Page 82 of Hateful Games

“No, Papa.”

His sharp gaze doesn’t waver from mine, observing for any tell.

I boldly hold the eye contact and watch as he slowly rises to his full height. Rounding the big desk, he disappears out of my sight to walk back and forth behind me. My hands sweat and I discreetly rub them down my thighs, over my leggings.

“May I please leave now?” I ask, my chest feeling too tight. I jump when his hands land on the back of my chair, making his cigar-holding fingers hang inches from the side of my face. The heat stinging my skin. Desperate to leave, I whisper, “Is there anyth—”

“Are we invited to a funeral on the same day as your wedding, Rosalie?” he asks, a curious edge in his tone.

Shit. He’s furious.

Confess or lie.

Confess or lie.

Confess or lie.

“No.”

I cry out when he slaps a receipt on the desk with the name of the bridal boutique staring back at me. The burning butt of his cigar grazes the top of my arm when he leans back. The burn doesn’t even register over his loud and angry voice as he reveals his true emotions.

“I’ll ask again… is there something that needs my attention?”

“It’s just a dress, Dad.” My voice is shaky.

“My daughter isn’t walking down the aisle in an ugly black dress as if she’s being marched down to her death sentence,” he yells.

“It’s not a big deal,” I pleadingly say. “No one will care.”

“For God’s sake, Rosalie!” he snaps, once again behind his desk and leaning over it. “Why the hell can’t you be normal for once? Always dressing like a goth and weirdo. It was supposed to be a phase and you should’ve grown out of it.”

Angry tears sting my eyes against the lash of his cruel insult. In his mind, I’ll be nothing but a disappointment, a shameful mark on his pristine family’s name.

Giving me a derisive once-over, he continues listing all my flaws, “The red hair, the piercings, where and when is it going to stop, huh? When are you going to start acting like an adult, and not a rebelling child? You’re nothing but a disgrace to this family. It’s a miracle the D’Cruzes are still willing to accept you as their daughter-in-law.”

“I have done everything you’ve asked of me. Why can’t you let me have this one thing?” I bargain like a pathetic girl. “Are you worried Nova will care? He won’t.”

“You’re in over your head if you think I’m letting you walk out in that heinous dress. It better be in the trash before the day is over.” Dismissing me, he picks up his phone while muttering, “I’m telling your mother to take you shopping and buy another.”

“No.”

His head snaps to mine, eyes narrowing into slits. “What did you say, little girl?”

I’ve let go of my pride. My freedom. My happiness. Every morsel of my life for him. Without a fight. But I’m not giving up on this.

“I’m wearing the black one.”

In a flash, he’s in front of me and jerking me out of the chair. I raise my arm in defense, expecting a slap. Instead, all he does is shake me violently until I’m sure he’ll either leave a bruise or pull my arm out of its socket.

“Repeat that again.”

I make the mistake of glaring even as a tear slips down my cheek.

Uncaring about mistakenly leaving a burn scar, his fingers grip my chin tightly with the same hand holding his cigar. He squeezes until I whimper low in my throat. My eyes burning from the smoke billowing so damn close and I hold my breath.

“Yo-you’re hurting m-me, Dad.”

One thick eyebrow arches and he growls low, “You’re finally worth something and I will not let you jeopardize everything over a thing as trivial as a stupid dress. Burn it down.” Letting me go with a chilling look, I smack hard against the chair and wince. Picking nonexistent lint off his suit, he barks, “Get out.”

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