Page 94 of Hateful Games

Dressed in a dark green blouse, held in place by two thin straps and paired with a matching skirt, leaving her midriff bare. The color of her attire beautifully complements her cherry red hair with a tiara on top.

She looks divine.

But it all looks wrong.

Because I still like her more in black, though. I’d be pissed if this is her father’s doing, forcing her to be someone else. Someone that fits with his idea of image. For all my dad’s flaws, he’s not guilty of trying to shape me into a man with a sheeplike personality.

Shifting the thoughts away, I soak in the red curls framing Rosalie’s face with her lips twisted to the side as she glares at the mehndi guy that Nathan must have been talking about. My lips curve into a smile of their own accord when he says something to her and she looks ready to bite his head off.

But she quickly masks it, as if remembering she isn’t behind closed doors.

I won’t lie and say I haven’t enjoyed every second. As though we’re playing a secret game of hide-and-seek. Usually, it’s the other way around. People trying to hide their love to avoid being torn apart.

For us, it’s the complete opposite.

It’s hatred we’re locking behind closed doors.

I rest my hands on the edge of the balcony as my gaze once again skirts to her because having her in my vicinity and not staring at her is an impossibility. A crime. And has slowly become a weakness I’ve lost control over.

Bianca and Iris stand on either side of her like soldiers. One holds a bottle of juice while the other holds a plate of finger foods, feeding her one by one. The mehndi guy wisely bends his head and gets to work on her right hand while the left one is already finished.

Did he write my name or not?

Why do I even care?

Because you’re bewitched by a woman who is most likely to off you in your sleep.

Despite that, she’ll be sleeping nowhere but in my bed. Danger to my life be damned.

In less than twenty-four hours, she’ll truly belong to me.

In every essence.

The years of back and forth, teasing and tormenting, and burning looks have left a hunger in my bones that can only be quenched by Rosalie. My soon-to-be wife.

My mind and dick are already delirious with the endless possibilities of when I’ll have her under my mercy and command. As if she can sense my attention, her eyes search around the crowd and lift toward the sky until they land in my direction.

Our eyes lock.

Electricity hums in the air. The awareness settling in my veins that her mere attention evokes. The first glance always leaves her stunned and off guard. I know she detests how I am always sneaking up on her. Just like it always takes her a moment to build up her walls of loathing and malice.

That split second tells me I affect her on a deeper level than hatred.

Soon, I’ll have a lifetime to unveil the true intentions she has tucked away.

No way I have her all figured out.

Our connection breaks when in my peripheral, I catch sight of my younger cousin, Miya, approaching Rosalie and her friends. She has been dying to meet her ever since she came to India two days ago.

She captures Rosalie’s attention and immediately, her face brightens into a friendly and loving smile she reserves for her best friends. It only took Miya and Rosalie a week in London to become fast friends. The two caused a lot of chaos.

A relationship that quite honestly shocked me.

Because everyone remotely related to me automatically goes to Rosalie’s hit list.

I watch as she and Miya collide into an embrace, while Rosalie keeps her hands away to avoid spoiling her mehndi. Probably because she wouldn’t want to sit through the ordeal of having to get it done again.

Iris and Bianca hug Miya, welcoming her into their close-knit circle like they’re all old pals. They must already know about my cousin.

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