Page 64 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

“I couldn’t breathe here,” I admit. “Everywhere I turned, it was just… duty. Obligation. Expectations. I had to be perfect. I had to be someone I wasn’t.” I shake my head. “So I left. I chose myself.”

Isaac scoffs, slowly sipping his whiskey before setting the glass down with a quiet thud. “Yeah? And how’s that working out for you?”

I flinch. Because the truth? I don’t know anymore.

For years, I thought I had found peace in Bardstown. That leaving the castle, my family, my entire identity behind was the right choice. But standing here now, in this study—our father’s study—I feel the ghost of everything I walked away from pressing in on me.

And the worst part?

I don’t know if I regret it.

Or if I regret that I let so much time pass.

Isaac shakes his head, letting out a bitter chuckle. “You know what’s funny? You ran as far as you could from this life, from this family, from all of it. But when things fell apart, when the world started closing in—” he gestures vaguely toward me, his expression unreadable— “you still came back.”

I don’t say anything. Because he’s right.

I did come back.

And I’m still here.

Silence stretches between us, long and heavy, until finally, Isaac sighs and leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “They need you, Graham.” His voice is quieter now, with less anger and more exhaustion. “I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth. You need to see them.”

I close my eyes for half a second before forcing myself to stand. My legs feel heavy, my chest even more so, but I nod.

“Okay,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Isaac watches me for a long moment before nodding back. Then he stands, draining the rest of his drink before clapping a hand on my shoulder as he moves toward the door.

Just before he steps out, he pauses. “You weren’t the only one drowning, you know.” He exhales, his shoulders rising and falling. “But at least now, I know how to swim.”

And with that, he leaves me alone in the study, staring at the empty doorway, feeling like I’ve just been split open from the inside out.

Because the truth is, I don’t know if I ever learned how to swim at all.

The walk to my parents’ private wing feels longer than it should.

The hallway is eerily quiet, save for the faint flicker of torches lining the walls. My pulse pounds in my ears, my footsteps too loud, my breath shallow.

I stop outside the heavy wooden door, staring at the carved crest above it—the same crest I used to see on every document, every letterhead, every royal decree. The same crest that once defined my entire existence.

I lift a hand to knock, hesitate.

Then, before I can second-guess myself, I push the door open.

The room is dimly lit, and the curtains are drawn to filter in only the softest glow of moonlight. My parents are lying in their grand four-poster bed.

For the first time in seven years, I see them.

My mother looks frail but peaceful, her hands folded gently over the silk blanket, her chest rising and falling in steady breaths. My father, always a towering force of power, looks smaller somehow, as if the weight of everything has finally caught up to him.

A lump forms in my throat.

My mother stirs first. Her eyes flutter open, hazy at first, then sharpening when they land on me. For a second, she stares as if she’s afraid I might disappear if she blinks.

Then, in the quietest, most broken voice I’ve ever heard from her, she whispers?—

“Graham?”

---