The terms brokered were for Nila’s freedom and release of the Debt Inheritance if she won, and her willing signature revoking everything that she is to Jethro Hawk if she lost.
On the 19th of August, Nila Weaver lost; therefore, this agreement is complete and binding.
Both Nila Weaver and Jethro Hawk promise neither circumstance, nor change of heart will alter this vow.
In sickness and in health.
Two houses.
One contract.
I’d already signed, taking up half the page below.
Nila looked up, completely horrified. “You can’t be serious. You—you—”
I tensed. “Careful what you say. Think about how painful it will be for you if you insult my mental health again.”
She swallowed back the words dying to spew from her mouth. “I’m not signing this, you bastard.”
I tilted my head. “Bastard? Interesting choice of words.”
“Don't like that one? How about fuckwit? Murderer? Rapist?”
I slapped her again, revelling in the equal burn we shared.
Pain to deliver pain. Pleasure to deliver pleasure.
Funny how the two were correlated.
“I’ll accept ‘bastard’ and ‘fuckwit,’ but under no circumstances will I accept ‘rapist.’ Have I tried to take you? Have I forced you? And, I’m no murderer.”
Her eyes glittered, fingers rubbing her cheek. “Are you deliberately blocking out what happened after the First Debt was repaid, or are you that much of a lunatic to remember only the things convenient to you?”
Lunatic.
I ran a hand infinitely slowly through my hair. I had full grounds to punish her. I’d warned her time and time again.
“Tell me, Jethro, you say you’re not a murderer—yet. But it will be you who delivers the killing blow, won’t it? You admitted as much in the past. Unless you’re too chicken and make your father do it. Or even maybe poor Kes. Will he kill me? Is he the bigger man than you? To kill off the family pet when it’s no longer wanted?”
My jaw ached from clenching so hard. “You really want to know?”
You’ve already guessed the truth.
The thought blazed bright, almost as bright as her cheek.
“No need, I already know. What will you use? A butchers block? A sharp blade or dull?” The strength and fight in her voice suddenly dissolved into sobs. “How will you live with yourself when my blood pours over your perfect shoes?”
The room shattered with sadness; the walls trampled us with appalling futures.
With a horrified wail, she curled into herself, holding her stomach as if her very soul tried to claw its way out. “Tell me, Jethro, if I only have a limited amount of time left, why go through the charade of making me sign this?!” She shook the parchment in front of my face. “What is this anyway? Does it have a name? ‘Weaver Vexation,’ perhaps?”
Her sanity quickly unravelled with every syllable.
I stood stiff, frantically clutching at my beloved ice. But in that moment, I felt her pain. I tasted her tears. I lived her grief.
My hands balled. The title I’d given it had been flippant at the time, but now I could see how it could shatter her.
Don’t say it.
The air in the office turned stagnant, waiting for me to speak.
Finally, I admitted, “Sacramental Pledge.”
She half-cackled, half-giggled, before everything seemed to fold in and crush her. “You made this our vows?! Sacramental, holy matrimony vows?”
Before I could answer, she shook her head and collapsed to her knees before me. Rocking, hot tears splashed onto the contract, mixing with ink and staining it with large swirls of black.
She was the one who gave me the idea. After all, we were technically married. Groomed for one another, destined to drive each other to insanity. This was our fate. Our motherfucking destiny.
Her laughs interspersed with sobs. The sound was utterly heart-crushing. I locked my body from moving as she curled tighter on the floor.
“This is real. This…it’s not a nightmare. This is real!”
Tears rivered from her eyes, tracking faster and faster as her breath caught and she choked. She choked and sobbed and choked again. “It’s not fair. I w—want to go h—home.”
I’d never seen anyone come apart so completely.
This wasn’t just about the deed. This was about everything she hadn’t let herself feel. She hadn’t let go of her past. She hadn’t faced the reality that this was her future, and there would be no going back—no matter how much she thought it was possible.
Was this how she’d survived—by pretending it wasn’t real, that everything would somehow disappear?
Everything crested and breached, shuddering her small frame with grief.
I stood over her, hating to see such weakness. Despising that I’d driven her to break. But at the same time, I stood protective over her vulnerability, standing guard, making sure she had the peace in which to purge.
In a way, I knew exactly how she felt. We were both chained to a future we didn’t want, and there was no way out—for either of us.
I didn’t touch her. I didn’t torment her.
I let her spew her worries and cleanse herself.
I just let her cry.
As each droplet splashed onto the carpet, I found myself growing fucking jealous. I was jealous that finding a release was so easy for her. So easy to come undone, knowing she’d have the power to stitch herself together again.
Half an hour passed, or maybe it was only ten minutes, but slowly Nila’s tears stopped, and her wracking frame fell into a deep, eternal silence.
The night was entirely tainted. I had no drive to make her sign anymore or to wage war. And I definitely had no more energy to be cruel.
There was no need. I didn’t have to break her—not after she’d broken herself.
I sighed heavily. “Get up.”
Slowly, quietly, and obediently, she climbed to her feet. She stood swaying, white as a fucking ghost. In her hands, she still clutched the quill and parchment having drenched it in her tears.
Without a word, she placed the soggy document onto the desk, dipped the swan feather into the ink well, and signed her name.
My stomach swooped in the wrong direction. I should’ve been happy, but instead my joy was filthy oil, corrupting my insides.
Avoiding eye contact, she whispered, “I want to go back to my room. If you have any soul inside you, Jethro, you will do this one thing for me.”
My heart squeezed, cracking its glacier frost, melting drop by drop.
My hands itched to touch her, to grant solace…comfort.
She hates you, you arsehole.
There was no way she would want to be touched. Especially by me.
The least I could do was release her.
With infinitesimal slowness, I turned to the desk and retrieved her phone. “Here.” I pressed it into her lax palm.
She didn’t even acknowledge me.
With nothing else to say, I guided her back to her room.
NEEDLE&THREAD: I wish you’d answer me, Vaughn. Please tell me you’re not about to blow something up, charge in here with God knows what, and get yourself arrested or worse… killed. Please…reply. I miss you.
I swiped at the sticky salt on my cheeks. My heart hung heavy like a charred piece of meat. Last night was a distant memory, rather foggy and blurred. I remembered the fireworks, I recalled the relaxed day of reading and helping the staff set up the garden buffet, but I struggled to remember what happened in Jethro’s office.
All I knew was I’d finally snapped.
The cry I’d had in the kennels the day I arrived was nothing to how undone I’d become.
I should care that Jethro had seen me at my absolute weakest, but I couldn’t get up the energy. I felt strangely aloof, removed from everything.
He let you cry.
He didn’t torment me or make it worse by delivering yet more horror. He’d stood like an ice statue, completely unyielding and not melting at all, towering over me while I wept into his carpet.
But in that arctic silence, there’d been something…something different.
His silence had throbbed with regret…of understanding and even mutual anguish.
The moon and stars had given way to another stunning day, miraculously cancelling the horrible ending to a nice party.
The best thing? I’d slept like the dead after Jethro had left me alone. The cry had drained me of everything, leaving me with a thick headache that sent me slamming into unconsciousness.
My phone buzzed.
Shaking my head, I dispelled last night and looked at the glowing screen. I wanted a reply from my twin. But what I got was better.
My heart soared as I read the first message from Kite007 in two weeks.
Kite007: Don’t know why I keep hoping you’ll reply, seeing as you’ve been quiet for two weeks, but I had a shit of a night and need to talk to someone who won’t judge.
He’d been trying to message me?
I quickly scrolled through the inbox but found nothing. My stomach rolled at the thought of Jethro deleting Kite’s messages. What an arsehole.
I’d gone from a secluded seamstress, whose only contact was her father and brother, to being torn in three directions. As much as I wanted to deny it, I had feelings for Kite. He’d been a bastard to me, but he’d granted me the strength to stand up to him, which then led me to develop feelings for Kestrel. Because he’s the same person; I know it.
I still hadn’t gotten up the guts to ask him, but sometimes I’d catch him watching me with secrets in his eyes.
I didn’t care that it might all be a ruse to get inside my head. I didn’t care I was nothing more than a marionette being told what to think and who to trust. I had to forget about all that and follow my heart—because, ultimately, that was the only thing that might save me.
Then, of course, there was Jethro. He confused me, perplexed me, and completely befuddled me. One minute I would gladly pour gasoline over his wintry shell and see if I could burn him into the person I saw rare glimpses of, the next he did things like last night and ruined all the softness I had for him.
How could I understand someone who didn’t even understand himself?
You can’t talk. One second you’re trying to seduce him, the next you’re trying to make him bleed.
We were as bad as each other.
Looking at the text again, I clicked reply. Biting my lip, I wondered why Kes/Kite had had a bad night. What had happened when Jethro tugged me away? And why hadn’t Kes tried to talk to me when he realised I wasn’t replying to his messages?
We saw each other every day. All he had to do was whisper something in my ear. Something that would confirm this labyrinthine mystery once and for all.
Perhaps Jethro showed the new contract to Kes—rubbed it in his face that no matter how Kes felt about me, he could never have me?
Ugh. The headache from last night came back with a heavy cloud.
Needle&Thread: I’m here now. And you’re right, I won’t judge. What happened last night?
It was odd to have nothing sexual included in the message, but our ‘friendship’ had more depth now.
I settled deeper into the pillows. The diamond collar bruised my neck, throbbing with heat; it wasn’t exactly comfortable to sleep in.
Kite007: I stooped to an all-new low. Remember when I said we’re all products of our upbringing? Well, I keep blaming everything wrong inside me on that. I use it as an excuse, but what if it isn’t good enough anymore?
Oh, my God.
I’d never heard Kite sound so melancholy. My heartbeat increased as my fingers flew over the keyboard.
Needle&Thread: There’s nothing wrong inside you.
I paused before pressing send. If I did this, he would know I suspected. If he read between the lines and didn’t see it as a blasé comment, the truth would be out and the choice of how to proceed would be in his court. Did I want him to have that power?
Gritting my teeth, I pressed send.
Immediately, I got a reply.
Kite007: You don’t know anything about me.
Needle&Thread: We can keep pretending if you’d like, but it’s just another excuse. It sounds like you’re ready to face the truth. So…it’s your call if you want to or not.
Minutes ticked past.
My mind skipped back to the day I’d arrived. The welcome luncheon, the night in the kennels, and the strange degrading encounters with Jethro. How was it the Hawks had everything, yet everyone seemed to be hiding the truth? Jethro was hiding. Kes was hiding. Daniel had disappeared—the little creep—and Cut walked around with an air of mystique.
There was so much beneath the surface that no one dared discuss.
And, if I was honest, they’d transformed me into the same kind of creature. Someone who had evolved from a single dimension and now lived with so many avenues of personalities.
I was still the quiet, vertigo-stricken girl from London, but I was also the woman who liked being tormented, who thrived on a fight, and who thirsted for sex.
And that stupefied me even more, because I wanted sex with Jethro, not Kestrel.
What does that mean?
Jethro had made me come totally and spectacularly in front of witnesses. He’d manipulated me—given me a reward. It was both sick and…sweet.
No, never sweet, Nila.
Yes, sweet.
Beneath the mask, he was so many things, and sweet was one of them.
Kite007: My call? You’re so sure I’ll be honest?
Needle&Thread: Why wouldn’t you be? You know who I am. I want to know who you are. I’m trustworthy.
Kite007: You’re wrong. I don’t know who you are. Every day I think I do, but then you do something that changes my perception. You’re a complexity.