Hateful Games: (An arranged marriage billionaire romance) (Arranged Games Book 2)
Chapter 2

“How dare you disrespect me in front of them?” my father yells as soon as the men exit, leaving us alone. I stand while he stares me down from across his desk. The vein in his forehead popping frantically.

The last thing I should do is argue with him. Yet, my own anger flares at being left defenseless. His torment over me crossing a line I couldn’t have predicted.

“You’re the one who sold me off like I’m some property.”

“Watch your mouth, Rosalie. Your marriage was always going to be with the man I choose,” he harshly retorts. “You will fulfill your obligation and marry Nova without causing any ruckus to ruin our name. Do you understand?”

“What happened to hating the D’Cruz family?” I reply, flabbergasted. “That they’re scum, cheaters, and liars.”

“The wedding’s whole purpose is to put the bad blood to rest. The damage done is enough. Times are changing. It’s best for our businesses if we merge instead of compete against one another.”

Power.

That’s all these men want.

Everything always boiling down to it.

My whole life feels like a lie. All the hatred he’s fed us over the years. Suddenly, he wants me to forget it all.

“Then merge the companies. Form a joint partnership or something,” I suggest, hating having to plead to him. As a minor, my options are limited. “Anything is better than—”

“Enough!” His tone is cutting. I flinch, old wounds surfacing. “I don’t want to discuss it anymore. It’s not as if we’re marrying you to just any family. Be glad they didn’t object.”

“Why me, Dad?” I whisper. “Why can’t Jasmine marry him? She’s close to his age.”

Guilt flares as I throw my older sister under the bus but my panic overshadows it. He’s literally sending me to a den of wolves. Who’s to say they wouldn’t torment me to get their vengeance for all these years of rivalry and sabotage we caused them.

“Because it’s your mother’s wish for it to be you.” His tone is dismissive. “Mine too.”

The underlying meaning—he doesn’t want to sacrifice his favorite daughter. I’m already invisible, so he might as well get rid of me permanently. I’m finally valuable to him.

However, it’s my mother’s betrayal that’s cutting deep.

Why didn’t she tell me?

“How convenient of you to say since she’s not here,” I taunt in disdain, making him narrow his gaze in warning.

“Go to your room, Rosalie.” Glaring, he says menacingly, “Or do I need to lock you in there so you’re reminded of your place?”

Darkness swarms my vision and I barely hide the shudder.

When I remain silent, he sits back in satisfaction.

Dismissed, he puts on his reading glasses, switches on his computer, and begins typing away rapidly. I stare at him blankly, not at all surprised at how easily he goes back to ignoring my existence.

I’m fuming as I slam the door to his study and make my way to my bedroom. I yank out my phone from my pocket as I speedwalk down the hallway. Desperate for the sanctuary of my room.

I dial Mom’s number. Of course, it goes straight to voicemail. God knows which part of the world she’s traveled to today. I try again and receive the same annoying response. So, I leave her a message to call me back as soon as possible.

Flinging open the bedroom door, I throw my phone on the bed in frustration. My hand pauses in midair as I come to an immediate halt. I suppress the hot shiver fighting to run down my spine.

The very first thing I notice is the stench of nicotine.

Then the dark, rich, and suffocating energy in the room. The blinding source—sitting comfortably on my reading chair in the corner, christening it as his throne.

Nova fucking D’Cruz.

All six feet and four inches of him is in my bedroom, making my heart climb up to my throat. It takes me a few lingering breaths to recover from the initial shock of seeing him—my fiancé—in my territory.

How did he even replace my room?

Years I’ve spent surrounding in his orbit, yet I’ve never been privy to his attention. Or deemed worthy of his presence. Today I’m sucked right into his path.

He was the school’s golden boy.

I was the goth.

Nova wasn’t just an untouchable senior but we’ve grown up running in same circles due to our families being who they are. It was always impossible to not attend a gala or a charity event and not see him there, charming everyone.

He is an heir, after all.

The D’Cruz legacy will be his one day.

Somehow, a signature on a piece of paper has altered my reality. Flipped my world upside down. Sent me into another dimension.

My intuition screams now that I’ve stumbled in his path, my days of being invisible are over. Not even a day and he’s already slithered his way into my peaceful haven.

Heat climbs up my neck and my gaze narrows when I see what he’s holding in his hand.

“Holding her down by the nape of her neck, he impales her with his cock and commands, ‘Take every fucking inch like a good little girl’. She whimpers in wicked pleasure while he ruthlessly fucks her, using her pussy for his pleasure,” Nova recites from the book I was reading before I was called down. A hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“I’ll only say it once,” I say, stepping farther inside my room. “Put it down.”

He casually flips the page, ignoring me. “While she’s pushing back and meeting every savage thrust, he spreads her ass cheeks and circles the rim of her forbidden hole.” He pauses to glance at my burning face before resuming his torture. “She tenses but moans when he pushes his thumb past the resisting muscles. He smirks when the filthy girl he’s turned her into clenches around his dick. Her juices soak his balls as he fucks both her holes until she screams and crie—”

“Why don’t you just borrow the book?” I snap.

My face is beet red. While my traitorous brain wonders if he could make a fortune being a narrator. Or a cover model. Or both. His voice has the perfect timbre. Deep. Husky. Commanding.

Because being a stalker and bullying asshole is synonymous with having a sinfully gorgeous face.

Yet all I feel is repulsion.

Apparently, his charming personality is reserved for everyone but me.

“You’ll need to work on your sense of boundaries if we’re going to be married, fiancé,” I spit out, already plotting to get out of this mess. Or potentially, his demise.

“So, the woman I’m marrying is kinky.”

“You mean sexually empowered?”

He shuts the book. “You’re sixteen.”

“And you can’t replace women your own age to marry.” I smirk. “No, wait. You can’t replace women. Period. Need Daddy to search for one, whether or not willing.”

My insult has no visible reaction. Instead, he taps my book on the armrest rhythmically while giving me his undivided attention. It takes everything not to stomp and rip my book out of his hand before he ruins the edges.

There should be an unspoken rule to not touch another’s books. Yeah, like he would ever follow it.

“You weren’t this mouthy in school.”

I freeze, jaw slack.

He noticed me.

His icy gaze, despite their warm color, peruse me from head to toe. Taking a puff of his cigarette, he murmurs, “Guess I pegged you wrong. You’re a kinky little thing, aren’t you, little Rose? It’s always the quiet ones.”

He whispers the last part, almost to himself. “It felt like you were enjoying it a lot more.”

“I’m not a virgin, living like a nun while getting my rocks off with book porn,” he taunts, throwing my book to the floor. “I prefer to have my fun with real, three-dimensional women, whose forbidden holes I can actually fuck.”

Arrogant prick. “And yet here you are, in my bedroom. Why don’t you go and marry one of your three-dimensional women?”

Our fuming gazes lock in a staring battle as he slowly rises to his feet. I half expect him to stalk to where I’m hovering near my door. Instead, he turns and walks along my bookshelves, picking another novel and skimming through random pages.

Spicy ones, judging by the tiny curve to his mouth.

The cigarette hangs from his lips, while intensity rolls off him in intimidating waves. The indifference on his face in contrast to his body language. The longer he remains quiet and stands in my presence, the more annoyed I become.

So, before he can make more dick moves and ruin my precious paperbacks, I stalk toward him. Before I can so much as yank the one that he’s holding from his grip, he shifts, grabs my wrist, and shoves me against the shelves.

He does it without blinking an eye from the book he’s reading.

An involuntary gasp rolls off my lips, making his gaze fall to my mouth. A frown mars his forehead before it quickly vanishes and he raises his caramel brown eyes to mine.

“Step back.”

He notices my discomfort when my gaze skirts to his burning cigarette. Just the sight of it makes my skin crawl. Instead of doing the gentlemanly thing and putting it out, he inhales another drag and blows it in my face. Then he arches one eyebrow arrogantly. “Or what?”

Heart thundering behind my ribs, I gulp at being caged against his broad chest. The wooden shelves dig into my back but he’s stolen my entire focus. No man has ever been this close to me. Ever. No one ever dared.

The last man I dreamed—or wanted—was Nova to be the first.

What other firsts of mine will he steal?

I’m tall for my age yet he dwarfs me with his frame. His smoky breath teases my hair framing the sides of my face while his scent engulfs all my senses, reminding me of dark rainy nights.

Unpredictable. Stormy. Dangerous.

“Unless you want to lose your balls, get out.”

His pupils—such a light shade that would shine under the sunlight—glint with amusement at my threat.

“A piece of advice, little Rose. The best threats are delivered with an element of surprise,” he says like he’s imparting some great words of wisdom. “Otherwise, they’re just barks with no bite.”

“Why are you really here?” I growl impatiently. “How did you even get in here?”

“Your staff isn’t as loyal as you think.”

My dad pays shit. So, it doesn’t come as a shock. “You would know, being a D’Cruz.”

The ice in his eyes returns with a vengeance. Ever so slowly, he takes another puff before blowing it directly in my face. Again. Like a fucking asshole.

A long, ingrained habit is the sole reason I don’t cough or react.

However, my thread snaps and I lift my knee to kick him. Predicting my move, he counters by dodging it with my book. Smirking, he tsks. “Maybe work on your listening skills too.”

“Stop ruining my books, you prick.” I growl when I see him crushing it in his grips. When I make a grab for it, he walks backward. “Give it back.”

“An apology first.”

“Yes, I’m waiting.”

My sarcasm is met with a sharp scowl. Backing me against the shelves once more, he daringly tips my chin up. A full-body shudder rocks my body, disorienting me. The same frown appears on his forehead, as if he’s also in turmoil.

His grip tightens as his cutting glare flicks to mine. “You have everyone fooled in school, don’t you? The quiet, innocent girl is just a mask. A persona. The real you is a snarky little thing with claws and barbs. Should I feel special for experiencing it, little Rose?”

Each word is dripped with venom while his touch sears my skin. I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he’s affecting me.

His proximity.

His toying.

His lethal tongue.

“You bribed my staff, stalked into my bedroom like an intruder, and have the audacity to touch my things while taunting me at every turn. Did you expect me to welcome you with open arms and bat my eyelashes?”

Jaw grinding, he throws his cigarette to the floor and crushes it under his boot. Then situating my book on the shelf, he rests his hands on either side of my head. Bending closer, he drawls, a breath away from my lips, “I would teach you manners if I actually wanted to make you my wife.”

What kind… almost slips from my mouth.

On one side, the statement throws me for a loop. While on the other, I’m curious about his method of teaching. Which is wrong. So fucking wrong.

While we glare at one another, his thumb ever so slightly skims my bottom lip. The small gesture causes a weird flutter in my belly and I swallow thickly. My eyes widen a fraction when he traces the movement with his fingertips.

The more I don’t give him a reaction, the bolder he becomes.

I’m afraid he’ll swallow me whole.

Him staying away is crucial to my sanity.

“Nova,” I gasp, when his hand almost wraps around my throat. His name on my tongue breaks whatever momentary spell was cast on us.

With a vile curse, he removes his hand and pushes off me. His fingers ball into a fist at his side, right before he hides it by shoving his hands inside his pockets.

“Call off the wedding.”

“What?” My voice is shaky.

“You’re going to call off our engagement.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I must have grown two heads when I imagined you and your dad’s urgency when I was being forced to sign the papers, or maybe I became momentarily deaf when you raised your objection.”

I don’t tell him that I already tried. If anyone can undo our engagement, it is him.

“I don’t want to marry you,” he grits out.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“Don’t test me, Rosalie.” An ominous edge is in his tone while a storm brews behind his eyes. “Unless you want to be a pawn in our fathers’ agendas, you will do as I say. I don’t fucking care if you have to fight, beg, run or throw a tantrum. As long as it ends with us not being engaged.”

The nerve of him.

Storming to him, I jut out my chin and poke my finger in his chest. Of course, he’s built like a bull. “You don’t want me, then be a man and tell our fathers yourself. Don’t expect me to do your dirty work. I’m not a pawn, a damsel, or your scapegoat.”

The fucker actually smiles. A mocking curve of his lips.

Curling my fingers into a ball that I have pointed at him, he fists my hand and slowly backs me against the wall. He doesn’t stop until every steel inch of him is pressed against my soft curves. Until I’m sure he can hear my thundering heartbeat behind my rib cage.

Keeping my hand trapped, he taunts, “You’re a naïve little fool is what you are, if you truly believe the shit you just spewed. I don’t know whether to laugh or pity you.”

His words punch straight to my heart.

Shaking his head derisively, he straightens and smoothens his suit jacket. Even though he looks handsome wearing it and oozes ruthlessness, I can sense he’d much rather be wearing something more casual.

His attention snaps to my book lying on the floor, which he carelessly threw. Picking it up, he flutters the pages in a rapid motion. “Real life isn’t like fiction, Rosalie. There are no gentlemanly heroes, white knights in shining armors or lovesick romantics, only villains. The ones who destroy everything in their paths. You stay engaged to me, you’ll be inviting the worst of them all.”

I’m already living with the king of villains.

“Thanks for the TED Talk.” I roll my eyes. “But you don’t scare me, Nova.”

He isn’t amused. Man has no sense of humor, it seems.

His gaze drops to my mouth as if he’s imagining various ways of shutting me up. I lick my lips nervously and they narrow into slits, darkening.

The storm finally erupts.

My heart drops to my stomach when he brings his lighter, which he pulls out from his pocket, into my periphery. The gold color glinting sharply.

“I don’t scare you, little Rose?” he muses cruelly. “Then let me enlighten you to a life with me since you’re apparently dead set on us marrying and becoming my wife. Obviously, reading book porn has gone to your head and is separating you from reality.”

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, my voice shrill when I watch him switch on his lighter until a bright flame swishes in the air. Horror etches on my face as I stare in slow motion as he brings it to the corner of my book, setting it on fire. “No!!”

Flames lick the pages so fast that my protest is fruitless.

The stench of smoke suffocates my bedroom, until it’s all I can smell and feel. My breathing turns choppy as nightmarish memories assault me. The only difference, my villain’s face is replaced my Nova’s.

As I stay rooted to the spot, watching the ashes of my book flutter to the floor, he steps over them and stalks closer. Tilting my numb face to his with one single finger under my chin, he delivers his declaration of war. “Call off the wedding, little Rose, or be prepared to burn for eternity.”

Leaving me staring at the mess at my feet, he walks to my bedroom door but turns at the last second. “You have one week.”

The ghost of his touch lingers long after.

So does his ultimatum.