Page 96 of Filthy Hot Prince

Zara’s eyes widened as if she couldn’t believe I was saying no to her. I might have spoiled her too much.

But I couldn’t hold in my small smile when she stood up on the table, her small fingers holding the spoon filled with sweet rice and hovering it across me.

“Eat!” she exasperated.

My throat clogged with tears as I stared at her. I had done it to protect her. That’s what Zain, Rahim and even Zayed who had followed the advisor that night and seen everything had said to me. Zara had asked me if I was alright after killing our father.

She made an airplane motion like I used to do to make her eat. I smiled at my sister, her hazel eyes.

“Khalid,” she drawled my name as if she was tired of me not eating the food. “My arm is hurting, eat it or I am smacking the food on your face and grandma will scold you!”

I took the bite, savoring the sweet taste even though tear slid down my face.

That night, after having dinner with my family, I cried on the lap of my grandmother, allowing her to stroke my hair as I clutched her hand like a small child. She knew I was hurting and she saved me from it.

Even though I couldn’t share what I had done, she accepted me and cared for me.

* * *

I felt nauseated,my head throbbing painfully, as I stumbled off the lounger to the floor. I coughed, reeking of whiskey and sweat.

I felt miserable, my whole body aching from sitting on the stool in front of the canvas for hours. My only fuel was water, whiskey unless someone dropped a platter of food for me. I couldn’t eat much when I didn’t deserve it.

Pressing the heels of my palm on my eyes, I stood up on weak legs, going to the washroom and washing my paint splattered face and arms. I sighed, looking at my pathetic reflection.

My hair was growing out and so was my beard. So unruly and unkept. My eyes had dark bags underneath them and my skin looked ashy from not going out in the sun. I felt dead. Drinking and trying to make sense of the paintings I made when I felt so unfamiliar in my art studio.

It didn’t feel familiar without Valeria’s warmth.

But she was better off without me. She had lost her sense of smell. It was her biggest fear and it all happened because I couldn’t protect her. I broke her promise.

Maybe if I drink enough, I will eventually wither away, and maybe then I can donate my eyes to her. Be useful. I could at least do that.

Shaking my head, I stepped under the cold shower.

* * *

I had finished the painting.Her painting. It looked beautiful, sensual, but sad. Her body was a work of art, and I don’t think that even my painting did justice to her incredible figure. Sun rays fell on her skin, a white cloth draped over the navy lounger behind her in contrast to the red colors I had chosen for the painting. It was painted in unique tones of red, light pink for her lips, tips of her breasts and her knees. Lush red for her stunning silky hair. Maroon for the floor.

Despite the different tones of red, her hair stood out the most. Her green eyes gleaming as she stared out of the open window.

Even though everything seemed pleasant and appealing in the painting, her face had a solemn expression.

Valeria was right to name itRose Colored Sorrow.

I pulled away from the canvas and picked up my phone, ignoring her worried texts with a heavy heart. I saw her interview, proud of her work when she explained the unique perfumes.

She looks so beautiful.

I frowned when she ignored the question related to me. The pictures of us walking together and smiling showing up on the video. She was holding my hand and grinning while I was smiling down at her. Had two months passed already? I felt like I had spent a lifetime with her and still wanted more.

My face hardened when I saw the pictures of her on her social media page, posing with male models on either side of her.

I shouldn’t, but I was jealous of them.

“Khalid?” Zayed called out from the door, making me put away the phone. “I know you are in there, shithead. Come out and play with me, I am getting bored.”

I didn’t reply.

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