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

Chapter Twenty-three

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Rosalie taunts as soon as the shock of me hovering a few feet away wears off. A notable tremor in her voice matching the teary-eyed state of her beautiful face.

“Pretty positive it only applies to a day before and not a week.”

“Look who’s counting down the days.” Hastily rubbing at her cheeks as if it’ll hide the evidence that she was sobbing just mere seconds ago, she straightens and aims a glare my way. “How long have you been standing here?”

“Long enough.”

“Taken stalking as a side gig?”

If it were any other circumstances, I would ignore and continue with my business. The way I did for the first three and a half years after I was back. In London, she betrayed me in the worst possible way and the only way to curb the burning hatred I truly began to harbor for her was by burying myself into building my own empire.

She was just like her father.

Uptight and conniving.

The strong urge to make her mine that I felt in London eviscerated in the wake of a single night. The flame lasting for a fleeting second before swiftly burning into ashes.

However, in this moment, I can’t pry my eyes off her.

My attention is locked on the imprints of fingers on her fair skin around her jaw. Another perusal reveals bruises forming around her right forearm. The color fresh and quickly darkening.

It makes me seethe because the room she exited immediately tells me it’s her father’s doing. The man very soon to be my father-in-law.

I’m cruel and blunt in the way I treat her but I draw the line at abuse.

Only a spineless dick would physically hurt a woman.

“Stop staring,” she snaps, bringing her hair forward to shield her arms.

Too late.

At least he hasn’t broken her spirit yet. Though now I’m wondering how long he has been secretly abusing her. I knew she isn’t his favorite child since he practically sold her to my family, but to this extent, it makes me furious for not finding that out sooner.

If you weren’t keen on ignoring and punishing her, you would’ve.

Fed up with my silence, she tries to brush past me but I grab her at the last second. Her feminine scent distracting me momentarily. The effect touching her skin has on my senses hasn’t lessened. It has turned into an addict’s withdrawal.

Because it’s not often I allow myself a taste.

“I’m not in the mood, Nova,” she sighs, defeated.

“Neither am I.” Pushing her cherry red curls away, I trace the bluish skin and grit my teeth when she flinches. “What did you do to piss him off?”

“I exist. That’s what.”

“Rose.”

Eyes still shiny from tears meet mine. “Don’t act like you care.”

We’re alone and I don’t need to pretend to care.

But self-preservation is the last thing on my mind when I’m around her.

“I don’t, but I also don’t condone grown men hitting women,” I reply calmly. “And I’m not letting you leave until you tell me exactly what happened.”

Realizing I won’t budge, she answers in a flat tone, “He’s upset about my wedding gown. It’s… black.”

That’s it? He hit her over this.

She whispers it so uncomfortably as if I’ll berate or react similarly too. Hell, I expect nothing less from her.

I grit my teeth and force my anger down to not storm inside and beat the shit out of her father for being a condescending prick. It’s been quite long since I punched someone really good, now that my days of boxing in underground rings are behind me.

It’s the only thing I miss from my college days.

“And just how often does he get pissed like this?”

She doesn’t miss the underlying question. That how many times he’s gotten upset and laid his hands on her.

I’m certain she won’t answer because neither of us lets our guards down and be vulnerable around each other. But then her voice drops to a whisper, “Often.”

I never thought I could think any less of Mihir Kapoor, turns out I can.

Cupping her chin gently and tilting her face to mine, I firmly tell her, “I never want to see you alone with him. If there is anything to discuss—” Though I’ll make certain there never is. “—you’ll have me by your side. Understand?”

“Why?” Her fire returns. “I’ve been handling him on my own for years just fine.”

“You have bruises on your arm, his fingerprints on your cheeks, and I saw you crying and hyperventilating a few fucking seconds ago, it’s the opposite of fine.”

“So, you want to protect me?” She huffs in disbelief. “It’s ironic coming from a man whose sole mission is to make my life miserable. You hurt me just as much as him. Worse, you actually gloat and rub it in my face.”

“I don’t hit you.” I’m affronted she’ll even put me in the same category as her scum of a father. “And I never will.”

“No. You’ll just verbally abuse me.”

“At least with me, it’s a fair fight. Can you say the same about him?” Her mouth shuts. Studying her intently, I make a wager. “I bet your mother and sister don’t have a single clue about this, do they? Shall I go ask them?”

Panic strikes in her gaze. When I take a step back, she pulls at my suit jacket. “Don’t.”

“Then never let me see you alone with your father again.”

Her shoulders sag and I know it’s secretly from relief. “Okay.”

“As for the dress—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll buy a traditional red one so I don’t embarrass you.”

Without waiting for my answer, she tugs her arm out of my grip and disappears down the hall. I stare after her while inwardly cursing her father as if it’ll lessen the rage.

I could give two shits about the color of the dress she wears.

Superstitions are only as strong as you believe them to be.

Shaking my head, I remember the reason for coming here in the first place before Rosalie sidetracked me. It suddenly doesn’t matter because now I have another important agenda.

Men like Mihir need to be put in their place before they develop sore beliefs that they can control everyone around them. He’s used to everyone putting him on a pedestal. Not me, though. I’ll be damned before I let him interfere in our marriage.

He and my father may think the union will bring peace and prosperity.

All I’m plotting is to bring chaos and vengeance.

Mihir struts around priding himself on the self-made success of his ancestors and his value-fueled upbringing. In his quest to remain at the top, he destroys innocent lives in his wake without a care for the repercussions.

His time to pay has come.

It took me awhile to realize that this marriage could be a blessing in disguise. One I’m going to take full advantage of. For the longest time, I thought of ways to get my revenge for all he’s done to my family like a hidden venomous snake. At first, it was the raw determination to defeat him in the business world. Nothing stings more than watching your rival climb higher than you.

However, it wouldn’t have been as satisfying.

Observing him over the years, especially after the engagement, I’ve learned a lot about him. Perks of having your enemy closer.

Besides his business, it’s his pristine family reputation he prides himself in. Imagine what it’ll do to him if the world saw his true ugly face.

That behind closed doors, he’s a selfish and neglecting bastard. Or that he offered his sixteen-year-old daughter in exchange for a merger with his rival.

His fragile ego won’t be able to handle it.

All I need is the contract Rosa and I signed, and then I’ll destroy his world brick by brick, watching it fall like dominos.

Not bothering to knock, I enter his man cave.

Last time I was here, I was just as powerless as Rosa. Bound by family obligations. Although, she may say otherwise. The women think they’re sacrificing in the world of the rich. Little do they know, men are just as duty-bound.

Inside, the scent of tobacco and wood permeates the air.

At the slam of the door, Mihir looks up from the file he was reading and casts it aside upon seeing me. His brows pull together for a second before he resumes his annoyed expression. As if I’m a nuisance.

“Nova,” he says, leaning back against his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I saw Rosalie.”

His expression doesn’t waver. “And?”

“And I want to know why she looked like she had seen a ghost.”

“Ignore the drama queen,” he replies dismissively. “She was due for a lecture.”

I reach his desk in three strides and push my hands in my pockets to withhold the urge to punch his wrinkly face. Still peering beneath his nose at me. “Did the lecture include you laying your hands on her? Last I checked, it involved talking with your mouth.”

The vein in his forehead bulges. “Are you accusing me of hitting her?”

“Did you?”

“Don’t tell me how to treat my own daughter.”

“That’s the thing.” My voice is dark and edgy. “Rosalie became mine the moment she signed those papers ten years ago. It means you don’t talk to her, touch her, or lecture her without first going through me.”

“Know your place, boy,” he growls furiously. “You’re standing in my house.”

“Your house means shit to me. I make more than it costs every single minute.” Leaning over his desk, I pin him with a deathly stare. “What my fiancée wears or does is none of your concern. If she wants to dress in black or all the goddamn colors in the rainbow, then that’s what she’ll wear. I said yes to marrying the Rosalie you’re keen on locking away in your house, not a spineless girl without a mind of her own.”

“She’s already manipulating you with her pathetic tears,” he says arrogantly with a low chuckle. “Rosalie needs to be tamed every now and then.”

“How about you leave the taming to me?”

“You want to encourage her freakiness, be my guest.”

My lips curl in disdain. The vehemence in his tone, the blatant disgust in his eyes, almost makes me recoil. Until the only conclusion my mind comprehends is that, for some unknown reason, he hates Rosalie.

His own flesh and blood.

It ticks me off, leaving a sinister sensation in my chest.

It cannot simply be because of her personality or her wardrobe choices. There’s a deeper root for his disdain and toxicity toward Rosalie. One I itch to uncover.

But that’s for another day.

Straightening, I deliver another threatening look and say, “If Rosalie is walking down the aisle in anything but the wedding dress she chose, the wedding’s off.”

“The hell it is.” His chair falls as he abrupt stands.

“You want to be a fool and test me, be my guest.”

Striding to the door, I slam it in his fuming red face and leave the house.