Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
In a nightmare.
From Wall Street Journal bestsellers L.J. Shen and Parker S. Huntington comes a twisted second-chance romance between a prince haunted by a dark secret and his reluctant Sleeping Beauty.
Oliver
I don’t usually trap women with amnesia into marriage.
But I guess there’s a first time for everything.
When the woman of my dreams falls into my lap, I can’t help but wonder what else she can do in that position.
She’s here. In my house. At my mercy.
And she thinks we’ve been lovers the entire decade we spent apart.
Briar and I have always been unfinished business.
Now it’s time to seal the deal.
Briar
I’m marrying a beautiful monster.
A crooked fraud. America’s wealthiest bachelor.
He claims we’re in love, yet all I taste in our kisses is hate and lust.
I don’t remember why or how.
But I do remember he’s the enemy.
Now, I’m stuck inside a nightmare.
And Oliver will do anything to keep me in the dark.
Authors’ Note: My Dark Prince is a standalone enemies-to-lovers Sleeping Beauty retelling, in which a damaged billionaire with a dark past and his childhood sweetheart fall in love—literally. It is set in the decadent Dark Prince Road universe.
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“A hundred years to a steadfast heart are but a day.”
— Sleeping Beauty
Soundtrack
Come Away With Me—Norah Jones
All You Wanted—Michelle Branch
After Tonight—Justin Nozuka
100 Ways—Jackson Wang
everything sucks—vaultboy & Eric Nam
What I’m Missing—Timmy McKeever
Colors—Halsey
Have We Met Before—Sarah Barrios & Eric Nam
Back to Me—The Rose
Slow—Jackson Wang & Ciara
Invitation—JUNNY ft. Gaeko
vampire—Olivia Rodrigo
Shameless—Camila Cabello
It’s You—HENRY
lowkey—NIKI
Pacify Her—Melanie Martinez
Honey—Kehlani
Does She—Yuna & Jay Park
La La La—Naughty Boy & Sam Smith
She’s In The Rain—The Rose
deja vu—Olivia Rodrigo
Hearts—James Lee
chances—thuy & DCMBR
LIKE THAT—BABYMONSTER
Other People—Amber Liu
It’s You—MAX ft. keshi
Memories—Conan Gray
Shouldn’t Be—Luke Chiang
Losing You—FLO
Still Life—BIGBANG
COME BACK HOME—2NE1
Sinking—James Lee ft. Shan Yichun
Bed Peace—Jhené Aiko & Childish Gambino
Prologue
Briar
I am not the heroine of my story.
I’m not the villain, either.
I am the side character – in other people’s books.
The unwanted child whose own parents found to be unlovable.
I used to live in the shadows, pressed between the crowded pages of somebody else’s tale like a wilting rose. Until he pulled me out of the suffocating paper, showering me with light until I blossomed into the person he knew I could be.
Oliver von Bismarck.
My best friend. My secret crush. My first love …
And these days? My bitter sworn enemy.
Ollie might have forgotten me, but I remember the scars he left behind.
They say the best revenge is to not be like your enemy.
I grew up to be kind, reliable, and responsible. All the things he lacked.
Thanks to him, I’m no longer a rose.
I’m a thorn.
Chapter One
Briar Rose
Age fourteen.
He is not here. Stop looking for him.
I turned my head from the party and forced myself to focus on the waves as they wrestled beneath the ominous moon. A blanket of stars draped across the sky, accompanying me as I perched on a cobbled terrace at the Château de Chillon.
All around me, people buzzed – dancing, flirting, laughing, living. Yet, I’d never felt more alone.
Every summer, the von Bismarcks hosted a grand ball to mark their arrival in Switzerland. Hundreds of Europe’s pedigreed aristocrats and tycoons flocked to the lush medieval castle kissing Lake Geneva for a chance to flaunt their connections to one of the world’s oldest royal lineages – two of them my stuck-up parents.
Oliver should have been here by now, roaming the halls or planning an elaborate prank. He’d make his grand entrance when he was ready and not a moment sooner.
Don’t search for him. Have some self-control.
Too late. My traitorous body acted of its own accord, whipping my head back to the party to hunt for those pale golden curls and mischievous eyes.
Dancers filled the outdoor ballroom to the brim, sabotaging any chance I had at spotting him. Pastel ballgowns swished across the flagstone pavers like clouds of cotton candy, swirling with practiced ease. From the tiered stage, a baroque orchestra blessed us with the rich strings of Aram Khachaturian’s Masquerade Suite I. One of my favorite waltzes.
I smoothed the skirt of my taffy-pink gown, knowing my parents wouldn’t chide me for sullying my dress on the exposed terrace bricks. For them to remark about the blatant disrespect to the satin frock, they’d first have to notice I was alive. An inconvenient fact they tried their hardest to forget.
I glanced beneath the veranda. If I were to fall, I’d hit the roof before rolling straight into gravel. It was ten, maybe twelve, floors high. Enough to kill me. I turned to my parents, who stood next to their friends a few feet from me.
They did not notice I was sitting on the edge.
They did not notice me at all.
“Sooo …” A woman in an olive dress stared down her champagne flute at my parents, her ritzy accent adding syllables where there were none. “Where are you off to next, now that the Zurich branch is up and running?”
Dad worked for Luxor Trust, a boutique bank that specialized in “massaging rich assholes’ balls.” His words, not mine. He handled management, and his job description included kissing unholy amounts of ass, opening new offices to meet Luxor’s international demand, and dragging our family with him to every billionaire-occupied corner of the Earth.
Since diapers, I’d only ever known the inside of a suitcase. Home was an abstract idea. Something other kids had. At fourteen, I’d already lived in London, Tokyo, Paris, Montreal, Zurich, Riyadh, and Budapest. Despite my American passport, I’d spent maybe a handful of months in the states my entire life. When people asked me where I was from, I said New York. But the truth was, I had no origin. No beginning to my story.
Not if Oliver von Bismarck can help it. Or rather – if you can persuade him to.
“Oh, don’t even get me started on our next adventure.” Mom raked her manicured fingers through her black bob, clawing at Dad’s Prada suit with her free hand. “Jason’s company wants him to open a new branch in Buenos Aires. You know how much I love the city. I’m half Argentinian myself.”