Page 81 of Hateful Games

“It’s a joyous occasion, Rosa,” tsks my mom. “If this isn’t the time to decorate the house, then when is?”

Jasmine and I exchange a look before she gazes over my shoulder. Her eyes widen at the sight of my huge shimmering black wedding dress that I had custom-made. Since Nova’s parents are Catholic, there will be a Christian ceremony with a priest while all the pre-wedding rituals will be according to Indian traditions.

“Why am I not surprised?” says Jasmine before smirking, “I’m just shocked you’re getting busted now by Mom.”

“Don’t you start on me too,” I warn.

“Of course not, silly. That stunning dress is so you.”

I give her a grateful smile. Jasmine knows how I truly feel about the arrangement and the contract I’m bound by and also having watched Nova’s silent cruelty over the years. Like a protective big sister, she confronted Dad and demanded he break the engagement. Only to be threatened to be cut off from the family and dismissed.

Dad would probably have been harsher had she not been pregnant with Suhana.

“Thanks, Jas.”

“But Dad is going to be pissed.”

Just then, a servant appears behind her and looking at me, informs, “Mr. Kapoor is calling you to his office, Miss Rosalie.”

“Speaking of the devil,” I mutter.

“Rosalie!” admonishes Mom.

But I’m already out the door and down the hallway. Reaching his office on the opposite wing of the house, I knock and wait. His reply comes from the other side and I push inside.

The stench of burning tobacco assaults my nose. It takes everything inside me not to wretch and keep my expression concealed as I come face to face with my father, who has one of his imported cigars lit up.

Trepidation rises in the pit of my stomach because he only smokes when he’s controlling his anger. I’ve learned to handle him in all of his moods except this. It’s too much of a reminder of that awful and terrifying night.

Yet somehow, I hold on to my composure. “How can I help you, Dad?”

His chair is tilted sideways, giving me the view of his profile as he peers at the wall. With a flick of his wrist, he points toward the chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat.”

I quickly obey, already wanting to run away.

He takes a puff while tapping his knuckle on the desk with the other. I resist the urge to nervously chew on my lip, not risking pissing him off further.

“Everything going well with the wedding planner?” he questions sternly. “I don’t need to tell you that you should be on your best behavior and do nothing to embarrass me.”

He’s the one sacrificing his daughter for a financial gain yet I’m the embarrassment.

Immediately, my mind goes to my dress. But there’s no way he could know. Besides my best friends, Mom and Jasmine are the only ones who know. They would never betray me. Judging by his tone, I’m torn whether or not to confess.

Because if I do, I’ll definitely have to say goodbye to the dress.

My heart doesn’t allow me to risk it.

I need to have at least one thing that is not being forced on me when it comes to the wedding. One piece that’ll help me get through it.

“I asked you a question, Rosalie,” he snaps, slapping his palm on the desk when I take too long to answer.

“Yes, I know,” I rush to say. “Tamana and her team are very efficient and handling everything perfectly.”

His chair creaks over the heartbeat in my ears as he twists to face me. Despite working from home today, he’s impeccably dressed in a custom Brioni suit. Over the years, his wrinkles have become more prominent and not taken away his harshness.

Another long inhale with traces of smoke reaching my space, he coolly asks, “Nothing that needs my intervention?”

He knows about the dress. However, my self-preservations seem to be on a stroll.

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