Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 61

Chapter 61: ’Time To Panic’

Florian’s fingers trembled at his sides. He tried to swallow, to steady himself, but the weight of those words pressed down on his chest, suffocating.

No.

No, that couldn’t be true.

They wouldn’t just leave him.

Would they?

His mind spiraled, clawing for any rational explanation, any shred of hope that this was just another one of Charles’ twisted mind games. But the truth loomed before him—cold, undeniable, and etched into that cursed map like a death sentence.

His breath grew shallow. ’Lucius wouldn’t abandon me. Cashew wouldn’t... he wouldn’t just leave.’

Unless...

’Unless Heinz ordered them to.’

A sudden, jarring realization stabbed through his chest. His overconfidence had been his downfall. He had misjudged everything—misjudged Heinz. Had he truly believed that just because Heinz had spent time with him, it meant something? That it meant Florian was valued, even in the smallest way, as part of the harem?

It had all been an illusion.

It meant nothing.

His breath hitched, a desperate gasp for air that didn’t seem to reach his lungs. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of betrayal.

Laughter erupted around the room—harsh, mocking, and relentless. It slammed into him like a physical blow, shaking him to his core.

"Ah, you’re so lucky, Little Prince," Charles sneered as he sauntered closer, his eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. "Lucky that you offered me such a brilliant suggestion in case the king doesn’t want you. We could always sell you to some pompous noble who would just love to have someone like you."

Florian’s stomach twisted violently, nausea creeping up his throat.

’No... no... fuck... what do I do now?’

The plan had been a desperate stall tactic—a fragile lifeline designed to buy time until Lancelot arrived. That was how it was supposed to play out. Florian had written it that way himself. The rogues were supposed to linger on that road for hours, waiting for negotiations while Lancelot tracked them down.

But that was when the princesses were with them.

His knees threatened to give out beneath him. His hands twitched at his sides, his entire body vibrating with the bitter sting of realization.

’They waited because of the princesses...’

The thought struck like a knife to the gut.

They had left. The moment the princesses were safe, his value had vanished.

They left him.

’Fuck. Fuck.’

His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out every coherent thought.

The laughter around him swelled, digging into his skin like sharp claws. Florian’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving under the weight of his spiraling thoughts.

Charles smirked down at him, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Oh, don’t look so heartbroken, Your Highness," he drawled, savoring the flicker of panic in Florian’s gaze. "We still sent a ransom letter. Just because they left doesn’t mean we won’t get paid."

The taunting words sliced through Florian’s spiraling panic, snapping his attention back to Charles. His blood ran cold.

’They’re not coming back.’

That crushing truth wrapped itself around him like a vice, suffocating.

He was alone. And whatever happened next—he would have to face it himself.

Florian’s chest heaved, his breath catching painfully in his throat. His vision blurred. No—this couldn’t be happening. He had sacrificed himself for them. He had made that decision so easily, so blindly, because he had been sure he knew the script.

’This is my fault. I should have fought harder. I should have run. I should have—’

’What do I do? What do I do?’

’I can’t... I can’t breathe—’