RED HEART

The engines roared across the morning sky, swallowing the last echoes of the palace behind him. Prince Liam Gustaf sat still, hands buried in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the shrinking skyline of Spain through the tinted glass. He’d left everything — or maybe, as he thought bitterly, everything had already left him. His father’s words still replayed in his head: “You will leave for California. Perhaps distance will teach you respect.” Respect. The word tasted sour. He wasn’t sure if the King ever understood that forcing obedience wasn’t the same as earning loyalty. At the far end of the runway, his stepbrother Daniel gave him a firm hug. “Take care of yourself, Liam. California’s far, but… maybe it’s what you need.” Daniel was the only one who truly saw him — not as a prince, not as a rebel, but as a person trapped between duty and resentment. Behind Daniel stood his two stepsisters — Teresa, the gentle one, eyes red from holding back tears, and Hannah, quiet as ever, hands clasped in front of her like a soldier trained to obey her mother. Queen Adeline stood a few feet away, her expression carefully composed. Her daughters followed her cue — always the image of obedience. Liam didn’t say goodbye to her. There was nothing left to say. The Queen gave Daniel a subtle nod, and he whispered, “Go on, brother. You’ll be fine.” Liam adjusted his jacket, stepped onto the jet, and didn’t look back. He remembered the scene A day before Prince Liam Gustaf sat before his father, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. Across from him, King Gustaf loomed on his golden throne, his presence commanding and merciless. “You’re twenty-two, Liam,” the King began, his tone a mix of anger and exhaustion. “Yet you act like a child. Parties, fights, scandals—must I keep cleaning up after you?” Liam’s jaw tightened. “Maybe if this palace didn’t feel like a cage, I wouldn’t have to break out of it.” The King’s voice thundered. “You live in privilege, not prison!” “Privilege?” Liam’s bitter laugh echoed off the marble. “Is that what you call growing up without a mother and pretending a stranger can replace her?” Beside the King, Queen Adeline shifted uncomfortably. Her painted smile wavered. She had tried, but Liam never let her in. “Liam,” she said softly, “I’ve done my best to—” “Please,” Liam cut her off coldly. “Don’t act like you care. We both know you don’t.” The King’s palm slammed against the armrest. “Enough! You will not speak to your queen that way.” Liam rose, fury flashing in his eyes. “Then stop pretending this family is whole.” The silence that followed was suffocating. Even the guards dared not move. The King’s next words fell heavy, final. “You will leave for California tomorrow,” he said, voice low. “Harvey Mudd College. Perhaps distance will teach you respect.” Liam’s lips curled. “You mean obedience.” “Call it what you want,” the King growled. “But until you learn your place, you are no son of mine.” The words struck harder than any punishment. For a moment, Liam couldn’t breathe. He turned away before anyone could see the pain flash in his eyes. “You already made that clear years ago,” he said quietly, then walked out—past the guards, past the marble walls, past the life that had never truly been his. ⸻ Hours later, the bright chaos of California greeted him — a world too loud, too free, too… different. The air smelled of asphalt and ocean breeze, not perfume and marble polish like the palace. Outside the terminal, Marcus — his father’s trusted driver and bodyguard — stood by a sleek black car, holding the Gustaf crest on a small banner. “Welcome to California, Your Highness,” Marcus said, bowing slightly. Liam offered a faint smirk. “Let’s skip the royal formalities, Marcus. I’m just Liam here.” Marcus chuckled quietly. “As you wish, sir.” Behind him stood Cree, the King’s personal assistant, his face as expressionless as always. He was the one assigned to “monitor” Liam’s stay, which only fueled Liam’s irritation. The drive from the airport to his new residence was long, lined with palm trees and unfamiliar faces. California was everything Spain wasn’t — warm, vibrant, full of movement. But Liam couldn’t feel any of it. His thoughts stayed frozen in the marble halls of Gustaf Palace. When they finally pulled up in front of a grand villa near Harvey Mudd College, Liam stepped out and scanned the property. It was large, clean, luxurious — another gilded cage, just in a different continent. The head of the household staff, a middle-aged woman in a neat gray uniform, hurried to greet him. “Your Highness, we are deeply honored to—” “Stop.” Liam’s voice was calm but sharp. “There’s no need for that title here.” She blinked in confusion. “I— Of course, sir.” Cree cleared his throat. “Prince Liam, your father has instructed—” “I know what he instructed,” Liam cut in, his gaze cold. “He wants people watching my every move, doesn’t he?” “Your safety—” “My sanity,” Liam snapped, “is what you should be worried about.” He turned toward the staff gathered in a nervous line by the entrance. “All of you. Go home.” The woman’s eyes widened. “Sir?” “I said go home,” Liam repeated, voice low and final. “I don’t need servants shadowing me.” Cree’s jaw tightened. “Liam, this is not—” Liam turned, stepping closer, his tone dropping to a quiet warning. “Cree. Don’t test me. You’ll lose.” The assistant froze, recognizing the dangerous calm in the prince’s eyes. Liam might’ve been exiled from Spain, but his authority — his fire — hadn’t dimmed. After a tense silence, Cree finally exhaled. “Understood. I’ll… inform your father that you wish to manage things your own way.” “Do that,” Liam said flatly, then brushed past him. The workers exchanged hesitant glances before slowly dispersing. Soon, the villa grew still, the silence stretching across the polished floors and wide windows. Liam wandered through the space, hands grazing the edges of furniture and marble countertops. It was too quiet — painfully so. For the first time, he realized how much he hated silence when it wasn’t his choice. His bedroom overlooked the California hills, the sunset bleeding orange into gold. He stood by the window, watching the light fade. “This is it,” he murmured to himself. “New world. Same prison.” Cree stood at the doorway, watching him with a flicker of something like pity. “If you need anything, Prince Liam, you can reach me anytime.” Liam turned, his voice softer this time. “I know, Cree. Go get some rest.” Cree hesitated — maybe to say something more — but thought better of it. He bowed slightly and left. The moment the door clicked shut, Liam exhaled, pulling off his watch and tossing it carelessly onto the dresser. The city lights outside began to glow, vibrant and alive — everything he wasn’t feeling inside. He sat on the edge of the bed, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a small, worn photograph. The edges were faded, the surface slightly torn — a picture of a woman with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile. His mother. Liam traced her face with his thumb, his vision blurring slightly. “She would’ve understood,” he whispered. “You always did.” The night breeze slipped in through the window, brushing against his face like a quiet reminder. For a fleeting second, he imagined her voice — soft, comforting, the way it used to sound when she called him mi corazón, her little heart. He closed his eyes. “I’m still trying, Mom,” he murmured. “Even if I don’t know who I am anymore.” The city glowed below him — restless, endless, full of stories waiting to collide with his own. And somewhere out there, his would soon collide with hers — the girl who would turn his chaos into something dangerously close to love.