Page 68 of Hateful Games

Rosalie

“Slow down, Miya,” I whisper-yell. “I can’t walk any faster in these heels in the dark.”

The grass tickles my legs as I hold the skirt of my dress up as we sprint across the mostly deserted road, lined with several luxurious cars, as if every student here is from a rich family. A few people lurk nearby, huddled in small groups or pairs wearing masks as per the dress code.

While the ancient-looking castle looms ahead, straight out of a gothic movie. The full moon rising behind the high tower, giving the illusion of being close enough to touch or hold in the palm of my hand.

“Hurry,” replies Miya, shockingly walking expertly in her equally high heels. She could give the models a run for their money walking on the runaway. “I don’t want anyone to recognize us until we’re in.”

“Are you afraid they’ll tattle on us to Nova?”

“And Malcolm. Although, it’s you they’ll be tattling on, not me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re their undefeated champ’s secret fiancée,” comes her swift reply. “Boys are intrigued why he kept you hidden. While the girls are swimming in petty jealousy for taking away their favorite fuckboy. On that note, do not, under any circumstances, take off your mask.”

“I don’t care,” I answer, bored. “They can have him for all I care. At least I’d finally be rid of him. Me being here shouldn’t stop him from being a Casanova.”

“Nova is not a manwhore.”

“Yeah, right.” My tone is sarcastic.

“No, seriously,” answers Miya, sincerity ringing in her voice. “Contrary to the gossip, Nova doesn’t fuck around.”

“So he’s discreet,” I counter. “A day before I came here, he was fucking some other girl.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“A friend of Malcolm’s.”

“Who?”

“A guy named Hunter or something.”

“Hunter?” She chuckles. “That guy is drunk half of the time. He can’t tell his hands from his arse. Not the most reliable source, babe.”

Is she implying Nova has been faithful to me? I find it hard to believe. I might as well believe unicorns exists. So, I say, “But you’re not denying he has slept around while being engaged to me?”

Giving me a knowing look, she replies, “And you’ve gone on dates with the same intentions.”

“Failed dates.”

Her face hidden behind the mask, she simply rubs my shoulder apologetically. Our conversation gets cut short when we arrive in front of the tall gates. Miya raps her knuckle thrice and a tiny window slides open, a masked man peering through it.

“Welcome to…?” he asks.

“Transylvania.”

That’s the password? Oh my god. Not at all what I expected. I couldn’t have guessed it in a million years. No one could have. Kudos to Malcolm, who I’m still pissed at for joining Nova on his quest to torment me. Although, he did look apologetic.

Shocking, I know.

We’re finally allowed entry, giving my heart a zap of excitement. A short dark hallway greets us. The security guard or whoever he was vanishing into thin air. A stunning chandelier hangs from the ceiling, glinting streaks of light on the blood red carpeted floor.

A curved spiral staircase beckons me, subtle music reaching our ears. There’s also another hallway to my right that pulls me in with the floor-to-ceiling zigzag mirrors lining the walls. A disco ball hanging that reflects colorful blinding lights.

An uncanny resemblance to a house of mirrors in a circus, which I used to visit often with my mom as a kid.

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