The Real Princess Doesn’t Need A Prince Chapter 07

The Real Princess Doesn’t Need A Prince Chapter 07

Serena’s luck turned sour too.

First, every single one of her part-time jobs called on the same day to say her services were “no longer needed.”

Then her financial aid application hit a wall, suddenly subjected to extra scrutiny.

Her advisor called her in for a chat, hinting that the university had received “feedback” about her conduct, and that she should be mindful of her behavior.

Serena cracked. She cried in the dorm multiple times, but no one cared anymore.

Mandy and Zara had already blocked her on everything. Other classmates looked at her differently now.

Because the Sterlings’ influence was real, and no one was about to cross a top-tier family for some scholarship student.

That night, I came back to the dorm. Serena was sitting at her desk, the La Mer set and Apple bundle still untouched in their packaging in front of her. Her eyes were swollen.

When she saw me, her lips trembled for a long time before she finally choked out. “Vivian… I’ll return everything. Just… can you tell the school to stop investigating my financial aid?”

I looked at her, voice flat. “When did I tell the school to investigate your aid?”

She bit her lip, fresh tears spilling. “But my advisor said the review was delayed because someone reported… reported conduct concerns. My family really can’t afford tuition.”

“Vivian, please, I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have talked behind your back. Can you forgive me? Just this once?”

She stood and actually bent forward in a bow.

Mandy sneered from her bed, “Oh, now you’re sorry? Where was all that remorse when you were putting on your little crying show?”

Serena’s shoulders heaved.

I walked over and stood in front of her, looking down. “Serena, do you even know what you did wrong?”

She nodded frantically. “I shouldn’t have badmouthed you, shouldn’t have lied—”

“No. Your mistake,” I said, “is thinking everyone owes you sympathy because your life is hard.”

“You’re poor, so gifts are insults. You’re sensitive, so normal conversation is bullying. You made yourself the victim of a world that supposedly owes you everything.”

Serena’s sobs caught in her throat.

I continued. “But that’s not how it works. You can be poor and proud. But you can’t take people’s generosity and then act like they’re oppressing you.”

“Preston fought your battles because you fed him your sob story. But have you ever stopped to think that every single ‘suffering’ you told him was a lie you manufactured?”

She sank into a crouch, arms wrapped around her knees, crying uncontrollably.

I said nothing more.

An eighteen-year-old girl from nothing, clawing her way into a top university through sheer grit—that deserved respect.

But she’d chosen the dumbest path to deal with her insecurity: twisting kindness into cruelty, drowning innocent people in her tears.

Pathetic. But not innocent.

A week later, Serena requested a room transfer.

The day she left, the dorm was silent. No one helped her pack. No one saw her out.

She dragged her suitcase to the door, hesitated, and turned back.

“Vivian… that skincare set. I really never used it. I left it in my cabinet. You can… give it to someone else.”

I was curled up in my chair, reading, and didn’t look up. “I said it’s yours. Keep it, throw it away—I don’t care.”

She stood at the door for a long moment, then whispered, “I’m sorry,” and pulled the door shut.

Mandy exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for a week. “Finally. Air feels clean again.”

Zara, in the middle of a face mask, mumbled, “Vivian, you think she’ll try anything else?”

I turned a page. “Her life’s her problem now.”