The Real Princess Doesn’t Need A Prince Chapter 02

The Real Princess Doesn’t Need A Prince Chapter 02

When did I first sense something was off?

Girls from the dorm next door used to greet me in the hallway. Now they looked right through me like I was invisible. In class, aside from my two roommates, nobody sat anywhere near me.

I wondered if I was being paranoid. Growing up in a fortress of a mansion where I barely saw a neighbor, I had zero frame of reference for “normal” campus vibes.

Then one day, Mandy couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I’d just stepped out of the shower, towel-drying my hair, when she burst through the door and plopped down on my bed, her expression grim.

“Vivian, have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

She hesitated, then pulled out her phone and opened a group chat.

Up popped messages from someone named Angie Hale, three in a row.

“Anyone else see that Vivian Sterling from Class 4 on move-in day? She actually rolled up with bodyguards like she’s royalty.”

“She gave her roomies La Mer, but the catch is they have to be her servants—five hundred to clean, a thousand for pickup. That’s literally paying people to degrade them.”

“Serena Snow from next door told me. She said she felt humiliated but was too scared to refuse.”

I read it all. And yeah, I’ll admit, it stung.

The thread was already a hundred replies deep.

People calling me new money trash. Others saying rich kids had no class.

And one particularly obnoxious comment string of candle emojis, with the caption: [Serena’s so tragic, stuck with that monster as a roommate.]

I handed Mandy back her phone.

“Serena said all this?”

“The whole thing started with her, but in the group, she’s playing innocent!”

Mandy was fuming.

I scrolled further. Serena had posted, all wounded: [I never meant for anyone to know. I just vented to Angie privately. Please don’t go after Vivian, I don’t want to cause her trouble.]

Mandy rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. “Vented privately, my ass. How does ‘private’ reach three entire classes?”

I stayed quiet.

Mandy assumed I was upset and added, “Vivian, don’t sweat it. That snake just can’t stand anyone doing better than her. If you want me to handle her, I’m game.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. Not worth the energy.”

The next morning, on my way to class, I deliberately walked past Serena’s seat. She had her nose buried in a textbook. I sat down right next to her without a word.

She stiffened.

A few girls nearby glanced up.

I pulled out my phone, opened the screenshot, and slid it across the table.

“Explain this.”

Serena glanced at the screen, pushed the phone back quickly, her voice barely a whisper. “I… I just felt uncomfortable, that’s all. I was just venting… joking around…”

I leaned back in my chair. “So you took my La Mer, my Apple bundle, my Chanel set, and then told people I was humiliating you? That I bought your self-respect?”

Her eyes went red in an instant. A few nearby classmates were staring now.

Then Serena’s hands flew to her face, her shoulders shaking as her voice broke. “Vivian, what did I ever do to you? Why are you cornering me like this?”

She sniffled, lifted her head, and put on a look of wounded defiance.

“You gave me all that expensive stuff. I get it—you’re rich. But you know what my family situation is. How am I supposed to pay you back?”

“I haven’t even touched it. It’s sitting in my closet, and every time I see it, I panic. Is it so wrong that I complained to Angie? Am I not allowed to have feelings?”

I sat there, silent, watching the performance.

Serena stood up, her chair screeching against the floor.

“Yeah, I’m poor. So I’m supposed to be grateful on my knees for whatever you throw at me?”

“But who gave you the right to decide the terms of our relationship? You used money to stomp on my dignity. And I’m not allowed to be upset about that?”

By the end of her speech, the tears were falling in earnest.

The whispers started.

“Vivian, back off. Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you can bully people.”

I kept my voice flat. “Serena, you done crying?”

She hiccuped, caught off guard.

“One: If you felt so guilty about accepting the gifts, return them. Tomorrow.”

“Two: You claim I paid you to be my servant. So why didn’t the money feel insulting when you took it?”

Her mouth opened, the tears still streaming, but no words came.

I stood and straightened my jacket. “I have screenshots. I’d suggest you drop it.”

I swept my gaze across the crowd of onlookers. “I don’t care if they believe you. But next time, I won’t go so easy on you.”

Serena and her gossip circle went quiet for about two days.

But a week later, I got a call from my fiancé, Preston Ford.