Page 259 of Hateful Games

Worst-case scenarios start plaguing my head.

Ending with who I need to hurt.

What the hell could’ve happened between the afternoon after my video call with her and the evening?

“Do you know where Rose is, Buns?”

He barks louder in affirmation and walks ahead, staring back at me to see if I’m following or not. He moves after I walk behind him. We go past the living room, the dining room, to the right hallway leading to the theater room.

It’s dark but the low glow of the screen is visible.

Bunny runs inside. Trailing after him, I round the corner and see the top of Rosalie’s head as she sits on the large sectional couch. I instantly know something is wrong because she would never willingly step foot inside this room.

A random movie plays, barely audible with no subtitles.

A flash of our past reminds me when I found her in a similar position in London. Back then, she had been plotting to sneak out of the flat with Miya and follow Malcolm and I to the after-party. Our lives irrevocably changed that night.

I’m about to call out her name when I hear the first sniffle.

My senses sharpen, followed by rage at whoever made her cry while I plot their demise. I’ve seen her break down twice and know she reveals her emotions only when something terrible has happened.

Before the second broken sound comes, I’m by her side and tilting her face to mine. The little ones startle when the couch dips with my weight. Maggie is held tight in Rosalie’s arms against her chest while Fire sits with his head perched on her leg.

Their expressions morose, raptly watching Rosalie.

Her face is a beautiful mess of tears, nose red, and the saddest pain shining in her eyes. I swear I hear my heart crack, unable to withstand the sight. She sobs harder upon seeing me.

“Who do I need to hurt? Tell me,” I demand, my tone deathly serious.

My restlessness grows when she throws herself into my arms. Maggie slips and settles behind her as Rosalie buries her face in my neck, crying inconsolably. I maneuver her into my lap and tenderly brush her hair.

“Sweetheart, you’re scaring me,” I murmur. “Tell me so I can fix it.”

The Rose I know is inscrutable and doesn’t shake like a leaf.

Unflappable.

Yet I’m forced to watch her crumble before me.

At first, I miss it as she mumbles incoherently against my neck. Keeping one arm secured around her waist, I pull her head back with the other.

“He di-died,” she hiccups.

“All alone.” She sniffs, her entire body trembling.

“I wasn’t there.” Another gut-wrenching hiccup. “I didn’t even get to bring him home, Nova.”

“Shh… it’s okay,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head.

Instead of asking questions to make sense of who she lost, I pull her back into my chest and let her cry it all out. I whisper sweet and consoling words in her ear while rubbing her spine up and down, caressing the long tresses.

She breaks my heart with every sob.

Every tremor.

I didn’t know her crying would have the power to bring me to my knees. If someone dared to actually harm her, I’d go ballistic.

It takes her a full ten minutes before her tears stop falling and shoulders cease shaking. She stills as if it’s now sinking in that I held her through her breakdown. Did she think I’d leave her alone?

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