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

Chapter Twelve

When I used to visit London with my parents as a kid, I was always eager to go the station. Not because I particularly loved trains, but because I wanted to live out my secret Harry Potter fantasy and enter another realm through the wall.

I had already read the books, but the movies made it all seem so real.

I must have been seven or eight when I attempted it. Dad would always be busy between meetings and conferences, not that I would’ve asked him. So, I would nag at Mom to sneak out with me and take me to the station so I could fulfill my fantasy.

Oh, the disappointment when I smacked my head instead of disappearing through the wall. I was so crushed, even though deep down I knew I was being silly.

How tough things must’ve been for me to concoct such delusions.

It made my mom so amused that she couldn’t stop laughing. She teased me adoringly and just so I didn’t feel stupid, she pretended to enter the wall, too, until we both looked like two loons to the public.

The next time we visited London, she planned one day for just us to spend doing all things Harry Potter. We went to the Platform 9 ? at King’s Cross station, saw Harry Potter and the Cursed Child at the Palace Theatre and, of course, ended the perfect day on the streets of Leadenhall Market.

It was the single most unforgettable day of my life.

I swear, the only time I didn’t feel like my world was crumbling around me was whenever I was with her, especially during goofy moments like those. She was the only person, besides Jasmine, who I thought would always be in my corner.

It was enough for me.

However, I thought wrong.

“Okay, so when you said sightseeing, this isn’t what I pictured at all.”

Miya’s amused voice yanks me out of my reverie.

“Man, was I fooled,” she says sarcastically, eyeing the long rows and lines of bookshelves.

Surprisingly, it’s been two fun and entertainment-filled days of wandering and trotting all over the winding streets of London with its Victorian architecture. Even though skyscrapers dominate the sky, the old historian essence is still very much alive.

Yesterday, we went to the Borough Market, exploring all the yummy street food—my favorite. Day before that, I bought tickets for the Harry Potter and the Cursed Child show at the Palace Theatre. No way was I missing that.

Wisely, she didn’t bring up any topic surrounding our families’ history. As though she regrets revealing as much as she did the first day. It works against me because the purpose of inviting her to hang out together was to investigate about our elders’ rivalry.

If I don’t get her to talk, I’ll still remain in the dark.

A sitting duck once I’m irrevocably attached to their family.

I made a vow to myself after that day in my father’s office that I will never be blindsided.

Today, we’re at the Cecil Court, the valley of many old bookstores. That for me is equivalent to a kid in a candy store with no budget.

I am happily surfing, lost walking up and down aisles. Half tempted to buy everything and build my own library at home. I’m already halfway there. While Miya is quietly trotting alongside me, looking bored and out of place as I study her.

“What were you expecting?” I ask while putting another book in the basket. I stopped counting when I picked my tenth one. “Sneaking into nightclubs, barhopping, and getting drunk on the streets?”

“Well, I’m definitely craving alcohol right now,” she replies with a chuckle, her cheeks rosy from the sun. “Also, when normal people say sightseeing, they mean going to the London Eye, shopping, snapping pictures, and definitely the pubs and the clubs.”

Another revelation I learned is that Miya is a certified party girl.

For one, all her stories began with, ‘Oh, the time I got so drunk,’ or ‘How I saw this beefy guy chugging beer’.

“Hey! It can’t be that bad,” I reply. “Don’t you ever read occasionally?”

“God no!” Her eyes widen in horror before joking, “My arse can’t sit still for a few minutes, let alone for the whole book. You’ll find me passed out.”

“Typical.” I roll my eyes. “I believe everybody is a reader. They just haven’t found their genre yet.”

“It’s not happening today. I’ll tell you that much.”

“Come on, let’s pay for these before your arse passes out on me.” I retort in a fake British accent, making her chortle. The sound draws the attention of lingering patrons who are submerged in reading, and they scowl at us. I quickly grab her arm and stride toward the front counter while mumbling, “Or you’ll probably get us kicked out.”

“What for? It’s just a store.”

“A bookstore is just as sacred as a library, Miya.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I hold back a snicker when she gives me a mock salute along with it. I hate to admit but the girl is hilarious, hella talkative—a fact I was grateful for because I didn’t have to do much of the talking—and as promised, told me tons of embarrassing stories about Nova to use as a secret weapon against him.

For example, he took ballroom dance lessons as a kid.

He’s a complete mama’s boy.

And was a super clumsy kid, which made for some very embarrassing falls. Apparently, there are videos as proof too. Man, if I could get my hands on them.

Last night, I received a video call from Bianca, reminding me not to forget her shopping list. While I also assured her that the bustling streets of London were just fine. No blood or mayhem.

There’s still time.

I swear, Nova hasn’t made it easy to be on my best behavior. I tried to be the bigger person and avoided him the next day by skipping out right after he left for his morning jog. Then cross-checking with Miya to arrive home in the night before he did, and went to bed early.

But, of course, the cruel asshole caught up with my plan. I was smug as a bird when I escaped his presence the next morning. Only to return home and find your highness having a soccer night with his college mates. In his fucking bedroom, no less.

The shameless bastard left me with no choice but to sleep on the couch. I was wearing my tightest leather pants, for fuck’s sake.

It was a wonder I wasn’t grouchy as hell today.

“Looking at you, nobody will say a bookish girl is hiding behind that don’t-fuck-with-me glower, red hair, and those sexy black dresses,” Miya teases.

“Never judge a book by its cover.”

“Touché.”

Some days I feel the reason I was always drawn to books was because I wanted to escape my reality. They allowed me to imagine a world where everything ended with a happily ever after. The good guys won, the bad guys were punished, and the world was at peace.

Nobody knows I love writing, too, and have pages upon pages of untold stories. Where I’m the creator, the judge, and the executioner. It allows me the control I never had in my life. However, I’m yet to find the courage to publish them.

Maybe one day.

I rest two of my shopping baskets, brimming with books, on the cashier’s desk. The lanky kid behind the counter startles at the thumping noise. His gaze going round when they land on the paperbacks and hardbacks before he schools his expression, acting cool.

“Is that all?” he teases with a straight face.

I arch my eyebrow and sweetly reply, “I would rather buy the entire store.”

“Yeah, right.”

“She’s serious,” Miya mumbles from beside me.

His eyes flash with glee. “Really?”

I shrug. “Maybe next time.”

His face deflates like a popped balloon. He takes his sweet-ass time scanning each book. The beeping sound of the barcode reader so soothing, and my stomach somersaults when he packs every item. Some books I already have at home but I couldn’t resist purchasing the special edition versions. Paying him with cash, I grab the two bags and walk out of the bookstore with a happy grin.

It vanishes as soon as I remember whose place I’m taking them to.

I swear if Nova looks in their direction, let alone touch them, I’m going Godzilla on his ass.

Outside on the sidewalk, my gaze flicks toward another vintage bookstore. I take a step, only to be yanked back by what feels like inhumane strength. But is actually a hell-bent Miya.

“Ah. Ah. Ah. No way, miss,” tsks Miya, blocking my path. “You are not walking into another store. If I have to see another book, I’m going to beat you to death with it.”

“But—”

She shakes her head sternly and holds one finger up, reminding me of my strict chemistry teacher in high school. “We’ve had your way of fun for the past two days. Now it is my turn.”

“Fine.” I stare at the store wistfully.

“Get that pout off your face.”

“I’m not pouting,” I grumble. “I don’t pout. Period.”

“Then wipe away that puppy dog look.”

“That’s worse.”

“Jeez.”

“Okay. No more bookstores.” Hefting my shopping bag to my elbow, I asked her, “What do you wanna do?”

“Tonight, we’ll have dinner because I’m wiped out from all the walking up and down the aisles,” she answers before smirking and wagging her eyebrows suggestively. “But tomorrow, we’re going to a secret masked ball. Your fantasy-loving arse will go berserk over it.”

I narrow my gaze suspiciously. “If it’s a secret, how do you know about it?”

“Because I’m cousins with Nova.”

“Then you know we can’t,” I retort. “It’s his graduation ceremony, remember? I can’t exactly skip it.”

“It’s a good thing it’s his after-party.” Her tone is smug. “Also, why can’t you skip if you want to?”

“Because I don’t trust your cousin not to tattle to my father.”

“He will never.”

“Miya, I mean it in the sweetest way possible, but your precious brother has an evil side that you don’t see.” I keep my voice soft. “I have a front-row seat, which he reserves for me.”

“Oh.” Her face is comical. “Then you better not spill to him about coming to the ball. I am going to sneak us both in.”

“So, you aren’t invited?”

“Only the seniors are from all the Russell Group universities.” She then explains as we resume walking, “It’s a yearly tradition. Their last night to create chaos.”

“Do we even want to be around that?”

“Why not? I want to see what the fuss is all about.”

The way she describes it, the adventurous and day dreamer part of me becomes elated. A thrill takes root in my stomach as I realize it’s the perfect opportunity to lose my V-card. The idea of a masked man having his way with me in the dark swirls a ball of desire deep in my core.

How often do I get a chance like this? Hardly ever.

My mind made up, I smile at Miya. “One problem. I don’t have a dress suitable for a ball.”

“Shopping?” she questions brightly.

“Hell yeah.”

“Finally, something I’m on board with.”

I shake my head at her antics and search for a cab. We quickly catch one and slide into the back seat before asking the driver to take us to the Westfield Stratford City.

Since I’m carrying a heavy number of books, we make a pit stop at Miya’s place, which is on our way, and keep them there. Until I can come over tomorrow to pick them up as we decide we will get ready at her apartment for the party.

Nova will be none the wiser.

The next three or so hours quickly pass by as we pick out two risqué gowns with matching lingerie. Mine is, of course, black—with silver glitter lining on the edges from Oscar de la Renta. While Miya’s is a deep cherry red with a plunging neckline from Versace.

We also find a beautiful store with sexy and mysterious masks to complement our dresses. Miya says it fits the theme of ‘Monsters Belles’. The anonymity that comes with hiding beneath a thin fa?ade is a drug in itself.

I can be anyone I desire.

Anybody but Rosalie Kapoor.

A girl about to be locked in an invisible cage.

If a night is all I have to be a free bird, I want to be a temptress with the power to take the reins of her own life. Her body. Everything except her heart. That is locked away forever.

Miya sips on a latte as we stroll down the street, both my hands stuffed with our shopping bags from Gucci, Givenchy, and Balenciaga. Most of the stuff is for Bianca from her list.

“Where is this after-party happening and are you sure we won’t run into Nova or Malcolm?”

“It’s a little out of the city in a private mansion,” she replies, twisting around to walk backward. “Don’t stress about either of them. They’ll be too busy celebrating and getting shit-faced. You’re also forgetting everybody will be in a mask.”

“True.”

“I’ll come to pick you up as soon as you text me when they leave.”

Miya squints her eyes at something behind me. Afraid she’ll fall on her ass, I grab her arm and turn her around. The bags almost slipping from my hand. “If you trip, Miya, I’m not carrying you out of here.”

She doesn’t laugh or react. The frown on her face deepens as she thinks too hard, making me concerned. “Miya?” I mumble.

Blinking once, her gaze connects with mine as she pulls me closer and quietly warns, “Don’t freak out but I think a man is following us.”

“What?” I look around. My heart thumping faster. “Where?”

“Act normal, Rosalie.”

It’s dark. We’re on a quiet street with dark alleys in every which way. While probably a thug is planning to mug us. I’m carrying clothes worth thousands of pounds.

Sure, I’ll act all normal and stay calm.

“Are you sure?” I ask her.

“Pretty damn sure,” she replies. “It’s kinda hard to run into an Indian man in an all-black attire and believe it to be a coincidence. I saw him yesterday too.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” I gasp, shocked she would keep something like this to herself. A thug, I could handle, but a stalker? “What does he look like? Is he still behind us?”

Discreetly, Miya twists her neck once before facing forward again. “Yep.”

“Let me see.”

“Two stores behind. To your right.”

I stop on the side and act like I’m looking for something in one of the many bags. Casually, I peer in the direction Miya pointed and see a silhouette of a man standing in the shadows. I can’t make out his face from this distance but I feel his eyes on us with the angle he’s leaning.

Uneasiness spreads through my bones as I straighten.

“I think you’re right.”

Miya gives me a worried expression. “Let’s just quickly get home and tell Nova.”

“No.”

“Are you serious!?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “This isn’t the time to let your ego get in the way, Rosalie.”

“We can’t let him get away,” I counter. “Do you trust me? You said you wanted to be my friend. It’s your chance to prove it.”

“You don’t play fair.”

I quirk one eyebrow and wait.

She huffs. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

“Let’s draw him out in a corner and demand why the fuck he’s following us.”

“He’s twice our size.”

“We’re two people and I have pepper spray.”

“You better hope that’s enough to take him down.”

“We’ll be fine.”

She and I circle around the block aimlessly for the next half hour and the man keeps following us while keeping a short distance. He obviously isn’t bright because we purposely pass the same shop twice and he doesn’t even notice. It also becomes evident he is stalking me, not Miya.

Why, though? I have no clue.

Miya and I concocted a plan that we’ll pretend to say goodbye and she’ll take a cab while I would draw him out to a dark alley. I shut down her protests of it being too risky and dangerous, which it is.

But I am not letting that man get away with scaring me.

I’ve had enough of it.

I hug Miya and say goodbye. Then I pause to check my compact powder and see the stalker’s reflection in the mirror. He is closer now, pretending to check his watch. I resume walking again and see an alley up ahead with no one around.

Heart pumping faster with adrenaline, I move toward it. Turning sharply, I hide behind a dumpster just as the man rounds the corner. He searches left and right. The streetlight points right at his face, making me shudder in alarm.

I’ve seen him before.

Back home a few times. He enters deeper into the alley, yanking out his phone. While he’s distracted, I step out of the shadows and pepper spray him right in the face. Behind him, Miya appears and stands guard with what looks like a rock. Her choice of weapon would be funny if it wasn’t for the very tangible threat before us.

“Why the fuck are you following me?”

He shrieks in pain, rubbing at his eyes. Appearing to be in his forties, he’s built like a linebacker, which doesn’t ease my anxiety. He recovers slightly and puts up his hands, ambling closer. “I mean no harm, Miss Kapoor.”

“I asked. Who. Are. You?” I growl, holding up the pepper spray in warning.

“I’m your bodyguard.”