Page 78 of Hateful Games

In the next breath, I’m being claimed and ruined for other men.

Ruined for Nova.

His face the one I see when I shatter around Malcolm’s cock.

Chapter Twenty-two

Rosalie

(Present – Eight years later)

My biggest regret—not choosing science as my stream in school.

If I had, maybe I could’ve have become a kick-ass scientist and invented a time machine. Or a machine that made me control time. Second best option—or worst, depending which side you’re on—I could’ve created a virus that made touching another human deadly and spread it around the city.

I’d be the most hated person on the planet. But at least then, I won’t be subjected to an unwanted marriage. A bleak future. Saddled with a man who vows to hate me.

My hope of undoing the deal made by my parents ten years ago dwindled and pretty much died as each year passed.

I’ve lived through all the stages of grief.

And have finally come to acceptance.

Nova D’Cruz will very soon be my husband.

As the dreadful weekend approaches—in seven days—my family is celebrating the train wreck about to happen with wide smiles and throwing money around like confetti on the wedding preparations.

Every media outlet in the country is calling it the bash of the year.

An extravagant, regal affair of the century.

Because it’s not often two powerful families, known to be at each other’s throats, come together for a celebration of love and peace.

God! What a joke.

Everyone assumes weapons and violence are dangerous. When words are far deadlier. The power they wield, twisting and spinning the truth, can destroy and create chaos.

I’ve witnessed my father do it countless times that my life has become a web of lies. A sordid tale of manipulation and illusion.

But hey! On the bright side, I can’t complain my life will be boring.

“Your father will not be pleased, Rosalie.”

My mother’s voice breaks through my morose thoughts and I mumble flatly, “When is he ever?”

My pet pug, Maggie, who senses my mood darkening lifts her wrinkled face from my lap to lick my arm affectionately. She repeats it again until I give her a small smile. I pat her head once she settles down again to softly snore.

I swear, all she does is sleep twenty-four hours a day.

Meanwhile, my two other dogs lie down near the end of the bed. A rescued pit bull named Bunny, because his favorite pastime is jumping on my bed, and a Chihuahua, Fire, because he’s my little spitfire. He’s tiny but protective as hell.

Actually, they all are.

At least I’ll have someone who loves me at my in-laws.

“You cannot wear a black bridal dress,” my mom informs with a disgruntled sigh. “It’s bad luck.”

Delusion—still my mom’s best friend.

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