The Real Princess Doesn’t Need A Prince Chapter 04

The Real Princess Doesn’t Need A Prince Chapter 04

Before the words fully left his mouth, a tall, broad-shouldered man stormed into the cafe. Five or six bodyguards in dark suits flooded in behind him, blocking the entrance like a wall.

That was my father, Richard Sterling—CEO of Sterling Group, the most notorious doting father in Kingston’s elite circles.

He wore a perfectly tailored suit, his tie slightly askew—he’d rushed over the second he got my message.

His face, usually calm and commanding in boardrooms, was a thundercloud now, and those eyes, sharp enough to cut through any business deal, were fixed on me with nothing but worry.

“Vivian, where are you hurt?”

He closed the distance in three strides, his gaze landing on the coffee stain spreading across my shirt. His pupils contracted.

“Who did this?”

I blinked, letting a few tears fall just right, and pointed at Preston, still frozen across the table.

“Preston. He said he’d make me beg Serena for forgiveness. I’ve never been treated like this in my life…”

I pitched my voice just right—wounded, trembling at the edges.

Growing up in that world, I’d learned exactly how to perform hurt without losing dignity. It was a skill Serena’s dramatic sobbing could never match.

My father’s gaze followed my finger to Preston.

The man who’d been so smug seconds ago was now paler. He opened his mouth, but my father didn’t give him the chance.

“Preston.”

My father’s voice was low, but it sucked all the air out of the room. “Your father, Harrison Ford, shows me respect when we meet. And you, a green kid barely out of diapers, think you can touch my daughter?”

Preston’s throat bobbed. “Mr. Sterling, it’s not what you think—”

“I don’t care what you think!”

My father raised a hand, and his security team took a step forward. Preston stumbled back, his knees hitting the edge of the sofa, and collapsed into it.

Serena, huddled next to Preston, was shaking like a leaf. Her tears were flowing again, but this time, they weren’t from righteous hurt.

She’d seen the wall of bodyguards and finally grasped how deep the hole she’d dug really was.

“Mr. Sterling,” she whimpered, “Vivian started it—”

“Enough.”

My father didn’t even glance at her. His eyes stayed locked on Preston.

“Vivian. Tell me everything.”

I pulled out my phone and handed it over, slow and deliberate. “Dad, this girl is my roommate. I gave her welcome gifts, and she told everyone I was humiliating her. I asked her about it in class, and she cried.”

“Then Preston flew in from overseas to defend her. He told me to apologize. And he threw his coffee at me.”

My father scrolled through the screenshots. His face shifted from rage to a terrifying calm.

The last time I’d seen that expression was when a rival company tried to poach one of our subsidiaries. Three days later, they were bankrupt.

“I see,” he said, pocketing my phone, his eyes back on Preston.

“Preston. My daughter gives her roommates a welcome gift. Since when does that need your approval?”