Page 10 of Hateful Games

“So let me get this straight,” mumbles Nathan in amusement from beside me in the passenger seat. “I’m your buffer for today. Need protection from the little goth? Afraid she’s going to cast a witchy spell on you? Or maybe she has a voodoo doll with your name on it stashed somewhere.”

“Shut up,” I snap, making him snicker.

A very likely possibility, though, considering the dicky stunt I pulled last time. The stark defiance on her face, those delectable lips mouthing me off, I couldn’t resist putting her in her place. In a way, I took my frustration and helplessness at the situation out on her. I’m afraid if we get married, it’ll become a thing.

Through no fault of her own, little Rose will pay for the sins of her father.

It’s why I put the ball in her court.

If she’s foolish enough to bind her fate to mine, so be it. She will have everything that’s coming to her and then some.

“You’re here to ensure I don’t do something I regret.”

“More like, ensure goth Barbie doesn’t throttle you.”

“If she pokes her nose out from the books long enough,” I grunt, distracted by the memory of her flushed cheeks tinged with embarrassment. I bet she’ll lock her bedroom today.

If she’s even aware I’m visiting per her mother’s wish.

“Like she’d ever risk bringing her books around you ever again,” teases Nathan. “That was a low blow, even by your standards.”

“I didn’t bring you here for a lecture, not that you’re a saint by any standards. You’re here so I’m not treading into enemy territory alone. I wouldn’t trust anyone here.”

“I’m your glorified bodyguard then,” he jokes. “Fair warning, I’m more likely to cheer and record from the sidelines than help you. Definitely watching if it’s Rosalie exacting her revenge.”

“Douche.” He just laughs. “How about you stay with Jasmine and I’ll handle myself? You’re friends with her.”

“I’m friends with everybody.”

True, and very fucking annoying.

I remember plain as day the first time we met. It was my first day in the private middle school and at first glance, I knew I didn’t belong there. I stood out like a sore thumb. Broody, angry at the world, and with a chip on my shoulder. Even though I was only eleven.

My father was rich but those children’s parents were mega rich.

The elite.

The one percent.

My family’s business was booming and Dad wanted to give me things he never had growing up. Despite the path he had chosen to rise to the top, he wanted to convey that we righteously belonged here. No matter what anyone said.

However, I wasn’t the least bit interested. It showed on my face and I was adamant in staying alone rather than make friends. But Nathan Singhania was even more of a tenacious bastard than me.

Oh, he didn’t approach me like a normal kid. Instead, he hit me in the chest with a flying basketball and shouted, “Does that pissy scowl come with action or is it all for show? ’Cause we’re short of a player.”

The challenging grin on his smug face had me wanting to smash his teeth. Of course, I couldn’t resist rising to the bait and replied, “As long as you’re not squeamish about blood.”

He laughed and raised his middle finger. The next few days were almost the same. Him baiting and me—falling. Next thing I knew, we were attached at the hip, and the rest is history.

As for staying on the sideline, he never would. He’s always had my back, fighting on the ground. Front and center.

I pull my Maybach Exelero to a stop at the end of the driveway. Nathan gets out and I follow suit. Thank fuck, I didn’t have to dress formal like the last time. It makes my skin itch and yet it’s inevitably my future if I want to lead my father’s multinational company.

As we climb the short stretch of stairs, the double doors open before we can knock. The maid—dressed impeccably—offers a polite smile and invites us in. From my last visit, I am aware of the way to the large drawing room.

Everything looks the same as that day.

Cold. Impersonal. Neat—too neat.

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