Page 54 of Filthy Hot Prince

Khalid

“Do you really want to know, Valeria?”

She nodded, her soft face peering up at me as I moved back to remove my tee shirt. I had never told anyone about it. Not a single soul, but I wanted to let her know. Even though it meant becoming awfully vulnerable.

I wanted to let Valeria know about the scars on my back.

Taking a deep breath, I turned, showing her my back. “The reason I didn’t want to join you in the lake is because of my back. I… I never remove my shirt because of it.”

“Okay,” she said, sitting up and waiting for me to continue.

“Touch my back, Valeria,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

I clenched my jaw when I felt the soft pads of her fingers on my back. I tried not to recoil as her gentle hands moved around, freezing when they met the bumpy and scratchy skin.

I tensed, feeling both of her hands on my back.

Valeria gasped, “Khalid…”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Who… why, what…who did this to you?”

“My father,” I said, my shoulders feeling heavy. “Everyone knew Zain would be the Sultan, so when we were kids, he would give melessonsif I didn’t ride a horse properly, missed my classes, mocked his name or spent too much time caring for my sister.”

Valeria took a sharp breath, her soft fingers caressing my skin. The large and small whip scars splattered all over my back. “Lessons?”

I nodded, thinking back to the time he would make me stay in his study after telling Zain to leave. I always dreaded those times. His rough voice telling me to kneel and remove my shirt, ordering me to stay still while hetaughtme how to be a man. My father was many things, a pathetic man and a worse father. Whipping his own children and relishing in their cries.

Yet I never cried in front of him because I knew that if I did, he would mock me more. Threaten to hit Zain, or worse, Zara. I couldn’t bear the thought of him ever hurting my sister. Hurting the people that I loved.

That was the reason why I never regretted killing him with my own hands, with his own sword. I would do it again if I could.

“He wanted me to be a perfect soldier, a noble Prince, an obedient son. My father hated that I loved painting, so he whipped me whenever he could because I won’t follow in his footsteps like he wanted me to.”

“Oh, Khalid.” Her arms wrapped around me, her forehead touching my back.

I waited for my body to tense up or push her away, but I relaxed in her arms, relishing in her soft touch caressing my skin. I felt her warm tears on my back, on my scars, her warm breath caressing my torn skin.

“Are you crying?” I asked.

“No,” she sniffled loudly.

I smiled sadly, letting her cry on my back. My mother had taught me that the best thing you can do when someone was crying is to let them cry, be there for them, and allow them to say something whatever they wanted to share.

“I am glad he’s dead or else…” she threatened in her small voice.

I faced her, smiling at her adorably stubborn face. “Or else? What would you do?”

“I would scold him!”

A broken laughter erupted from my throat. The thought of my sweet Valeria going against my father just to scold him made tears glisten in my eyes as I clutched my stomach and laughed like never before. Of course, if he was alive, I would never let her meet him, but her gesture, her words, her expression made me chuckle.

“Stop laughing, Khalid,” she whined, her nose scrunching up. “I am serious. I would scold himpretty hard.”

I shook my head, grinning at her. “Of course, you would.”

Cupping her face, I pressed my lips against hers, gently prying them open and kissing her slowly, lovingly. As if I was painting on a delicate paper. My heart felt full and warm when she pressed against me.

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