Page 230 of Hateful Games

I was in disbelief he left everything—his work—behind to come get me.

Instead of spilling all of it, I ask with an edge to my voice, “Why aren’t you mad? You can’t stand the thought of me with another man, yet you’re completely okay with me fucking your best friend.”

“Does it upset you that I’m not?”

His casual tone grates on my nerves. “It upsets me that I don’t want you to be.”

There’s the bloody truth.

Twisted and dangerous.

My intent from all those years ago have done a complete one-eighty. I went from wanting to break his arrogance to regretting it. It was an impulsive decision, fueled by betrayal and hatred.

“If all you wanted was to hurt me, Rose,” Nova says, peering deeply at me. “You accomplished that. The reason I’m not going insane with rage is because I know you didn’t have feelings for Malcolm. You neither did in the past nor you do today.”

“What if I had?”

Expression devoid of mercy, like a psychopath, he shrugs and states, “Then he’d be lying dead in a ditch. Right beside your uncle.” His rugged face illuminated by the candles, he leans forward. “If you’re not mine, you’re not going to be anyone else’s.”

In other words… Either I fall in love with him.

Or forget loving anyone.

“What if I don’t want to be yours?” I ask in a small voice. “Will you never let me be happy with someone else?”

“Do you want the truth that you already know or the lie to feed your delusion that you’ll never let me in your heart?”

Said organ threatens to beat out of my chest. “The truth.”

“No.”

“You can’t force someone to love you, Nova.”

“Why not?”

“Because then it’s Stockholm syndrome, not love.”

“I told you, Rose. You and I… it’s for eternity.” His deep and raspy voice is soft yet fierce. It leaves no room for doubt to creep in. “I’m still the same man. Only, my motives have changed. Instead of letting you go, I’m going to make you mine. Make you want me so fiercely that you can’t bear the thought to leave me, let alone fall for some other man.”

***

Nova’s deranged, almost to the point of obsessive, words haven’t stopped plaguing my mind since last night.

We’re either we’re at one extreme or the other.

One minute, I think I finally understand him better, and the next, I’m questioning my damn morals and common sense for falling for his possessive words.

The fucked-up part is neither makes me want to run for the hills.

Rather to him.

It must be the only explanation why I’m upset for finding his side of the bed empty as I wake up. He’s an early sleeper and riser but he’s always hovering around me in the mornings. Whether it’s reading the newspaper, his emails, or sitting shirtless against the headboard with my head on his lap.

Today, our bedroom in the luxurious suite of his yacht is devoid of his presence.

Only sign he was here are the rumpled sheets on his side.

The dinner date last night was rather tense and I just needed a breather from his intensity. So, I made an excuse about how I was tired from our activities of the day, which wasn’t exactly a lie, and went to bed.

---