Felicity's POV.
Later That Night,
After brunch, I hugged Penelope goodbye and walked home alone, my thoughts a chaotic mess.
Too many feelings. Too many questions.
I didn't want to be around anyone—not Alex. Not Penelope. And especially not Chris.
Was Alex really into me?
Did I want him to be?
Why did Chris look at me like that?
And then it hit me—
If Penelope is Christopher's sister… then that makes him a prince.
A real, honest prince.
My head spun.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted—emotionally wrung out and still clutching that stupid flower Alex gave me. I barely had time to shut the door when—
Bang. Bang.
A knock.
I opened it—and froze.
Chris stood there.
Before I could even speak, he stepped inside like a storm. No hesitation. No words.
He grabbed my hand, tugged me in, and shut the door behind us with a quiet, controlled thud. His body pressed close—backing me into the wall. Not aggressive, but intense. Burning.
His hand braced above my head. The other held my wrist tightly.
His eyes were wild. Unhinged. Hair messy. Jaw tight.
"Chris?" I whispered.
"You're mine," he said in a voice that burned low and fierce. "And there's nothing Alex can do about it."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Chris—what are you doing?" I whispered. "Let me go. What's gotten into you?"
His grip didn't loosen. His stare burned straight through me—rage, jealousy… and something else. Desire. Raw, aching, reckless.
"Why won't you love me back?" His voice cracked. "What do I have to do? Just tell me. Please. What does he have that I don't?"
My breath caught in my throat.
I didn't know what to say. Because deep down, I think I'm falling in love with him. But I couldn't admit it—not yet. Not when everything between us was so tangled in secrets and silence.
"This isn't you," I whispered, trembling. "You don't get to show up and claim me like I'm some prize."
His jaw clenched. "I never stopped wanting you. I messed up, but don't punish me by letting him in. I'm in love with you, Felicity. It's driving me insane."
He exhaled sharply, his voice raw. "I see you smiling at him, holding his flower, and all I can think is—that should've been me. I should've been the one making you smile. I should've said it first. I can't breathe knowing someone else is holding your hand when I still dream about it."
I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn't come. I just stood there, breathing shallow, chest tight.
"You're hurting me," I finally whispered.
He let go of my wrist, slow and reluctant, his hand trailing down my arm in apology.
"Say something," he pleaded.
"I… I don't know what to say."
He stepped back, the pain in his eyes ripping something inside me.
"Do you have feelings for him?" he asked softly.
I looked away. "I don't know."
Silence fell.
Then—
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "But I can't watch someone else touch you. You're mine, Felicity. Whether you admit it or not. I'll prove it. One way or another."
He paused. "I'll wait. No matter how long it takes."
Then he turned and walked out.
And the second the door closed behind him, I sank to the floor.
Shaking.
My pulse was still screaming, my thoughts spinning out of control.
Because now… there were no more blurred lines.
Two men were fighting for my heart.
And mine?
Was caught between a rose…
…and fire.
But only one of them had already stolen it.
What should I do?
What's going on with Chris and Penelope? Is he really a prince? And why did he hide it from me?
What about my father? Is he a duke? A count? Why am I always the last to know anything?
My brain hurt. There was only one solution.
Sleeping meds.
Tonight, I needed a break—from everyone. Including myself.
**********
CHRISTOPHER'S POV.
I watched from the side door of the café like some ghost.
Pathetic. Silent. Seething.
A flower.
A freaking flower.
Why didn't I think of that?
She looked so happy. Genuinely surprised. Her smile was the kind that used to be just for me.
I should've been the one giving her that. I should've done everything right. But I'd been too slow. Too scared.
Not anymore.
Oxford boy with his perfect part and his designer shoes thought he could just waltz in and win her with petals and polished charm?
I tossed my apron behind the counter and ripped off my name tag. No goodbyes. No excuses.
I was done waiting.
I left the café and walked the whole way to her apartment, heart thudding like a war drum, every step fueled by rage, regret, and something primal.
When she opened that door…
Gosh, when I saw her again—flower still in her hand—I lost all sense.
It wasn't planned.
It wasn't smart.
But it was real.
Her eyes. Her scent. The way her voice trembled when she whispered my name.
And now?
Now I'm standing under a streetlamp in the dark, heart pounding in my throat, staring up at her window like some lovesick idiot from a Victorian tragedy.
I shouldn't have said all that.
I shouldn't have touched her.
But damn it—I meant every word.
"I love you, Felicity," I murmured into the wind. "Even if you never say it back. Even if it kills me."
The ache inside me is worse than anything I've ever known.
Not because she didn't love me yet.
But because…
Maybe she never will.