Page 2 of Hateful Games

Our families are what you call… mortal enemies. Whether it comes to business, wealth or power, everything is a competition, a race to be at the top, and nothing is off-limits. The rivalry between our families is more vicious than hate, deeper, and twisted than the roots of a thousand-year-old tree.

A kid born in either of our families is first taught to despise the other’s names and speak later. No one except the elders know the origin or the true depths between our mutual animosity and hatred. Except it goes back generations.

I swear we are a walking, talking movie script.

My father has drilled one truth into our brains—that the D’Cruzes cheated their way to the top. They are the ones who crossed the lines and made the games dirty and corrupted. As if he himself isn’t equally immoral.

So why the fuck they are in our house is both intriguing and terrifying.

My palms sweat when I round the desk to my father’s side and sit beside him dutifully. His eyes flit across to me in distaste at my all-black attire. The only other color I allow myself is my red hair and maroon lips, which I really wish I had put on if I knew we were going to have company.

Something about the combination of red and black fills me with confidence and untouchable air. People think it’s my armor but honestly, I’m just obsessed with it. No matter the disapproving scowls, I’m not changing for anyone, much less my father.

It’s my blatant fuck-you, or shall I say proverbial middle finger, for all his years of harsh discipline and ignorance for being his daughter.

That despite his best efforts, he didn’t break me.

A pro by now, I ignore his glare and study the other two men instead. Both are dressed sharp in their custom-made and thousand-dollar suits. The older D’Cruz man has aged like fine wine with hardly a wrinkle on his face and only a light smattering of gray hair on his temples to betray he’s in his late forties. His expression is devoid of any emotion as he flicks his gaze at me in a cursory glance before focusing on my dad.

I would take offense at the insulting disregard. However, my attention is stolen by his spawn, who unlike his father, isn’t hiding the flagrant way he’s sizing me up. As though I’m a wrench thrown into his devious plot.

Taller than his dad, he towers over him, even while sitting straight. His broad chest rising and falling in steady breaths. Dressed to perfection, nothing is out of place except for his messy jet-black hair. As if he’s silently rebelling against his own father.

Something we apparently have in common.

Not sure how I feel about that.

Light brown eyes, dripping with venom and hidden beneath thick eyelashes, penetrate me. It’s a miracle I haven’t died on the spot from its potency. His smooth and chiseled jaw is subtly clenched tight while his lips are set in a firm line.

He appears serene outwardly, almost aloof, but I know it’s a smokescreen.

His features are meant to tempt. To lure in an innocent prey.

Only to be eaten alive.

I bet he didn’t even know my identity until today. In spite of the fact that we went to same private high school for a year. Till he graduated last fall and went to study abroad. Now… he’s returned.

His vibe screams he blames me for it.

Throughout that year, we’ve never passed so as much as a glance at each other when we walked down the same white hallways. Our worlds are like two parallel lines that would never crisscross. Though it doesn’t mean I wasn’t aware of him.

Nova was the school’s favorite playboy.

An alphahole rich kid.

Yet he was charming and suave, even though his name alone instilled fear and obedience.

The silence in the room is deafening and has me fighting the instinct to fidget. Nova, who’s watching me like a hawk, narrows his gaze. His lips twitch. Despite my best efforts, it causes a crack in my armor. It’s small, barely imperceptible, and that’s plain dangerous.

It could possibly be because of the feeling of the unknown.

The cluelessness of why these two are here, especially him.

“She’s here,” rumbles Mr. D’Cruz impatiently. “Shall we sign the papers?”

My mask slips and I frown, trepidation rising to my throat. “Sign what?”

“You didn’t tell her?” snaps Mr. D’Cruz in annoyance while glaring at my dad.

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