything – it felt good to roughen each other up a little. We used to throw fists well past our adolescence.

This was how the accident happened.

This was a glimpse of the old us.

“Tell me where you were,” I demanded. No, pleaded.

What made him get out of the house? What made him take that risk? I was desperate to know so I could dangle it in front of him. Use it to help him.

Seb laughed, fisting the collar of my shirt. “Believe it or not – pussy.”

He yanked me toward him, then tossed me on the grass. I let myself fall, knowing he’d get on his knees to try to punch me. When he did, I grabbed his elbow and pounded him beneath me, pinning him to the grass.

“To desire pussy, you need to not be one,” I taunted, seething. “And you are too much of a scaredy cat to get out in the world.”

He threw a sucker punch straight to my jaw, making me bite my tongue. It drew blood. The alcohol in my system blurred out the pain. I punched his good cheek, lolling his head back on the grass with a thump.

“Look who’s talking. At least I’m not still hung up on the girl I dated before my balls dropped.” Seb full-on cackled now, despite his bleeding lip. It was the first time I’d seen him laugh – really laugh – in almost fifteen years. “It’s not romantic, Oliver. It’s sad.”

We rolled on the grass, punching each other in the chest, arms, stomach. Finally, we reached the edge of the lake. I was pinned beneath him, my hair touching the freezing water. We both panted hard. His face was so close to mine, I could feel his hot breath shooting down my nose and cheeks.

“You know, brother, I could kill you right now.” He gripped my shirt just beneath the collar. “Dunk that untarnished head of yours in the water and never let you out.”

He could. We were certainly at the right angle for it.

I swallowed hard but didn’t say a word. It would be ironic if I died the way Sebastian was supposed to lose his life before I saved him.

“The police would deem it an accident,” he continued, pinning my arms to my side with his incredible strength. “High levels of alcohol in your blood. Mistakes happen. Especially to rich playboys who can’t handle their drinks.”

“Do it,” I said, resolute.

I meant it, too.

A life where everyone I cared about loathed me was not a life at all. Sleep was a rehearsal for death. And I fucking loved sleeping.

Would not waking up be so bad?

“You’ve been wanting to for a while now,” I sneered.

I saw the way Seb looked at me whenever we spent time together. He craved my pain. Why else would he ask me to dump Briar? It would be an honor to finally grant it to him.

Sebastian closed his eyes, breathing the night in. “I should. I really should.”

“I’m not going to stop you.”

My upper body slid deeper into the water. It covered my entire forehead now. I wondered if he did it deliberately or if he was so focused on his own pain that he didn’t notice me slipping.

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the end.

“Actually …” His voice turned metallic, and just like that, he rose to his feet, tugging me up with him. “I think it will hurt you much more if I keep you alive and force you to watch my face day in and day out. Let the guilt consume you from the inside. It’s proved to be a great method so far.”

With that, he spun and walked away, kicking the empty whiskey bottle on his way back to the porch.

I released a shaky a breath, clutching my knees.

Before I knew it, I vomited all over the grass, crying and laughing at the same fucking time.