Hateful Games: (An arranged marriage billionaire romance) (Arranged Games Book 2)

Chapter One

(Sixteen years old)

How is it that one realizes they’re walking toward their doom only seconds away from it?

Just measly moments before so you can’t escape it.

As though the man sitting above wants to do the bare minimum in order to fend off his guilt and skate free by saying… “Oh child, I did give you a warning. Not my fault you didn’t take it.”

Well, he and I are going to have a talk later.

Rest be assured, I’m not going to sit back and let my life be ruined. Whatever awaits me on the other side cannot be worse than what I’ve already suffered. And… survived.

I take the flight of stairs as slow as humanly possible after my father summoned me to his home office through one of our many butlers. Yes, summoned because even at home, he prefers to be treated like a king, royalty—which we’re not—since anything lesser than that is beneath him. Beneath the Kapoor family name.

I’m surprised he even remembers my existence, let alone my name, and actually asked for me since he behaves as though I’m invisible. That single reason itself tells me it can’t be for anything good.

Usually, we have my mom as a buffer but currently, she’s traveling for one of her several yearly charity galas, which causes a spike in my anxiety.

Stopping before my father’s study, I knock on the door once and wait.

“Come in.”

The door doesn’t make a creak as I push it open and enter. My feet skid to a screeching halt when I notice who are sitting opposite my father’s large mahogany desk, which he had custom-made.

Yes, we are a bunch of snobbish people.

Once when I was a kid, I had sneaked in here because the little me enjoyed the otherworldly feel of the room. As if it were carved straight out of a Harry Potter movie, which I was obsessed with at the time and had binge-read the whole series. And whoever says movies are better than the books, they don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.

Because they obviously haven’t read a book in their lives.

I would sit at my father’s chair and pretend I was the professor at my own magic university. Accidently, I ended up writing on the wooden desk with a black marker, leaving a permanent spot. When my dad had found out I ruined his precious table, he had blown a gasket. I was yelled at for not having manners and imprisoned in my own room, with strict orders to not be let out for a whole week.

Jasmine, my older sister, would sneak in to keep me company, but nothing gets past my ruthless father. He sent her over to our aunt’s place so she wouldn’t attempt to help me again.

Even today, the memory of being locked away makes me shudder and it’s the reason I despise and dread being alone. The only difference is that instead of people, I enjoy my dog’s company. And my childhood best friend, Bianca.

The same dreadful feeling is coursing through my veins now.

“Take a seat, Rosalie,” my dad’s authoritative voice calls out, yanking me from my murky past.

As I enter deeper into the dark room with high ceilings like those in an old library, an ominous feeling takes root deep in my gut. It is well-known to our staff and my sister that I’m the invisible child. The forgotten offspring. A mistake and a disappointment when I wasn’t born with a dick between my legs. Thus, ruining my father’s grandiose plan of having an heir to pass his legacy on to.

Apparently, we still live in the Dark Ages.

Everyone is aware of the sad truth except my lovely mother.

Most times, I even prefer being invisible. Especially at this very second.

It hasn’t escaped my notice that my father’s cruelty surfaces at full velocity when she’s traveling. A suspicious voice whispering it’s one of his motives for keeping her calendar busy with various events, charities, and galas. So he has free rein with his torment of me.

I keep my expression impassive as I’ve been taught by my media instructor. When you’re born a Kapoor in the world, showing emotions is a sin. A weakness for your enemies to pounce on. However, the biggest one is sitting right across from me.

The D’Cruzes.

The patriarch, Danish D’Cruz, the CEO of the Cruz Empire, and his venomous offspring—Nova D’Cruz, the sole heir to the D’Cruz legacy.

Our families are what you call… mortal enemies. Whether it comes to business, wealth or power, everything is a competition, a race to be at the top, and nothing is off-limits. The rivalry between our families is more vicious than hate, deeper, and twisted than the roots of a thousand-year-old tree.

A kid born in either of our families is first taught to despise the other’s names and speak later. No one except the elders know the origin or the true depths between our mutual animosity and hatred. Except it goes back generations.

I swear we are a walking, talking movie script.

My father has drilled one truth into our brains—that the D’Cruzes cheated their way to the top. They are the ones who crossed the lines and made the games dirty and corrupted. As if he himself isn’t equally immoral.

So why the fuck they are in our house is both intriguing and terrifying.

My palms sweat when I round the desk to my father’s side and sit beside him dutifully. His eyes flit across to me in distaste at my all-black attire. The only other color I allow myself is my red hair and maroon lips, which I really wish I had put on if I knew we were going to have company.

Something about the combination of red and black fills me with confidence and untouchable air. People think it’s my armor but honestly, I’m just obsessed with it. No matter the disapproving scowls, I’m not changing for anyone, much less my father.

It’s my blatant fuck-you, or shall I say proverbial middle finger, for all his years of harsh discipline and ignorance for being his daughter.

That despite his best efforts, he didn’t break me.

A pro by now, I ignore his glare and study the other two men instead. Both are dressed sharp in their custom-made and thousand-dollar suits. The older D’Cruz man has aged like fine wine with hardly a wrinkle on his face and only a light smattering of gray hair on his temples to betray he’s in his late forties. His expression is devoid of any emotion as he flicks his gaze at me in a cursory glance before focusing on my dad.

I would take offense at the insulting disregard. However, my attention is stolen by his spawn, who unlike his father, isn’t hiding the flagrant way he’s sizing me up. As though I’m a wrench thrown into his devious plot.

Taller than his dad, he towers over him, even while sitting straight. His broad chest rising and falling in steady breaths. Dressed to perfection, nothing is out of place except for his messy jet-black hair. As if he’s silently rebelling against his own father.

Something we apparently have in common.

Not sure how I feel about that.

Light brown eyes, dripping with venom and hidden beneath thick eyelashes, penetrate me. It’s a miracle I haven’t died on the spot from its potency. His smooth and chiseled jaw is subtly clenched tight while his lips are set in a firm line.

He appears serene outwardly, almost aloof, but I know it’s a smokescreen.

His features are meant to tempt. To lure in an innocent prey.

Only to be eaten alive.

I bet he didn’t even know my identity until today. In spite of the fact that we went to same private high school for a year. Till he graduated last fall and went to study abroad. Now… he’s returned.

His vibe screams he blames me for it.

Throughout that year, we’ve never passed so as much as a glance at each other when we walked down the same white hallways. Our worlds are like two parallel lines that would never crisscross. Though it doesn’t mean I wasn’t aware of him.

Nova was the school’s favorite playboy.

An alphahole rich kid.

Yet he was charming and suave, even though his name alone instilled fear and obedience.

The silence in the room is deafening and has me fighting the instinct to fidget. Nova, who’s watching me like a hawk, narrows his gaze. His lips twitch. Despite my best efforts, it causes a crack in my armor. It’s small, barely imperceptible, and that’s plain dangerous.

It could possibly be because of the feeling of the unknown.

The cluelessness of why these two are here, especially him.

“She’s here,” rumbles Mr. D’Cruz impatiently. “Shall we sign the papers?”

My mask slips and I frown, trepidation rising to my throat. “Sign what?”

“You didn’t tell her?” snaps Mr. D’Cruz in annoyance while glaring at my dad.

Nova remains silent and still as a stone.

“She will do as she’s told,” says Dad in his dictator tone. “Besides, it’s just a formality. An unnecessary precaution. Your son is marrying my daughter just like we agreed.”

What the— Marriage?

To Nova?

I shudder violently.

My horrific and shocked gaze whips to his. And he’s fucking calm. No visible reaction. Nothing. Zilch.

“You can’t do this, Papa.” I hate the quiver in my voice. And I especially hate them seeing it. Vulnerability is for the weak. “I don’t consent to this.”

Dad’s nostrils flare at my open defiance in front of his rival, whose attention feels like hot coal on my back. I would cower in fear before my father, but this is my life we’re discussing. He’s treating me like a prized horse being sold in the market.

“Sign the papers, Rosalie.”

“No.”

“Rosalie!”

“Does Ma know?” I use my only saving grace. “She wouldn’t agree to this.”

A sharklike glint darkens my father’s eyes and my heart rate drops. His smugness reeks as if I gave him the upper hand. Any hope of pulling out of the situation dies. Yet I’m unprepared for the bomb he drops.

“It was your mother’s wish to marry you with Nova.”

“You’re lying.”

“Don’t believe me?” He flicks his hand in Danish’s direction. “Ask him. Your mother and I sat with him when she proposed to bind the two families.”

My gaze whips to the said man. The unspoken truth is written on his face.

“Now stop wasting our time and sign the papers.”

I sit in disbelief as he slides the marriage contract in front of me. I chance a glance at Nova, waiting for his objection. He couldn’t possibly want to be saddled with me for the rest of his life?

Only to be struck by his impassiveness.

The animosity is swallowed by coldness, sending chills down my spine.

The walls close in on me under the twisted games of the ruthless men in the room. Their rivalry has become my imprisonment and there’s no escaping it. Because the one person who could save me is the one who served me on a platter.

And she couldn’t even be here to witness it.

It’s either sign the papers or… I shake the memory.

Defeated and lost, I grab the pen and seal my fate with shaky fingers.

My future no longer my own.