Fractured Games (Arranged Games #5)

Prologue

ARYA

(Seven months ago)

He’s not coming.

“Arya.”

My fiancé isn’t coming.

“Aru.”

He left me.

“Babe…”

He left me.

“Stop alarming her. There must be a misunderstanding…”

He lef─

“Arya!!”

The voice of my bridesmaid and childhood best friend Noor cuts through the limbo I’m stuck in. Instead of listening to her, I pick up the seven-pound heavy skirt of my bridal lehnga. The light pink color reflecting off the mirrors on the wall is blinding me as I run out of my suite.

Several shouts ring behind me, but they all get carried away into the void.

Adrenaline and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach push me forward toward the balcony overlooking the mandap at the end of the hallway. Every nook and cranny of the dreamy palace is burned into my psyche from the countless visits I made here with Aryan leading up to this weekend.

He wouldn’t do this to me.

We love each other.

He could never throw our eight-year relationship away for no reason. Or have something as silly as cold feet. My Aryan would never break my heart.

The closer I get to the balcony, the more hollow the words sound.

My heart pounds harder as the hopeful part of me wishes for the opposite with each breath I gulp.

That I’m asleep and it’s all a dream.

My right heel gets caught in the carpet, causing my ankle to twist and almost trip me. I ignore the pain that radiates up my leg and stumble to the balcony’s ledge.

Formally dressed guests sit in the chairs facing the beautifully decorated mandap, chatting and gazing around while impatiently waiting for the bride and groom to arrive.

The groom, who was supposed to be standing there an hour ago.

I search the grounds filled with the masses, and he’s nowhere to be found[RK1].

The heart is often strong, but extremely hopeless when it’s at war with the mind. Right now, mine is refusing to catch up with the earth-shattering reality. It’s concocting excuses, as if it’ll save it from breaking into pieces.

Perhaps he’s late.

Or maybe his friends are pulling my leg by keeping him hidden.

I’m just assuming the worst. Except Aryan is punctual in every aspect of his life. I know my loving fiancé inside out.

Do you?

Staggering backward at the taunting voice inside my head, I rip my eyes away from the garden below and dash toward the groom’s suite on the opposite side.

The door is wide open as I round the corner, looking ominous in the darkened hall.

Like a gateway to my doom.

I hear low murmurs of tense voices as I gingerly approach it.

“What is it you and your son want?” my father hisses, sounding livid and not at me for the first time. “Money? Another property?”

“Don’t insult us, Veer,” Aryan’s father, Nitin Singh[RK2], booms. “We’ve never asked for a dowry. What kind of man do you think I am?”

“The kind who’s letting his cowardly son dump my daughter on the wedding day.”

I flinch, bone-numbing pain jolting me from head to toe.

A choking noise drags from the depths of my soul.

It’s true.

Arya doesn’t want to marry me.

But why?

“I am ashamed at my son’s decision,” admits Nitin in a torn voice. “But I won’t force him into a marriage he doesn’t want.”

Aryan’s mother joins in, saying, “Honestly, it was Arya who kept pushing him for a proposal and then a wedding all these years. Aryan wanted to wait.”

Is that what he told his parents?

Another dagger goes through my cracked heart at his bald-faced lie. It was he who spoke about marriage and his desire to spend the rest of his life with me.

The reason I went down a path years ago that made me lose the person I loved the most in the world. I’ve been broken and a shell of a woman since then. Aryan was my rock and my anchor through it all.

If he’s gone too, who do I have?

“Don’t you dare pin the blame on my daughter,” warns my father vehemently. “If Aryan wasn’t ready, he had all the time in the world to say no. Instead, he chose to walk away today. Do you realize how it’s going to ruin Arya’s reputation? Nobody’s going to want her hand in marriage.”

Tears sting my eyes before free-falling down my cheeks.

“We’re sorry,” says Nitin.

My father scoffs.

I’m standing frozen in the doorway when my fiancé’s—no, ex-fiancé’s—parents fill my line of sight.

They pause, taking in my lehnga and the jewelry.

Their expression falls after one glance at my face, crumpled in misery and heartbreak.

Guilt and shame descend on their features as they stare at the worst consequence of their beloved son’s action.

They know I heard every word they said a second ago.

It’s Aryan’s mom who takes a step toward me and speaks first. “I am so sorry─”

“Where is he?”

A nervous look passes between them.

“Tell. Me,” I demand, using the last of my strength to sound firm.

“He left for New York this morning,” answers Nitin.

A shudder goes down my spine, buckling my knees with its intensity.

It wasn’t cold feet or a last-minute decision, which makes it much more agonizing.

He was never going to marry me.

But why humiliate me like this?

I blink away fresh tears as a soft hand lands on my shoulder. I look down into Aryan’s mom’s sad eyes. “Please forgive us, Arya. We never wished for this to happen.”

Dropping her hand, she walks past me.

Nitin pauses by my side, quietly murmuring, “I thought I raised him better. Take care of yourself.”

I stay rooted to the same spot long after they leave.

The sound of my parents arguing puts me into motion. Their burning gazes land on me when I step into the room. Neither of them runs toward me to comfort me.

“P-Papa,” I stammer.

“Did you know he was having doubts about marrying you?”

I flinch at my father’s accusation. “Of course not.”

“Were you both having trouble in your relationship?” asks my mother in a clipped tone. She’s looking at me like it’s somehow my fault. While my father rips his gaze from mine. “Why would he do this? Did you both have a fight?”

Her cold words cut something deep inside me.

I’m falling apart right in front of my parents and they couldn’t care less.

It’s all about upholding a perfect public image.

“It doesn’t matter,” rumbles my father angrily, still not sparing me a glance. “The damage is done. Yet another mess I have to clean up.”

As numbness takes root with each passing second, my tears dry up. Ice runs in my veins. My father’s palpable wrath and disappointment wrap around my skin, making fear slither up my spine. So, before it can blow up, I drop my gaze to the floor, and stammer, “I-I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am for being saddled with two disgraceful daughters.”

I clutch the fabric of my skirt as the ground at my feet blurs.

“Keep her out of my sight.” My father issues the order to my silent mother. “And don’t let her out of here. I’m going to handle the guests.”

When he walks past me, I hear him mutter under his breath, “Worthless.”

All I can think is that karma has finally struck.

After all, what kind of woman deserves a fairy tale after nearly destroying her sister’s?