CHAPTER 85: YOU SHOULD DO THEATRE

CHAPTER 85: YOU SHOULD DO THEATRE
ELISE

The second I walk into the café, my stomach churns.

It smells like burnt espresso and worn wood.

And history. This is the only place Johan and I could meet up for some privacy, because the owner is his uncle. It’s also here that he fed me the most lies. 

I hate everything about it. The café itself, the smell, the cheap paintings, and most especially, the reason I’m here.

The tiny place is tucked into a quiet street, warm light spilling through dusty windows, jazz crackling faintly from an old speaker in the corner.

I spot Johan immediately and adjust my hoodie around my head for the tenth time today. 

He hasn’t changed.

Still smug. Still too confident for someone with a weak jawline and cold eyes. He’s wearing the tan leather jacket he wore the night I first fell for him.

The same jacket he draped over my shoulders when I spilled wine down my dress at that gallery opening in Gothenburg.

Gud, I was so fucking stupid back then.

I was so lonely and thought I found love, and I only realize now that it was nowhere near love. It was an infatuation that I fed on for too long. The thought of being myself outside the palace grew and festered and became a chain that bound me to him.

“Prinsessa Elise,” Johan says with a half-smile, leaning back in his chair like he owns the room. “Didn’t expect to hear from you.”

I manage to swallow down the sick feeling clawing up my throat as I sit across from him, crossing my legs slowly. I need to be clear-headed for this to work. 

I force a nonchalant shrug. “Thought maybe we could talk.”

His brows lift. “Talk or negotiate?”

“Can’t it be both?” I glance toward the counter. “Want something?”

He taps his cup. “Already got an espresso.”

I nod. “Of course you did.”

I shift forward and fold my hands on the table. My voice softens. “You remember the first time we met?”

He blinks. Not what he expected.

“Swedish Art and Politics Forum,” I say, letting the words drip like syrup. “I was wearing that awful green dress. The one you said looked like a curtain.”

He laughs. “You pouted for an hour.”

“You offered me your arm like some movie scene.” I smile faintly. “You said, ‘If you’re going to look ridiculous, at least do it on my arm.’”

Johan grins. For a moment, he seems…lighter. Less predatory.

“That night felt like magic,” I add, my voice low. “You were the only one who saw me. Not the princess. Just me.”

He stares at me, his expression softening, eyes scanning my face like he’s trying to find that girl again.

I reach across the table. Let my fingers brush his. “I made a mistake with Oskar.”

Johan’s smile sharpens. “Is that so?”

I nod calmly, though my heart is thundering in my chest. “He was just…a distraction. Something I used to hurt you.”

He leans forward. “You did hurt me.”

“I know.” I force a remorseful sigh. “I’m sorry.”

He tilts his head. “Why now?”

I look down at the table. Then up at him. “Because I’m tired of pretending.”

His chest rises, slow and controlled. “I missed you, älskling.”

It feels like a hundred insects are crawling up my skin at the term of endearment, and thankfully, the door swings open before I can reply. 

Oskar walks in.

Perfectly on cue.

He’s in a dark hoodie, jaw clenched. Windswept hair and his chest rising and falling like he ran here.

He storms up to the table. “So this is what we’re doing now?”

I feign surprise, and Johan stands, instinctively going into defense mode.

Oskar shoots me a glare that feels all too real. “You dump me like I’m trash and crawl back to him?”

“It’s not like—” I start.

“Stay out of this,” Johan snaps at me, and I flinch. Really flinch.

“You used me,” Oskar says, ignoring Johan, his voice rising. “I demand an explanation, Elise.”

“She doesn’t owe you shit,” Johan says, stepping closer. “Back off.”

“Oh, you think you’re better than me?” Oskar shoves Johan.

Johan reacts fast. Pushes back. The table rattles. The espresso cup falls.

People curiously look our way.

Perfect.

I slide my hand into Johan’s coat pocket while they shout. 

I exhale inaudibly as my hand wraps around his phone. I pull it out and turn away, my heart racing.

I press the power button. No wallpaper. Just a lock screen with a basic keypad.

I frown. Johan is an irresponsible fuck. He’s never had a passcode before.

Then I turn the phone in my hands, and my breath stills. This isn’t his real phone.

It’s most probably a burner.

Before I have enough time to react, Johan notices.

He shoves Oskar aside and turns toward me. He’s still smiling, but it’s razor sharp, cruel. “You little…” He laughs. “You really thought I’d bring the actual phone here?”

My stomach drops.

“You think I’m stupid?” He laughs again. “You’ve got that down on lock for both of us.”

He snatches the phone from my hand and pockets it. “Nice acting, though. You should do theatre. You know…” He smirks. “When your life as you know it blows up.”

I stare at him, and tears fill my eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

He leans in. “And you’re desperate.”

Then he turns and walks out.

Oskar exhales hard, rubbing his jaw. “Jävlar!”

I sit back down, my hands trembling under the table. “I thought it would work.”

“It was a good plan,” Oskar says, sliding into the seat beside me. “He’s just more careful than we thought.”

I nod, blinking too fast. “Now what?”

He touches my shoulder gently. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s get you back to the palace.”

I nod again, numbness spreading through me.

I don’t say anything as I stand and follow him. I don’t speak during the drive back to the palace, and when Oskar calls out softly, “Elise,” I don’t answer him.

Once I’m in the comfort of my room, I curl into bed, hugging my pillow to me, fists clenched around the silk. It catches the silent tears that roll down my cheeks.

I hate how much power Johan still has. I hate how ashamed I feel.

I hate that even with everything—my title, my status, my guards—I can’t stop him.

The sun has almost set by the time I sit up, cheeks damp, heart sore.

My phone buzzes, and I look down at it. It’s a message from an unknown number.

A photo.

A picture of me lying in bed, wearing absolutely nothing but a love-sick smile. I have my hands up, trying to block the camera, but everything is visible. Every single detail, even the small birthmark I have on the side of my breast. 

The caption reads: Nice try. My price just doubled.

I drop the phone on the bed and stare at the wall, my floral wallpaper a blur of colors through my teary vision.

The tears this time are not silent. They rip out of me with wet, ugly sounds, and I feel like I might choke on them.

I thought I was screwed before.

Now, I am utterly, wholly fucked.


älskling (Swedish)- Sweetheart

Jävlar (Swedish)- Damn!