Page 22 of Hateful Games

“Definitely not.”

“How do you know him then?”

“I’m Rosalie,” I pause, waiting for recognition to hit. It doesn’t, so I add, “His fiancée.”

His jaw drops, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline. His indifferent attitude cracking and shock rooting in its place. Wow, so Nova has hidden the fact he’s engaged. Of course, he has. Declaring he has a fiancée will be an obstacle in the way of his horde of women lining up for his bed.

He rubs his chin before exhaling roughly. “Wow, he has been hiding you all this time then, huh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to disrupt his bachelor’s life.”

His lips twitch.

The telltale sound of the elevator opening behind snags our attention. When I look back, the doorman is bringing my suitcases. All four of them.

“Are you moving in with us, love?”

I narrow my gaze at his sarcastic tone. His features sliding back into one of boredom. As if accepting the fact there’s no getting rid of me. He shifts to the side, letting the doorman pass before gesturing for me to come in.

Fucking finally.

He guides me down the dark hallway, then veers to the left toward an open kitchen and living room space. Every inch of their apartment is neat and organized. The rumors about an ugly and messy bachelor pad sounding like a myth.

Despite the scowl on his face, the guy has impeccable manners as he brings me a bottle of water. I plump down on the softest yet most firm couch ever with a quiet sigh. “Thank you…” I trail off, realizing I never bothered to ask his name.

“Malcolm.”

“Thanks, Malcolm,” I reply with a small smile. I briefly glance around the place. My eyes going everywhere at once. On the gray walls, the white rug on the floor, and small impersonal decorations littered around the room fashionably.

“By your reaction earlier,” says Malcolm, sitting opposite me. Still very much shirtless. “It’s safe to say it wasn’t a love engagement.”

Not unless he counts burning each other’s stuff as a love language. I bite my tongue, not wanting to scare the poor guy. “Our parents arranged it when we were young.”

“Is that even legal in this day and age?”

“A lot of people have arranged marriages in all parts of the world.”

“Nova never seemed the type to let his parents pick a girl.”

“And yet I’m here, lo and behold.”

“You hate him,” he states flatly.

“No offense, but it’s none of your business, Malcolm.” I set my empty glass down on the low-rise table, not acquiescing his statement. “Where is Nova, anyways?”

“Out.”

I arch one eyebrow. “Will he be returning?”

“Not tonight.”

I wait for him to elaborate but he seems content in giving me short answers. I bet he’s secretly enjoying it, not that I can tell by his expression. I thought Nova was a closed book with his charming mask. But this guy takes the cake.

Malcolm is frosty.

“Would you please text him and let him know I’m here?” I politely ask, acting unbothered by his standoffish attitude.

“You don’t have his phone number?”

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