All Chapters of Tempting the Wrong Prince: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Richard’s POVFor a moment, the only sound in the room was our breathing, hers sharp and uneven, mine trembling beneath the weight of everything I’d buried.Sandra stood before me, her hair disheveled, eyes glistening with tears that refused to fall. Her hands trembled, but she didn’t back down. She never did.I’d forgotten how strong she could look when she was breaking.“Stop this, Richard!” she said, her voice shaking but still cutting through the tension like glass. “I can never be with you the way you want anymore. I said I was done.”Those words again. I’m done. They hit me harder each time.I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay composed. Pleading had failed. Reasoning had failed.“So that’s it,” I said slowly, my voice turning colder with every syllable. “You want me to become the monster you already think I am.”Her lips parted slightly, a flicker of something, fear, maybe, crossing her face.“Fine,” I said. “If that’s what it takes to bring you home, so be it.”I stepped

Cassandra’s POVThe palace loomed ahead like a wound reopened, gleaming white marble beneath a sky that felt too bright for what I carried inside. We drove through the iron gates in silence. I could hear the faint hum of the tires against the stone drive, the heavy echo of soldiers saluting, the rhythmic click of their boots. But all I felt was dread curling through me, slow and cold.Richard sat beside me, staring straight ahead. His jaw was locked, his fingers gripping his knee so tightly the veins stood out against his skin. There was fury in the way he breathed, in every shallow exhale that hissed between his teeth. He hadn’t spoken a single word since the car pulled away from Arden’s villa, and I hadn’t dared to break the silence.When the car stopped, he was out before the driver even reached the handle. I followed a few seconds later, my heels clicking against the polished floor of the entrance court. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and stone polish, the familiar scent of

Cassandra’s POVThe palace had never felt emptier. The marble floors glistened beneath the chandeliers, but the light felt cold, like moonlight on a grave.Richard’s hand was a vise around my arm as he pulled me through the corridor. His grip wasn’t cruel yet, just desperate, like a drowning man clinging to whatever he could still claim.When we entered the east wing, laughter drifted through the door. A soft, domestic sound that didn’t belong in our world.Inside, Rachel was on the carpet, surrounded by wooden toys and two of the children. Their laughter faltered when they saw us. Rachel froze, her hands tightening around a small painted horse.Richard stopped dead. His expression changed in an instant, shock, confusion, guilt, before his face hardened into something darker.Rachel swallowed. “Your Highness, I, ”“It’s not what you think, she isn’t supposed to be here,” Richard said quickly, his voice a strained whisper.I laughed. A short, bitter sound that tasted like rust on my

Richard’s POV I didn’t remember walking back to my wing. I didn’t remember the hallway, the guards standing stiff the moment they saw my expression, or the murmurs that followed when I passed. I didn’t remember the bowing faces that used to give me pride because I had been the Crown Prince, the heir, the future king.Now every bow felt like mockery. Every greeting felt like pity. Every quiet glance felt like a whisper behind my back:He couldn’t even keep his wife.By the time I reached my office, my chest felt tight enough to crush bone. I shut the door behind me and leaned on it, palms flat against the wood, trying to breathe, trying to slow the storm inside my head long enough to think. But the thoughts wouldn’t settle. They spun, sharp and relentless, slicing into me with every heartbeat.Where had it gone wrong? Truly wrong? Not the cracks, not the arguments, not the half-truths I had told myself were harmless. Not even the guilt I carried like a second skin.I meant the mo

Richard’s POVI didn’t know how long I stayed seated in that office after speaking with Sebastien.Minutes. Hours. Time stopped mattering.The night seemed to fold in on itself, wrapping around my throat like a noose. Silence settled, thick and suffocating, filling every corner of the room until it felt like I was trapped inside something dead and hollow, a grave carved out of all the things I had destroyed.Sebastien’s voice still echoed faintly in my head. The way he had sighed. The way he had spoken gently. The way he had said I can’t promise he’ll listen.Even after pouring my heart out to him, even after breaking apart so completely that I could barely hold the phone upright, I was still here, alone in a room haunted by everything I had ruined.I should have stayed downstairs. I should have given her space. I should have waited for her to breathe, to think, to feel something other than exhaustion.But patience was a luxury for men who weren’t losing everything.Men who weren’