ROYAL HIGHNESS

48. Jealousy

Amyardh’s POV,

I didn’t stop walking until I was out of her room, out of the hallway, and halfway down the flight of stairs. My mind was a storm of broken restraint and confusion, my heart still pounding from the proximity I had just escaped. The scent of her skin, the way her breath hitched under mine, the tremble in her touch—everything haunted me.

What the hell was I doing?

I stepped out into the night-cooled garden behind the hotel, needing air, needing distance from myself. But fate had one more twist in its mocking little bag for me.

He was there.

Mike.

Standing under the garden lamps, laughing softly into his phone. Probably talking to his picture-perfect wife and child. The epitome of a clean, respectable man.

And still, I saw red.

My boots echoed sharply on the stone as I crossed the grass toward him. He turned just in time to see me, confusion flickering in his eyes—before I grabbed his collar in both hands and slammed him lightly into the brick pillar behind him.

He gasped, phone dropping from his hand, eyes wide with startled terror.

“Stay. Away. From. Ovie,” I growled, my voice low, lethal, and trembling with rage I didn’t even know how to name.

His breath caught. “W-What? I—I didn’t—”

“I saw your hand on her waist tonight,” I spat, gripping him harder. “Don’t ever touch her again. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even look at her if you value your pretty little face.”

He blinked rapidly, clearly terrified. “M-Mister Pathak—she’s your responsibility, I respect that! I’m married! I have a son, he’s two! This is a misunderstanding, sir!”

The desperation in his voice echoed like a slap in my head.

I stilled.

The weight of my actions caught up with me in an instant. What the fuck was I doing?

I was threatening an innocent man. A married man. A father. Because he danced with her. Because she smiled. Because my emotions had spiraled into something unrecognizable.

My fists slowly released his shirt, and I took a step back, exhaling through clenched teeth. My fingers brushed his crumpled collar, smoothing it out like nothing had happened. I gave him a solid pat on the shoulder—half apology, half warning.

“Go back to your room,” I muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”

He nodded like a bobblehead, adjusting his shirt in visible panic, and stumbled away without looking back.

I turned and walked to the pavilion—an old wooden structure nestled beside a lotus pond. It was dark, silent, a cradle for my turmoil.

I sat down on the cold stone bench, elbows on knees, head bowed.

Silence surrounded me, but inside... everything screamed.

What had I become?

I rubbed my hands over my face, the scent of her still lingering on my skin, and closed my eyes.

Every moment we’d shared came rushing back in waves.

Her quiet stubbornness. The way her voice softened when she was scared. The sarcastic barbs she tossed like darts. The way she hugged that pillow tight when she cried. How she danced in the sun as if she wanted to bleed her pain into the rhythm.

I remembered the way she looked at flowers. As if they meant something. As if they healed something inside her. I remembered how she winced when I raised my voice—and the way she smiled when I let my guard down for even a second.