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

Chapter Sixty-nine

The next day, I meet Teresa, Nova’s mom, at her place for lunch.

She swings open the door with a wide smile and draws me into a hug. “It’s been so long, Rosalie. I missed you so much. How was Italy?”

Her rapid-fire questions, the enthusiasm and the warm welcome, bring a wide grin to my face. None of it screams that she’s being ungenuine. She’s the perfect example of people who are young at heart, incapable of making an enemy and wishing good on others.

I study her carefully, watching for signs of the sadness I saw lurking the last time I was here. Relief washes over when nothing but brightness glimmers. Perhaps I imagined it last time, projecting my own fears.

She looks happy. Though slightly thinner than last time.

“Our trip was amazing, Mrs. D’Cruz.” I follow her into the kitchen. “I’ve never been on a yacht and I’m already wishing to be back there again.”

She rolls her eyes at my formal etiquette but doesn’t say anything.

I return a sheepish grin.

“Ahh yes, the yacht. It’s wonderful to hear you enjoyed it,” she replies, pouring me a glass of water. “Though I wouldn’t know.”

“Have you never been?”

She gives an awkward smile. It feels slightly forced but I don’t comment as she answers, “I get badly seasick. Plus, the water scares me.”

“Oh! So only Mr. D’Cruz and Nova sails then?”

“Nova’s father mostly does.”

My brows rise in surprise, and I blurt out bluntly, “What a waste of money if no one uses it.”

Teresa laughs at my response. “You know men and their toys.”

“Nova’s obsession makes sense with cars then.”

“I’m sure he’ll be taking you soon again in the yacht since you loved it so much.”

“If he has time, I would love to.”

“If you tell him, he will.” Pride reflects in her voice as she murmurs, “Nova always makes time for family. The many occasions he’s been there for me, I feel like the luckiest mom.”

“You’ve raised him right.”

“Tell me, what would you like to eat?” she laces her hands together and asks. “I was thinking hot and buttery aloo gobhi parathas with curd and pickle.”

My mouth instantly waters.

“I can see you like that option.”

“Of course I do.”

“Perfect. You can help me too.”

I stand from the stool and borrow an apron. Teresa passes me potatoes to peel and instructs me on the ratio of water and when to boil them in a pressure cooker. I listen carefully and follow the steps.

She’s patient and thorough, giving me tips.

We fall into a comfortable pace as we work together. She doesn’t force me to talk and leads the conversation, which I appreciate. Once the potatoes are done and the gobhi is grated, we make the stuffing. Mixing spices, chopped coriander, and green chilies. I add chili flakes and oregano to make it extra spicy.

Teresa encourages me to roll the paratha.

I’m skeptical yet I try.

It’s an embarrassing disaster.

My stuffing spills out, causing it to break. The shape which is supposed to be a circle looks like a map of a small country.

“How does everyone make it look so easy?” I cry out in frustration.

Teresa chuckles and pats my shoulder. “It takes practice, sweetie. Come on, try again. This time, roll it lightly. Don’t apply too much pressure with the belan.”

“Okay.”

The second try is better. I don’t manage to break it like before. It’s not a circle, but I take victory that it isn’t a map-like shape either, going in every direction.

“See, it’s good!”

Teresa takes over the task of cooking it on the stove, flipping it like a pro.

“Do you want to try?”

“No!” The horror and the speed with which I answer makes her laugh. While she’s cooking, I click a picture of the ingredients and freshly baked aloo paratha and text it to Nova. I mention I cooked it.

NOVA: Sweetheart, just tell me you aren’t alone and a professional is with you.

NOVA: If you say Bianca, I’m going to have a heart attack. I’ve already had a mini one from looking at the text.

Such a jerk. And he calls me dramatic.

ME: You can’t hold one incident against me for the rest of our lives.

NOVA: Doesn’t answer my question.

NOVA: Rest of our lives… Love the sound of that.

Butterflies take flight in my chest from reading his second text. I hide my blush behind my hair, so his mom doesn’t see.

ME: Nice save, hubby. But I’m offended you think I’m incapable of learning to cook. You should take tips from your mom, who I’m with btw.

NOVA: I believe you can do anything that you set your heart to, sweetheart.

ME: See, that’s better.

NOVA: Except cooking.

ME: God! I hate you.

NOVA: Guess I know how hard I’ll be fucking you tonight.

ME: Stop! I’m at your parents’.

NOVA: Are you forgetting I fucked your sweet mouth last time we were there?

ME: I give up. *rolling eye emoji*

NOVA: Go to my room and send me a picture of your wet panties.

ME: I’m not sexting with you while your mom is right beside me.

Right then, Teresa speaks from behind me. “The food is getting cold, Rosalie.”

“Just a minute.”

“Tell Nova that it’s my time with you.”

I turn beet red in embarrassment and hoarsely reply, “Sure.”

NOVA: I want that picture or I’ll be there. I’ll take much more than that. So be my good girl. I’m waiting.

Fuck.

Instead of replying, I sit down at the dining table and focus on the delicious food. I have to cross my legs to relieve the ache his dirty request left. Teresa serves me a fresh and hot paratha before sitting across from me.

Her cooking is out of this world.

I’m left stuffed by the time I finish.

“Rosalie, would you mind driving me to Nova’s father?” asks Teresa after we carry our plates to the sink. “I was supposed to take his lunch.”

“Of course. Can I run to the restroom really quick?” I manage to ask with a straight face. Inwardly cursing Nova for having such a powerful hold on me.

“I’ll wait in the hall.”

I don’t make any wrong turns this time and enter Nova’s bedroom. Locking the door, I walk toward his bed with my heart racing and pussy soaked. I can’t believe I’m about to do this but an arousing thrill courses through my veins.

I decide to take it a step further.

Slipping my panties off, I kick them aside and lie down on his bed. With my knees bent and spread, I set the phone against the edge and aim the camera with one hand while inching the other to my bare pussy.

Instead of clicking a picture, I hit record.

As I roam my fingers over my slit. Using my wetness, I circle my entrance and slip one finger in and thrust twice. Feeling brazen by the naughtiness of it all, I push the same finger to my other entrance and spread my juices around. My entire body shakes as I steadily push my finger in until it’s to the knuckle. A low moan slips free.

Just as quickly, I pull out and sit up.

Stopping the recording, I don’t watch it myself—feeling shy—and send it to Nova.

I’m smirking as I put on my panties and rush to wash my hands, then slip out from his room. My phone pings with a string of texts, which I ignore. I would rather my face didn’t give away my very inappropriate actions.

Like I said, Nova has me in the palm of his hands.

Downstairs, I meet Teresa in the entryway and say, “Sorry for making you wait. Can you text me the address? I’ll navigate with the maps app.”

Nodding, she does so while I unlock my car as we step into the burning heat.

As soon as I turn on the ignition and take directions, I figure out we’re going to the recently jointly acquired dock. My thoughts direct to my father, dampening my mood into a dark cloud of dread and terror. Our last encounter would’ve left me locked up for days if I were still living with him.

Shuddering, I pray I don’t run into him.

Oftentimes I’ve wonder why he despises me so much.

His own flesh and blood.

How can my existence alone be a heinous crime? He punishes me for something that’s out of my control.

An hour later, we arrive at a bustling street near the docks. I wage a bet with myself and guess that Danish is here to visit the site and observe the workers. Large equipment used in logistics can be seen far ahead. A normal person may mistake it for a construction site.

I park under a shaded spot.

My sleek black Jaguar standing out like a sore thumb.

“Do you want me to come with you, Mrs. D’Cruz?”

“No need, beta. I’ll be quick,” she replies and gracefully steps out of the car, pushing her sunglasses higher against the sun.

The guard nods at her as she approaches and lets her in. No sooner has she disappeared inside a four-story building than I catch Danish coming from a different direction in my peripheral. He misses Teresa completely.

Jumping out of the car, I’m about to shout and reach him when he makes a swift path toward the deserted end of the street. Walking at a furious pace with another equally sharply dressed man following him, they round a corner.

My instincts warn me to stay where I am.

However, my feet have another idea.

I briskly stalk in the same direction until I turn the same corner. They are nowhere to be seen. So, I keep moving forward and screech to a halt when I hear multiple voices. Cautiously tiptoeing with my back against the wall, I avoid making noise on the rocky road and stop where it ends. Peeking around the wall, I smother my gasp.

I can’t believe what my eyes see.

Danish and his partner are standing with four guys, who look like street thugs with shabby hair and unkempt clothes. I squint my eyes and catch them exchanging multiple envelopes. I watch my father-in-law accepting money from them, and I’m horrified when he starts counting it.

I’m well aware in some parts of the city the locals are forced to give protection money in order to save their small businesses.

Is that what I’m witnessing?

Does this mean Nova’s family is still into illegal extortions? Does Nova know? Was my father correct all along in saying they haven’t stopped their corrupted ways to get ahead?

Nova hasn’t hidden his father’s untoward past.

He does, however, speak in a way that insinuates it’s no longer their present.

Yet I’ve just witnessed the opposite.

Despite it all, my main concern isn’t my own safety but his. In case he’s in the dark about his father’s dealings. Because my Nova would never risk his company, which he’s so proud of, or his reputation. I choose to believe he has a moral code unlike his father.

Discreetly, I snap a picture of the group to confront Nova with later.

Letting him decide on how to handle the situation.

Before I’m caught, I hurry back to my car. Teresa is yet to be back. I’m still contemplating and torn over what I saw when I hear two sets of footsteps approaching.

My heart sinks, spine rigid, when my gaze collides with the visitor.

“Papa,” I gasp.

A curt and fake smile splits his lips, only I sensing the coldness of it. “Fancy seeing you here, Rosalie.”

Teresa, who is by his side, smiles at me. Oblivious to my panicked state.

Or how I’m fighting not to wither under my father’s menacing stare.

“Look who I found, sweetie,” she says. “Said he hasn’t spent time with you since the wedding.”

“I was—”

He ruthlessly cuts me off. “Nova has kept her busy. Your mother and I miss you, Rosalie.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,” I apologetically say. “I’ll talk to Nova to come for dinner some evening.”

“We would like that.”

Gazing at Teresa, I remind her, “I should drop you off.”

“Actually, I’m going to stay,” she informs me with a wince. “Danish went somewhere and is yet to be back. Besides, your father needs you.”

“What?” I blurt out too fast.

“I have a flat tire. I’m sure you don’t mind giving your old man a lift.”

Smugness and meanness waft from him in waves. He’s smartly trapped me unless I want to make a scene. We both know I won’t. Stepping between Teresa and my rigid stance, he grips my elbow and burns me with a terrorizing glare.

“Shall we?”

I swallow and lower my head. “Yes.”

Once we’re seated in my car, which feels like a suffocating cage, my father ominously orders, “Drive home. It’s time you were reminded who your real family is and your place in it.”